Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4724522.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling, Thor_(Movies), The_Avengers_(Marvel
      Movies), Percy_Jackson_and_the_Olympians_-_Rick_Riordan, Marvel_Cinematic
      Universe
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Original_Female_Character(s), Harry_Potter/Original_Male
      Character(s), Luke_Castellan/Harry_Potter, Harry_Potter/Silena
      Beauregard, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Viktor_Krum/Harry_Potter, Sirius
      Black/Remus_Lupin, Lucius_Malfoy/Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Draco_Malfoy/
      Blaise_Zabini, Silena_Beauregard/Luke_Castellan, Cedric_Diggory/Fred
      Weasley/George_Weasley, Harry_Potter/Zeus, Harry_Potter/Zeus/Ganymede
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Marauders_(Harry_Potter), Sirius_Black, Draco_Malfoy, Remus
      Lupin, Loki_(Marvel), Θάνατος_|_Thanatos_(Hellenistic_Religion_&_Lore),
      Chiron_(Percy_Jackson), Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Male
      Character(s), Thor_(Marvel), Laufey_(Marvel), Odin_(Marvel), Sif_
      (Marvel), Frigga_(Marvel), Warriors_Three, Tyr_(Marvel), Nemesis_(Percy
      Jackson), Hel_Lokisdottir, Freyr, Olympic_Gods_and_Goddesses, Titans_-
      Character
  Additional Tags:
      Slash, Pre-Slash, Het_and_Slash, Non-Canon_Relationship, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Loki_Does_What_He_Wants, Loki_Needs_a_Hug,
      Powerful_Harry, Harry-centric, Smart_Harry, Pre-Thor_(2011), Odin's_A+
      Parenting, Asgardian_Magic, Good_Laufey_(Marvel)
  Series:
      Part 1 of Frey_of_Asgard
  Collections:
      DC_&_Marvel_fanfics, Harry_Potter_fanfics, MIX
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-04 Completed: 2017-09-18 Chapters: 33/33 Words: 243135
****** Lokison ******
by sifshadowheart
Summary
     James and Lily Potter had a secret, one which led to Thanatos saving
     young Harry from a dreary life with the Dursleys and changed the face
     of the Second British Wizarding War before it ever began. Censored
     version at FF.net, uncensored (adult) content begins after chapter
     10.
***** Prologue *****
 
Prologue - A Deathly Intervention
 
Thanatos, the Greek God of Death and Patron God of the Ignotus Peverell
Wizarding lineage, allowed a small grimace to cross his normally implacable
face.  This was his night of all nights, All Hallows Eve, when his powers
reached their greatest point of the year upon mortal Earth.  And that thrice-
damned Riddle was ruining it!
 
One night.
 
That's not a lot to ask for and most of the pantheons, hells, even the Elder
Gods agreed!
 
One night out of the year when the various gods and avatars of Death herself
can enjoy some peace.
 
The rest of the time they are among the busiest but correspondingly the most
powerful of gods and divine beings, Thanatos's blatant patronage of the Ignotus
Peverell line and not being quickly subject to smiting by one of the Elders
proved that rather well in the Greek's opinion.  One simply did not fuck around
with Death's chosen few for as She has proven time and again She can and will
come for anyone, even a god.  More a primordial force than an actual divine
being, Death and Her sisters Chaos, Magic, and Her twin Life, are forces that
few dare to ever take on.
 
Unfortunately one of the Fates from one of the many pantheons, and Thanatos had
suspicions but no proof over which Fate from which pantheon, had taken it in
her head to play with the last of the Peverells, utilizing prophecy and a tool
in the form of a meddling old manipulator to wind up the last of the Cadmus
Peverell line who also happened to be Slytherin's-bloody-heir and unleash him
on the last of the Ignotus Peverell line.  Thanatos's favored line.  The last
remaining offspring of one of the few mortals Thanatos ever named as friend.
 
It would not do.
 
Fortunately, Thanatos knew something that lone irritating bint of a Fate did
not know.
 
For all that Harry James Potter, Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of
Potter, youngest and now last of the Peverells, had just watched/listened as
both James and Lily Potter were both ruthlessly murdered, he was, by no means,
an orphan.
 
Harry Potter had a secret.  Or more appropriately James and Lily Potter had a
secret that would set young Harry on a very different path than the one Fate
and Dumbledore had designed for him.  After all, being raised ignorant and in
the hands of muggles wouldn't do when one is the son of a god.  Especially if
that god is one firmly outside of the control of the Fate that decided to toy
with the life of a demigod and eventual Heir of multiple thrones...
 
.........
 
It took swift action.  Not difficult when one can sift through space and time
but not particularly easy either when one isn't used to utilizing his powers in
such a way.  A god of Death never has to worry particularly much about things
like stealth and being discovered.  Death is.  There's no real point in being
subtle about it or worrying about hiding a magical signature or concealing his
power from the Mage sight some Wizards have.
 
Death is.
 
Thanatos on the other hand, needed at this moment to completely squash any
notions of meddling or interference from the Wizarding world.  Including Fate's
pet Dumbledore.  Thanatos had Looked, had Seen what would come of allowing
events to play out and they simply would not do.  Not as far as either he or
Harry's true born father were concerned that is.  Thanatos and Harry's father
both had soft spots for James Potter, each for very different reasons and had
assisted him in his quest for an Heir.  In many ways, Harry was as thrice-
blessed as Riddle was thrice-damned.  Between his godly father, his adoptive
father James - all nice and tidy for the goblins and Wizardkind in-case anyone
ever discovered who actually fathered Harry - and the blessing of Thanatos,
Harry was indeed blessed.  And powerful with it.
 
Nothing good would come of the child being raised according to Dumbledore's
mechanations.
 
But Thanatos had an alternative.
 
One that Harry's father had approved and that would've garnered the approval of
Lily and James if they ever had any inkling events would devolve to this state
of things.
 
First things first.  The Trace.  Thanatos noticed that piece of magical idiocy
already in place on Harry.  One wave of his incorporeal hand and the device
tuned to the toddler was disabled.  He would remove it completely but that
might cause his soon-to-be-ward trouble down the road.  A quick flex of his
Will and a Writ of Guardianship was made according to the slightly altered
Wills of the Potters Thanatos placed on file.
 
Guardians of Record:
 
Thanatos Domini Grimm - his current muggle alias - and one Chiron Trainter.
 
Another moment and the Writ and Wills were magically sealed, beyond even the
power of the Wizengamot to unseal without it being requested by Harry once he
reached the age of majority.
 
Sighing he rolled his shoulders.  Thanatos hadn't meddled like that in human
affairs since the river incident with the Peverell brothers.  It felt
remarkably good.  Closing his eyes he reviewed his list.  There were a great
many things to do and arrange, not the least of which was meet Harry's father
in person and alert him to what steps he's taken on his son's - and Heir's -
behalf.  Still the next thing shouldn't be hard, rather it might even be
fun....except for having to wait on the barmy old coot to hurry up and leave
Harry on the steps of Privet Drive after...acquiring a few things from the
Potter and Peverell vaults.  Not to mention he hasn't been to Camp Half-Blood
in...eons, really.
 
Should be fun.
 
......
 
***** One *****
Chapter One
 
......
 
Across the ocean at Camp Half-Blood, nestled discretely outside of New York
City, New York; Chiron, centaur, trainer of heroes and son of Kronus watched in
half-disbelief and half-dismay as a new cabin extended and grew from the depths
of Half-Blood Hill facing the Camp grounds.  Inky black stone made up the
classical Greek architecture with tall pillars and fluted columns set against
smooth walls with a solid obsidian door set in a ruby archway.  As the sigil of
the god or goddess in question who caused this change in the Camp, making the
few half-bloods who stayed year round shiver under the pall of expectation that
swam through the air, etched itself into door Chiron let out a breath in sheer
relief.
 
This cabin wasn't for a child of Hades after all.
 
Rather, etched into the glassy volcanic rock was another sigil, one that while
it relieved the trainer's fear of the Pact being ruptured did nothing to raise
his spirits either.  The child of such a god could very well be a terrifying
power all on their own, even without the lineage of the Big Three: Zeus,
Poseidon, or Hades.  After all, the scythe and sword of Thanatos was feared
long before Zeus was born and cut down Kronus.  There are even some among the
Greeks who believe that Thanatos could very well be the oldest and most
powerful of Death's avatars and chosen gods to represent Her.
 
One thing is for certain.  Whoever this new demigod/goddess is, they were a
startling omen with the Big Three prophecy yet to be fulfilled.
 
......
 
"Chiron."  Thanatos stepped from the shadows, only his face with its inky-black
eyes bared to the centaur's sight, into the morning gloom and stood beside the
watchful trainer.
 
"Lord Thanatos."  Chiron gave a respectful nod to the Avatar.  "I wasn't
expecting you to come yourself...although I do appreciate the chance to get the
answers I know Diyonsius is going to be asked by the others of the Council."
 
Thanatos gave a low chuckle as he shifted the bundle in his arms.  He'd known
that Cadmus's heir had horribly maimed both himself and his soul during the
course of his life but never thought it would mark young Harry in such a way. 
Fortunately he'd caught the sliver of Riddle's tainted soul before it could
finish latching onto his charge with only the faintest of residual powers
passing onto the child.  Just enough to wake a few of the more latent powers he
might've possessed on his own but not enough to weaken or taint him in any
way.  Laughing to himself, Thanatos knew already what the little godling's
first Quest would be...
 
Amusement ripe in his voice, the god deigned to relieve some of the trainer's
worries.
 
"It's not my child who you're being given charge over, old friend."  Thanatos
watched a ripple of confusion cross an unaging face.  "He is the last of an
ancient line blessed by me in ages past with my blessing reborn in him."
 
Chiron thought rapidly.  The only instance even rumored of Thanatos showing
favor to a mortal line...wasn't truly to a mortal at all but to one of Magic's
own children.  A wizard and necromancer who befriended Death's Avatar of all
mad things.
 
"A Peverell?"
 
The white slash of Thanatos's quick grin showed in the burgeoning light.  The
centaur always was quick.
 
"A Potter."  He said with a quirk of his brow.  "Harry James Potter, last of
his line and a godling with it."
 
Chiron blinked.  Not a half-blood but an actual godling, a child of the gods
that would eventually gain immortality and godhood all on his own, without
having to undergo trials and the tests of heroes in order to join his divine
parent in the Heavens.  There hasn't been a true godling in eons, not since the
youngest of Celtic pantheon was born.
 
"His human father was the last of my blessed, and unable to sire children on
his own.  But I wasn't the only god who favored James Potter nor found his wife
to be a stunningly beautiful - and powerful - witch.  A pact was made.  Now in
my arms is the orphaned result of that pact.  A Wizarding child of great power
from his human parents, with a full measure of immortality and gifts from his
divine father and blessed by an Avatar of Death.  A prophecy child, as well." 
Thanatos gave a humorless smile as Chiron goggled at him.  "His trueborn name
is Frey Haraldr and no before you ask I'm not going to reveal who his divine
parent his, while Harry James Potter is his Wizarding name bestowed on him
after undergoing an adoption ceremony with the now-late James."
 
Pulling himself together Chiron came quickly to a realization about the toddler
that he could now clearly see.
 
"He could never live in the mortal world."  He shook his head.  "Not until he
freezes into his immortality.  Wizarding, maybe.  But most definitely not
mortal.  Monsters would find him before the day was out."
 
"That's why I've brought him to you, old friend."  Thanatos smiled, as they
moved inside the home he'd created for Harry.  A wave of his hand and trunks
filled with books and grimoires from the Peverell and Potter vaults appeared as
a fire started up in the monstrous hearth carved into one wall.  While the
outside of the cabin was foreboding and stark, the inside was rather welcoming
with the large fire lit and the crystal lights filled with flame.  A large,
open room with two doors leading off of it, the cabin had a certain flair to
it.  One door led to a sumptuous bathing room, including a Roman bath and steam
shower while the other led to a gigantic closest filled with clothes of all
sizes that would fit the godling perfectly up until he reached his
immortality.  Along the opposite wall from the doors were weapons of all shapes
and sizes, many of which came from Harry's family vaults.
 
As they moved further into the room towards ebony wood crib in the place where
one day would stand a king-sized bed, the trunks opened and the books began to
sort themselves out into the bookshelves as Chiron shudders for a moment at the
feeling of distinctly foreign magic.  Thanatos shot him a look and gave him a
short explanation.
 
"Harry's - or rather Frey's - father.  While my powers made the building, his
have furnished is.  He would have claimed Frey the moment Lily was struck down
but he would be no safer there than he would be among the mortals.  Until his
child reaches his immortality and his life no longer at risk, my old friend
will have to content himself with doing what little he can from a distance,
although he may be able to sneak away for a visit once or twice a year."
 
"Who will look after the child while he's still so young?"  Chiron finally
asked the question that's been burning at his mind.  He knew full well that
Thanatos could only spend the time that he has because of the All Hallows.  If
Frey was only going to see his father once or twice a year, he would likely
only see his patron the same or even less.  Camp Half-Blood simply wasn't
equipped to raise such a small child, especially one that would be alone
instead of tucked away with his half-siblings like many of the others who stay
throughout the year.
 
"I'm still the Harvest Lord."  Thanatos smiled as one of his handmaidens
stepped from the shadows, her gleaming bronze hair adding warmth to the room. 
"A few of my ladies will take turns caring for Frey and teaching him.  Once
he's old enough to train they will let you know.  Until then, he will be
watched over entirely by this lovely creature.  Heidi," he motioned her forward
as another bed appeared along with a dresser and a few women's things.  "Will
be his primary caretaker with others assisting."
 
"It is an honor, my Lord."  Heidi said with a soft smile and a nod towards the
god and centaur as she took the godling into her arms and proceeded to finish
settling him down into his crib for a much-needed nap.  Murder and mayhem and
intrigue, all in one night.  The poor mite was knackered.  "Caring for a
youngling like this will be a joy, not a duty."
 
"Heidi was a children's nurse before signing up to help in the battlefield
tents in France during the human's Great War."  Thanatos explained to the
curious Chiron.  "She is the most qualified among my ladies to care for and
love a child.  Others will come and go, to teach and train Frey or simply to
give Heidi a rest.  But she will be with him until he leaves for schooling
according to his parents' wishes, then returning every summer as he does."
 
"That will certainly make things easier."  Chiron admitted.
 
"Oh," Thanatos said with a wicked grin.  "Nothing about Frey will ever be easy
or even easier.  But his father and I consulted upon his "orphaning" and we
agreed with this course.  It is best for all involved."
 
Motioning to Heidi, he cast a look at the sleeping toddler.  "Come."   He said,
stepping out of the building.  "Frey's father wants to see him before I go and
my masking presence with me."
 
.....
 
Loki Odinson waited in the shadows as his longtime friend and companion of his
lone daughter Hela stepped outside, taking his son's new trainer and caretaker
with him, grief filling him.
 
The Potters were two of the lone Midgard inhabitants that gave his jaded heart
hope for the future.  Most were still ignorant, rough, rude creatures but
mischievous James with his Marauders and lovely, kind Lily were two apart. 
That that fool Dumbledore was at this moment setting things in place that would
have the last two loyal Marauders segregated from Frey - as he doesn't know and
Frigga-willing won't find out about Frey missing - filled him with wrath. 
Remus and Sirius were true believers and followers of Loki, like James.  And
due to a prophecy that would rule his son's life if he allowed it and the rules
enforced by his father Odin, Loki couldn't do a damned thing about it.
 
All he could do was collude with Thanatos to have Frey removed from the
situation and use his not inconsiderable power to keep the aging Headmaster
from learning of Frey's location in a place other than where he left him.
 
Petunia Evans-Dursley.
 
What a waste of human flesh.
 
If Lily was a bright beacon of hope to his jaded self then Petunia was a sop to
his disdain, being everything he hates about humans.
 
He would usher in the end of days before he would allow that woman, that
creature, to come within ten feet of his son.
 
 
He wasn't going to let Frey be used by a Fate.  He's already lost Hela because
of Fate, Odin casting her down into Helheim, banishing her for no more crime
than that of being born.  If he wanted Frey to become the strong, powerful
warrior, mage, and god the Norns foresaw upon his birth, Loki was going to have
to bend the rules.  In truth Frey doesn't belong at Camp Half-Blood, it being
the province of Greek demigods.  But thanks to Thanatos, he now has a
legitimate place here and the legal protections he would need among the wizards
to continue to stay here once he started attending school.
 
 
Loki sighed as he stared down at his son.
 
There wasn't much he regretted about the pact between himself and the late
Potters that gave birth to his beautiful son but that clause is something he
wished he could undo.
 
Potters go to Hogwarts.
 
 
The End.
 
While the Harvest Maidens could train his mind and to an extent some of his
abilities, Chiron could make a legendary warrior of him, and Thanatos could
share his wealth of wisdom, only Loki himself could train his magics outside of
a wizarding school.  Once a year or maybe twice if he's lucky isn't enough time
to train him fully, even with the help of the Potter and Peverell writings and
texts.  Frey had to go to a wizarding school.
 
Beauxbatons would make a statesman and diplomat of him, training him with a
grace and elegance.
 
Drumstrang would make a warrior and general of him, lashing his power to his
will.
 
But Potters were for Hogwarts, where their ability to bring out the best in
their student was only outshine by their ability to enhance the worst traits of
their students.  If Loki had left things alone, Hogwarts, especially
Dumbledore, would've taken a hero and made a martyr.  Now he could only hope
that the next ten years worth of work coupled to summers returning here would
prevent the worst of the old coot's meddling.  He could only hope.
 
Frey Haraldr Lokison would be no man's martyr.
 
Loki himself would guarantee it.
 
Bright green eyes, a few shades lighter than Lily's own emerald and more in
line with Loki's own shade of Avada Kedavra green, peered up sleepily at Loki's
hovering form, pulling him from his thoughts.
 
"Far."  A little voice said, confused.  Little Harry/Frey wasn't used to seeing
his Far outside of his dreams where Loki would peek in from time-to-time and
cuddle or play games with his young son.  It wasn't the same as being there,
but it was what they had.
 
"Morning, little prince."  Loki crouched down and lifted Frey's sturdy little
body into his wiry arms, reveling in the feel of his son.
 
"Mama."  He looked around in worry at the new surroundings.  Bad things came in
the night, hurt his Mama and made his Daddy yell.  Bad things.  A bad man.
 
Closing his eyes in pain, Loki held him close a moment before looking down into
the too-old eyes of his son.  Seeing death at such young an age...
 
"Mama is in Valhalla, little prince."  Loki said softly.  And she was.  He'd
checked.  While James was in Elysium among his family, Lily'd preferred Frigga
to Hera and Odin to Zeus.  Her own, er, encounters with Loki only cemented that
belief.  Although he was sure that if Thanatos had been given the option by the
Valkyries he would've taken her as one of his own Handmaidens.
 
"Daddy?"
 
"Elysium."
 
A little lip began to tremble as his young mind recalled what little he'd been
taught about those places.  People who go there don't come back.  Not ever.
 
"Far!"  This time it was a mournful sound as the little one buried his head
into his Father's silken Asgardian doublet, tears finally unleashing in a
torment of sobs.
 
"Shhh, little prince."  Loki rubbed one lean hand along his son's back and gave
him a kiss on the head, voice lowering in conviction over his next words. 
"It's all going to be alright, Frey.  Far will watch over you.  It's all going
to be okay."
 
.....
***** Two *****
Chapter Two
 
.....
 
Seven year old Frey Lokison danced in place as he waited anxiously for his Far
and his Grim (as he'd taken to calling Thanatos after hearing Chiron ribbing
the Death god over his mortal cover).  Every year since his parents - his other
parents - died he got to spend time with his Far on his birthday and with both
his Far and his Grim on All Hallows Eve.  Thanks to an artifact Chiron "loaned"
Frey's father that was a gift from Chiron's father - the Titan of Time - those
two visits a year wound up being a little longer than a single night or a
single day.
 
During that time none of them need to eat, or sleep, or anything other than
spending time together, more time than they would normally have.  On All
Hallows they limited it to only a week, spent mostly teaching Frey about
Wizarding traditions from both the general culture and the Peverell and Potter
family histories with Loki inserting knowledge about the magics behind the
traditions and what things are similar or different between Asgard and
Midgard.  But first they perform three rituals, all to honor the dead and loved
ones lost.  They start with the general All Hallows Eve ritual that both the
Peverells and Potters still follow, Olde Magic, before undergoing the Greek one
for family in Elysium to honor James and then the Asgardian for Lily.
 
It was the one time of year where Frey felt connected with his other parents.
 
The rest of the year was devoted to his studies with Heidi and the other
Harvestmaidens.  Even though he was blessed by Grim and Far's son he still
needed a solid eight hours of sleep, which was about two hours less than a
human seven year old child.  His Far told him that he would keep needing less
and less sleep until he "froze" into his immortality.  Living forever sounded
fun to him, he'd get to spend time with his Far and sometimes Grim and finally
meet his Uncle Thor and his Grandparents and his Far's friend Lady Sif.  But he
also understood something else.  That he would never get to spend time with his
Mama or Daddy in Elysium or Valhalla.
 
Far had gone to the Potter home in Godric's Hallow and collected the family
albums and the wardstones that would allow Frey to access the Potter estates
when he was older.  It helped keep his other parents alive in his memory.  A
mother that loved him enough to sacrifice her life on the chance to save him
and an adoptive father who loved his mother enough to make a deal with a god to
give her a son and continue his family line then fought a madman to try and
give his wife and son time to escape.  His other parents were heroes, just like
Grim said he would be one day.
 
Frey didn't quite know what to make of that.  He was only seven after all, the
youngest "camper" at Camp Half-Blood he'd rather spend time with the naiads in
the lake than studying Wizarding laws and etiquette with Heidi or learning
archery and swordplay with the older campers than philosophy and social-
political fundamentals with Chiron.  Frey for all that he was younger knew that
he was different from the others.  Most just had their home-study programs for
regular school so that the ones who stay here with him all year can graduate
one day and go to college once their monster draw fades.  He was different.  He
was learning all of that, reading, writing, mathematics, Ancient Greek and Olde
English and Norse, plus all the "hero" classes.  But he had other things to
learn to.  The different things.
 
The Lord things.  That's who he was, thanks to his Daddy.  Lord Potter.
 
How to manage an estate.  How to know friend from acquaintance from foe from
influence-seekers.  How to wield political power in a way that matches his
ideals and doesn't offend his conscience.  All things Lords need to know to
survive plus all the things he needs to know to fit in.  Things like dancing,
what Heidi calls "social graces", horseback riding both on horses and pterippi,
and what Chiron calls "noble arts" like how not to offend an important guest
even if they're both his enemy and rude.  Plus poetry, art, and lots of other
things.
 
Then there were the birthday visits with his Far where they fit a month inside
a day with Chiron's gift.
 
A month every year where Loki tries to teach his son things even more above and
beyond than his current curriculum.  But that was expected.  Frey wasn't a
normal child with normal expectations but the expectations they had for him
weren't completely unreasonable either.  No one expected him to be a statesman
and warrior and poet all at seven years of age.  No.  They were merely laying
the foundation for later in his life when all the little things they taught him
now would combine into a much larger picture.  Frey would be the very essence
of both a modern-day renaissance man and an olde-world gentleman and warrior.
 
He would be a Prince of Asgard and Lord Potter, he would have responsibilities
in two worlds with two different sets of expectations.  And while good manners
are good manners wherever one roams, it's the little nuances that separate one
born into a life from one who didn't quite belong.  It was those little things
that would be the difference between his little prince being treated like a
Prince and Lord or like a second-class citizen who never quite measures up to
the rest.  Raised in Midgard or not, Loki'd be damned first before he allowed
some of the bigots in Asgard to make his son feel shamed for any reason.
 
Part of his birthday "month" was always spent in pure fun for both divine-
father and godling-son.  Playing with their magics.  Loki while born with much
of his own, only became God of Magic after being trained in the arts by his
mother Frigga and blessed later by Magic herself.  He was uniquely suited to
helping a wizard-born godling learn and grow in his magics.  And with the
warding surrounding Camp Half-Blood, no one was ever the wiser.
 
.....
 
"Far!"  Frey rushed towards the shadows as Thanatos and Loki stepped from them
and into the cabin.  A once rather sparse large room with its weapons and black
walls, over the years toys and mementos of a child's presence slowly crept in,
creating a unique sense of both might and warmth.  From the pretty multicolored
glass orbs that Loki and Frey use in their magic practice to the leopard skin
rugs that Grim brought back from a trip to "collect" a poacher, there were
signs of life all around.
 
"My little prince," Loki swooped up his son into his arms beaming a smile up at
him as he took in the small signs of growth and maturation that have occurred
in the last three months since he's seen him.  To Thanatos's eyes he's change
even more, shooting up another couple inches from his visit last All Hallows
Eve.
 
"You're getting big."  The Death god observed as he plucked the child from the
air as Loki tossed him in a habit that he would be far too old and big for if
the ones tossing him about like a Quaffle weren't gods.  "I almost didn't
recognize you this time."
 
Frey grinned and rolled his bright green eyes.  With Loki's genes and not
living in a dark place, he'd never developed a need for glasses.
 
"You always say that!"
 
"And it's always true."  Thanatos swung the child before placing him back on
his own two feet.  "One of these times I'm going to show up and not even know
you anymore."
 
"Mmm."  Frey hummed under his breath and cocking his head to one side.  "Regina
from the Apollo cabin said that I'm going to be bigger than Far one day."
 
The gods traded a glance.  Apollo was the Greek patron of many things, not the
least of which was prophecy.  It's not unheard-of for one of his many, many
children to have at least a touch of foresight.
 
"She did, did she?"  Loki arched a brow as they settled down onto the furs
before the fire and set up Chiron's device.  "What else did Regina say?"
 
"That I'm like you but I'm like my, my..."  Frey frowned thinking back to the
exact wording she used.  Regina was almost a grown-up and sometimes used words
he didn't know yet.  "Tempest-us,"
 
"Tempestuous?"  Loki prompted thinking about his stormy brother Thor.  Heart of
gold but a temper to shake the heavens themselves.  He winced.  Lily had a
devil's temper and Loki wasn't known for being a forgiving man.  With that
combination Frey could just as easily be the god of Grudges as of Heroes or
whatever his designation will be.  Not even the Norns who he consulted in
absolute secrecy can foresee what type of god Frey will be.
 
"That's the word."  Frey nodded.  "Tempestuous uncle, but in good ways.  She
said that I'll be tall and strong, like you and uncle combined."
 
"That's all good things, Frey."  Thanatos smiled at him.  A dark-haired green-
eyed god that split the difference in height and muscle mass between Loki and
Thor?  He would be magnificent as a mature man.
 
Frey frowned.  "She said something else too."  He said slowly, thinking hard. 
"That just because my path is straight and true doesn't mean that it's not
dangerous and dark.  That there are things in the shadows that could help or
hurt me and that not everything in the Light is as it seems.  That I'll be both
hunter and hunted of those closest to me and those I've never met."
 
"It sounds like Regina was trying to scare you with her gift."  Loki growled a
moment, eyes glowing.  Who the hells tells a seven year old that his path will
be "dangerous and dark?"
 
"No."  Frey said after a moment with a sigh before grinning brightly up at the
two most important beings in his world.  "She said that I just have to have
faith in me and in you, Far.  Then everything will turn out right."
 
"Excellent."  Thanatos clapped his hands, wanting to get the topic off of
prophecy as quickly as possible.  There's already been too much soothsaying
around Frey already, he'd have to talk to Chiron about watching the Apollos and
especially this Regina around Frey.  "Nothing to worry about then."
 
"Nope."  Frey grinned, almost bouncing in place as Loki set up the ritual
space.  "Nothing to worry about."
 
.....
 
Nine year old Frey wiggled in excitement in his spot by the window in the
camp's van.  They were on their way to their annual visit at the Natural
History Museum for the kids who stay over during the year and this is the first
time he was old enough and with enough training to go.  Silena from the
Aphrodite cabin told him all about it this summer when she was visiting and her
brothers and sisters were helping Heidi with his etiquette training.
Frey likes archery with the Apollos and his bladed weaponry training with the
Ares' better but no one was nicer than the Aphrodites.  To him at least.  When
he gets bigger that'll change according to his Far, when the girls start
noticing him as a boy and the “boys start seeing him as competition due to
their own inferiority” at least that's what Far says.  It's kinda weird to
think about but with how the other campers treat the girls from the Aphrodite
cabin sometimes it's easy to believe.
Even though girls are still icky.
Except for the Ares girls...but he's still not sure if they really count as
girls.
Silena told him all about the two places he wants to see the most: the
butterfly exhibit with the thousands and thousands of butterflies and the
Hayden Planetarium.  One of the things Chiron was starting to teach him was
astronomy and how to read the stars.  Frey wanted to see if he could spot the
World Tree or one of the Bifrost's portals in the maps and exhibits in the
Planetarium.
To finally see something of his Far's world.
Heidi even agreed to let him go alone!
As long as he stays close to one of the older campers.  His favorite is one of
the satyrs named Grover.  Grover is really young for a satyr but he's in
training to be a Seeker like his uncle, getting a chance to go and search out
the Elder god Pan.  He's one of the only people Frey spends time around during
the year that's not either one of his actual trainers/caretakers or in their
teens.
The satyr might still be a lot older than him but not in a way that makes Frey
feel like a pest if he hangs around outside of lessons.
It's better during the summers when there's lots of campers, but during the
year it can be weird.  Chiron said that soon they should be getting more
younger campers during the year, that birth of demigods tends to work in cycles
according to events on Olympus.
More people to try and make friends with sounds good to him.
…..
 
Okay he takes it back.  Frey thought to himself.  The Museum is huge and not as
much fun when you can't see over anything to find your friends or one of your
teachers.
He's going to catch so much hell for this from Grover.  And that's before his
Far and the rest of the camp find out.  At least he has the better part of two
months before his birthday, Heidi won't be so wound up from him getting lost
after some time has passed and she might not rat him out too badly to his Far. 
Might.
Looking around he spotted one of those “you are here” maps that every public
place seemed to have.  Heidi taught him about those the last time they needed
to go shopping.  She wanted something new to wear for Grim.
And Frey learned one of the best lessons of his life so far.
Never go shopping with a woman with that look on their face.  Never again.
Finding his place on the map he traced one finger along it looking for one of
the three places where Chiron said groups were to meet up.
The Hall of Amphibians and Reptiles.
Good, there's one.
Rushing through the corridors, he finally came to a quieter hall with bunches
of glass display cases showing off different species.  Spotting a fifteen-foot-
long crocodile he grinned.  Found it.
“Frey!”  A voice shouted, the person hurrying over as fast as he can with the
crutches he has to use outside of camp.
“Grover!”  Frey waved, smiling.  “I think I spent to long in the Planetarium
and the others didn't even notice I wasn't still with them.”
Grover smiled and tapped his young friend on the back of the head.
“That's what you get for having your head in the clouds.”  He teased.  “I was
worried when I saw your Apollo buddies without you.  They were too, no one
wants to take on your patron you know.”
Frey rolled his eyes.  Everyone was sooo scared of Grim or “Lord Thanatos” as
everyone else calls him.  When a god saves you from living a miserable – and
horrifically short – life there's not much to be scared of.
Before he could tease the older satyr over what to him is a silly fear, a faint
hissing caught his ear, accompanied by the sound of scales scraping on tile.
“You hear that?”  Grover asked as he started backing them towards the exit,
noticing for the first time the lack of normal mortals in the exhibition hall.
Eyes darting around the room, searching the shadows for danger, Frey gave a
short nod as he pulled a dagger with a gleaming black blade from its sheath in
the small of his back.  Adrenaline and no small amount of irritation were
coursing through his lanky prepubescent body.
“You know.”  He observed idly to Grover as the satyr took out a club from his
pack.  “This really sucks.  And whatever is coming is pissing me off.”
“What?”  Grover chuckled incredulously.  Leave it to “Death's munchkin” as the
Hermes campers dubbed Frey to get pissy over a looming monster attack.
“Seriously.”  Frey's voice was hardening as the creature began creeping from
the shadows.  “You know how long and how hard I had to lobby Heidi to get to
come on this trip?  And that was after I got tentative approval from my Far and
Grim.  After a dumbass monster decides to take me on on my first trip off-camp
I'm never going to be able to leave again.  I'm nine.  I need to be free to
explore and see things besides camp.  And this bastard is ruining it!”
A hissy chuckle sounded as the monster stepped firmly into the light, causing
the two much-smaller forms to cringe.  Scaly with a thick body and three
elongated triangular heads, it looked like some kinda of giant Komodo dragon. 
Which really sucked because a Komodo dragon's jaws could crack bone and their
bacterial-cesspit-mouths were the closest thing to a deadly poison you could
get without actually having venom glands.
“Grover?”  Frey asked, horrified at what he was seeing.  “What the heck is
that?”
“That,” Grover said after taking a deep breath, trying to control his utter
terror.  “Is one of the three-headed hydras.”
Frey blinked.
“Like Heracles's hydra?”
“Nope.  This is one of that hydra's many, many offspring.  Looks like this time
the King Hydra got busy with a komodo dragon.”
“Oh, goody.”  Frey said his voice faint as the monster crept closer and
closer.  “How do I kill it?”
“Hydra, hydra, hydra.”  Grover thought furiously.  He knows this, he knows he
does, but he's never functioned well under pressure.
“Anytime now Grover.”  Frey yelped as he dodged to the side to avoid a strike
from one of the heads as it hissed again.  Only this time Frey understood what
it was saying.
§Heroes.  Silly little heroes to leave your nest.  Yes.  Silly little heroes. 
Komo eats silly heroes.  Been sooo long since Komo was lassst free.§
“Grover.”  Frey's voice was pure warning as he and the satyr darted all around
the exhibition hall to avoid the monster's strikes.  “It wants us for lunch. 
How do I kill it?”
“Hydra.  Hydras' heads grow back in sets of three.”  Grover grunted out as he
dove behind a display of crocodile remains from the iron age.  “You either have
to hit the heart or cut off the heads and cauterize the wound at the same
time.”
“Fantastic.”  Frey hissed as he used his smaller and more agile body to dart
under the massive thing.  “Grover, I want you to go for the door and get
Chiron, hells get anyone.  I don't think I can take out this thing on my own. 
I'll distract it.”
“Freyyy.”  Grover whined.  “You're only nine.  That's not a good idea.”
“You got a better one?”  The demigod demanded while dancing to and fro under
the beast.  “There's tons of innocent bystanders that are going to be Purina-
Hydra-Chow if we don't kill this thing.  Get moving.”
“You're the hero-in-training.”  Grover sighed as he skidded to a stop at the
doors.  Turning to look back he stared at the sight of the tiny child dancing
around the monster like he was playing a game of hopscotch.  “Pan's blessing be
upon you, Frey Haraldr.”  He whispered before darting out the door, hoping that
there would still be something left save by the time he found someone to help. 
Thanatos is going to kill him.  Dead.  Grover is soo dead.
Panting slightly in exertion as he forced his little body to dart and weave
around the hydra's legs while keeping out of striking range of the three heads,
Frey thought quickly.  He can't use his magic.  That's a no-go.  Even with the
Mist, wizards can still pick up on his magic use when he's outside of the
camp's wards.  That leaves him with the gifts from his Far and Grim.
The heart.  A voice that sounded soft and sweet, like the one that he hears in
his dreams sometimes, whispered through his mind.  Pierce the heart.  Center of
the chest under the left-most head.
Okay then.  He'll take Advice-from-the-Ether for Two-Thousand, Alex.  Here's
hoping he's still alive for his Far to punish after this.  Focusing on the
power he got from his Far instead of from his other parents, Frey summoned his
last birthday gift from his Far to his hand, the adolescent-sized sword modeled
after his Potter house only with a shining black blade of Stygian steel instead
of Mithril and a great ruby with the Potter sigil carved in it on the pommel
coming instantly to his hand.  Pouring on the speed, he pretended he was
running the gauntlet with the Ares campers or racing against Chiron in his
normal form, racing for the display case opposite the hydra.
§What are you doing, silly hero?  Come back so Komo can eat you.§  The hydra –
Komo – darted his right head out after the fleeing form.
Jumping up and pushing off with one foot against the bullet-proof glass, Frey
twisted in mid-air in a move his Far had spent the better part of their last
visit teaching him.  Blades angled down, his sword sliced through the center
and left heads like butter, buying him precious time as the right head course
corrected and darted towards him.
To no avail.
Frey landed bang-on target, his sword slowing his descent down the monster's
chest as he thrust his dagger home in the creature's heart as the center and
left heads started to reform.  The creature crumpled to the ground, almost
squashing the boy under it as the doors banged open, revealing a panting Grover
and an implacable Chiron as Frey wriggled his way out from under his first
kill.
Giving the youngling a short, approving nod, Chiron spoke.
“Don't think that because you won we're not going to revisit proper techniques
for monster-slaying, young Frey.”  The trainer's voice was dryer than the
Sahara.  “Or that I won't be telling your patron that you sent off the older
and more experienced guide while you stayed behind.”
“Yes, sir.”  Frey said, voice small.
“That being said.”  Chiron waved one hand towards the carcass as he arched a
brow.  “Aren't you forgetting something?”
Frey frowned for a second before grinning.  He couldn't be blamed for
forgetting for awhile...this is the first time he's face a monster on his own,
although he's seen it done before when monsters would attack camp in the
summer.
“I, Frey Haraldr, ward of Thanatos, offer this sacrifice as tribute to my
divine parent.”
Chiron nodded, pleased.  Something tells him that young Frey knows exactly who
his divine parent is and is only hedging because of his audience.  Either way
it was well done of him to offer the hydra to his parent instead of his
guardian.
As Frey finished speaking, a golden shimmer surrounded the slain monster before
it vanished, leaving only something small and inky black in its place.
“What's that?”  Grover asked as he and Chiron made their way over to the now-
crouching Frey, cocking his head to try and get a better look at the bundle
which turned out to be something wrapped in black cloth.
Frey looked up at them with a grin as he held up the gift.  He'd heard of kids
getting gifts from their godly parents when they've done or offered up
something particularly pleasing but didn't think he'd ever get something like
that since he was closer to his Far than most demigods were with their diving
parents.  Now he's gotten a battle spoil too.
“It's a hydra-skin sheath,” Frey grinned.  “For my dagger.”
 
.....
 
“And what have we learned about adventuring with Grover?”  Chiron arched a brow
at the now ten-year-old Frey as he continued prepping the boy-would-be-warrior
for his second trip out of camp...and his first real mission.
He's come along way in the last year and a half from his first venture out into
the real world.  Killing the hydra was more dumb-luck and sheer foolhardy
bravado than any actual skill, something he's worked hard to correct in the
youngling.  The reaction of Thanatos wasn't what the centaur had expected
either, the ancient being simply laughing at the “minor scuffle” and reporting
that the lad's divine-father and his father's brothers had gotten into much
worse at Frey's age.  Chiron hesitated to ask just what “worse” could be.
Something tells him he doesn't truly want to know.
“Whatever can go wrong, will.”  Frey answered partly serious and partly cheeky.
Chiron held in a snort.  Murphy's Law could be renamed “Grover's Law” as far as
the Cloven Council was concerned.  He spent almost as much time trying to keep
them from firing Grover from being a guide as he does keeping Frey from getting
into fights with the satyr elders who offend the youngling's sense of fair
play.
“Young Grover was sent out to guide a trio of demigods to Camp Half-Blood days
ago and hasn't returned.  The last we heard from him he was running from a
warehouse in Brooklyn.”  Chiron said, voice turning serious as he pinned Frey
with his gaze.  “You're the best trained fighter we have healthy right now.” 
Which was true, most of the older year-rounders were down with some form of flu
that Frey didn't seem to be affected by thanks to his Wizarding heritage. 
“Your job is to find Grover and his charges and get them to Camp.  Frey.”
Bright green eyes looked up at him, his youthfully round face on display with a
stoic expression, his wild back-length hair held back in the Norse warrior-
braids he favored.
“One of the demigods is the daughter of Zeus.”
Frey's eyes widened comically as he sucked in a breath.
“The compact...?”
Chiron nodded.
“Zeus broke it.  Hades is furious and has unleashed his servants on the young
girl.  They have to get to camp, Frey.”
His young charge nodded firmly before listening with care as Chiron described
the group's last-known location, a mere ten miles away, before stepping into
the shadows as Grim had taught him and shifting himself to the given location.
Among Artemis's huntresses.
 
…..
 
“He'll only disappoint you.”  Zoe was saying spitefully as Frey stepped out
from the shadows, making the young godling roll his eyes.  The huntresses don't
visit often – thankfully – but when they do it takes weeks for the guys at camp
to stop being cranky and the satyrs to stop acting weird.  Frey didn't see the
big deal.  So they don't like guys.
Big deal.
He doesn't like pizza despite Grover's best efforts but you don't see him
complaining about pizza to everyone he meets or yelling at people because they
like pizza.
Heidi says that the huntresses are what you get when a bunch of bitter teen-
aged drama-queens gain immortality.
That doesn't really give Frey hope for when he finally gets to go to Asgard.
“Brzztsssp.”  Frey blew a raspberry at the leader of the huntresses when
Artemis wasn't around, drawing the attention of both groups.
“Argh.”  Zoe growled rolling her eyes.  “Go away little boy.”
“No problem ice-princess.”  Frey grinned brightly.  “As soon as Grover and Co.
are ready to go.”
“Frey, my man.”  Grover trotted over to his buddy's side.  “Chiron sent you?”
Frey nodded as he got a good look at Grover's newest charges.  Not a bad group,
a couple even had weapons with the girl who must be Zeus's kid fiddling with
one of Hephaestus's shield-watches.
“Seriously?”  Thalia couldn't believe it.  First the “ice-princess” tries to
get her to abandon her friends and now this...little kid came to help them? 
This is their back-up?  “You're just a little boy.”
Rolling his eyes, Frey unsheathed his sword, the same one he used to cut off
two of Komo's heads.  With a pointed look at mini-Zeus's leg, he spoke up as
the huntresses started heading off.
“I'm in better shape than you are and I don't have Hades's minions out for my
blood.”  He motioned in the direction of camp with his sword.  “There's a whole
lot of hellhounds between here and safety, Ms. Thing.  Plus all three of the
Furies.  If you want your boyfriend and the little one to make it to the
boundary in one piece, you're going to need my help.”
Narrowing his eyes at the little-dude with a big attitude, Luke took in the
easy grip on the sword and the calm demeanor.  There was more to this kid than
met the eye.  And he was right about the monsters, that's for sure.
“But...”
“Lead the way.”  Luke cut off Thalia with a look.  “Another sword is always
useful.”
Frey nodded, accepting that they'll take his help.
“Can she run?”  He asked him.
Thalia grimaced both at being ignored and at her wound.
“Not very well and not for very long.”  She admitted.
Reaching around Frey grabbed one of the potions Heidi had been drilling him on,
having him make large batches of it over and over until he'd memorized it.  It
was one of the easier but still effective healing potions, always a good thing
for a hero-training-camp to have on hand.  Tossing it to the girl he shook his
head at her suspicious look after she caught it.
“Drink it or don't.  I don't really care.”  He said with a shrug.  “It won't
heal you but it will help get you to camp.  Your call.”
With a pissy look on her face Thalia knocked it back, gagging on the rancid
taste as Frey chivvied them into motion.
Five miles has never been longer to the boy than it was right now, with a
little girl and an older one wounded and a ton of monsters between here-and-
there.
 
…..
 
“Run Annabeth!”  Thalia screamed as she fought off another hellhound.  “The
arch is right there!”
It'd been a hard five miles, just as hard as Frey thought it would be.  It was
a small but mixed blessing that the monsters were focusing all their energy on
Zeus's daughter, Thalia he'd learned.  It freed him up for doing damage and
helping the little girl Annabeth but was seriously impacting his ability to
save Thalia's arse.
Or his own for that matter.
“Luke!”  He shouted as he gutted another hound.  “Grab Annabeth and get across
the boundary!”
Not looking to see if the older boy would listen or not, Frey got back to his
original mission: getting Thalia to camp.  Slipping one arm around her waist –
and thankful that she hasn't gotten her grown spurt yet – Frey helped prop her
up as he switched his sword into his off-hand.  Together they hobbled towards
the wards, her using her shield, Aegis, while he sliced and diced his way
through the monsters.  They were within feet when they heard a shrill scream.
Quickly scanning, Frey noted Grover and Luke over the wards with Luke hanging
onto Annabeth with one hand.  The little girl was in the grasp of a Fury and
struggling to get loose and through the wards.  Thalia reacted just as Frey
went to pull them inside the wards.
“Hey!  Ugly!”  She shouted, throwing her shield like a discus and nearly
decapitating the Fury who released her hold on her prize.
Pulling Luke toppled backwards at the sudden release, leaving Annabeth safely
withing the wards.
And Thalia shield-less and on the wrong side of them.
In a rare show of intelligence, a hellhound leaped forward, fangs ripping into
Thalia's now-unprotected side as Frey hauled her to safety, his sword slashing
down and taking the beast's head.
But it was too late.
Frey stared down at the wounded and dying girl in his arms as her friends
rushed over, crying as she struggled to breath.  He held back his own tears as
he looked up at Grover, the satyr staring down at him in gentle understanding.
“It's a rough lesson.”  Grover said as he squatted next to the dying girl. 
“But it's one that every guide and hero learns.  I just wish you didn't have to
learn it so soon.”
“Wha...,” Frey coughed back his tears.  He didn't even really like Thalia. 
Hells he didn't even know her.  Not outside of what she did to save Annabeth. 
“What's that?”
“That no matter how good you are, how strong or smart or fast.”  Grover tucked
a piece of Thalia's hair behind her ear, speaking lowly to avoid catching the
attention of the girl's mourning friends.  “Or how powerful you or your dad is,
there's always going to be someone you can't save.  All you can hope for is
that that person isn't yourself, so that you can go on fighting and trying to
save the next person and the person after that and the person after that.”
Frey snuffled back his sobs.
“That's a shitty lesson, Grover.”  He said, fire returning to his eyes as he
stared at the remains of all the monsters.  “And I don't feel like learning
it.  Not today.”
Standing he traded his sword for his dagger, the same one he slew the hydra
with, and sliced open his hand, invoking an ancient rite as Chiron and the
other campers rushed over to them.
“I, Frey Haraldr, offer up this offering of mine own blood and tribute of every
beast I slew this day, to Zeus, King of Olympus.  That He might find love in
his heart for his blood-child, Thalia Grace, and spare her Hades's fire.”
As the last drop of his blood hit Thalia's ruined shirt, thunder crashed over
head causing all present to look up at the heavens.
All but Frey, who was forced to shut his eyes as Thalia was struck by her
father's lightening.  When he opened them, where a dying girl once stood was
now a tall, strong pine tree with a lightening bolt carved into the bark.
“Is she?”  Annabeth cried into Luke's jacket.  “Is she...?”
Grover put one hand on the tree, listening hard.  A smile split his face as he
turned to look at his young friend.
“She's alive.”  He said, wonder in his voice.  “He listened to you, Frey.  He
saved her.  She's a tree...but she's alive.”
.....
 
Loki stepped from the shadows into his son's home inside the wards of Camp
Half-Blood and crept silently over to the form cuddled up in the middle of the
massive king-sized bed.  He could barely catch sight of his son amidst the
black spider-silk sheets and the myriad furs that were gifts from Thanatos from
his many travels.  The Greek had taken his duty to Frey seriously these past
ten years, more seriously than Loki had ever thought to hope, and his
Harvestmaidens had taken excellent care of him when neither of them could.
He could say much the same of the centaur.  He'd long respected their abilities
to read the stars but many of their kind tended towards extremes, bouncing
between utter disarray like the “Party Ponies” or complete stoicism like the
herd that lives in the Forbidden Forest.  There were few and far between that
struck a balance between the two, Chiron and Firenze between two among a
handful that Loki could bring to mind.  The hero trainer had done well by Frey,
very well if his performance against the hellhounds from the previous winter
was any indication.  He'd relied far less on blind luck and much more on his
skill – hammered into him by both the camp trainers, the Harvestmaidens, and
Thanatos and Loki themselves – to surprising results.
And that was before he took into account his actions to save Zeus's daughter. 
That was a heavy debt the Olympian leader owed, one that won't be easily
balanced.
Yes, they've all done well with him and he's begun turning into the warrior
prince that Loki always saw within him.
But soon he would have to go away and finish training that other part of
himself, the part of him that itched and yearned to break free.
On the night Thanatos spirited Loki's son from underneath Dumbledore's nose,
he'd sensed something sinister afoot.  Something more than the soul-fragment
that was trying to bond to his son.  Time and observation had proved Loki's
observation true.
Frey's magics had been bound.
Most often done when a child is in danger of catastrophic accidental magic,
binding their magic lets their bodies grow stronger to be better able to
contain and channel the raw forces at their disposal.
Except Frey, from what Loki had spied out when clandestinely keeping an eye on
his son and his mortal parents, had no problems controlling his magic.  The
opposite actually.  Frey's control was innate, near perfect, even at a few
months after birth.  A thought proven when while watching Sirius gambol about
the room as a big black dog, Frey spontaneously shifted into the form of a
cat.  A cat that later turned out to be a jaguar kitten, rather than a full-
grown house cat.  Such transformation required exquisite control.
It boggled the mind that someone would bind the powers of such a talented
child.
And it had the magical finger-prints of Albus Dumbledore all over it.
Perhaps the Headmaster was threatened by his son's early signs of power. 
Perhaps he didn't want the child to perform accidental magic in the abusive
muggle cesspit he tried to dump him in.  Perhaps there was another reason
behind it.
There really wasn't anyway to know.
It simply left Loki with a conundrum.  Frey would be perfectly capable of
performing magic to the same standard as other children close to his age with
his core still bound.  Which is an option if they don't want Dumbledore to
become even more suspicious than he already will be over Frey's guardianship.
Or...
Loki could undo the binding, releasing the full measure of Frey's power which
was operating at about ten percent of his whole as things stand.  If he'd been
left alone, he'd have about half of his total current magical core strength. 
Apparently when his core was bound he still was trying to perform magics
supposedly beyond his age and his core grew to compensate for it.  Growing so
that if all he could draw on was ten percent, it would be ten percent of a more
powerful whole.
But if Loki undid the binding he would have to spend all the rest of the summer
with his son and hoping that no one on Asgard would notice.  Even then they
would still need to use Chiron's gift to gain extra time.  Frey would just be
too powerful to unleash on the world without Loki being damn sure of his
control being sufficient.
Plus there were still what his son had taken to calling “Princely Primer
Programs” to get through, his training for Asgard and Wizarding society.
Staring down at his son Loki smiled when the boy snuffled and turned over in
his sleep, showing his strong features that even at one-day-off-eleven were
beginning to hint at the handsome man he would be.  His face was thinning out,
not as round as it used to be, with hints of Loki's own sharp cheekbones and
piercing eyes.  The rest of him was all Lily, generous mouth, elegant nose and
chin, smooth forehead.  Only the firm jawline showed any hint of James, the one
remnant of his minuscule amount of Potter blood.
It was there in his body too.  Tall for his age at five-three, he was strong
with it at a firm one hundred and ten pounds with no sign of extra fat on him. 
Daily weapons practice, running with Chiron, and flying on the pterippi gave
him strong, lean muscles with none of the brutish bulk of his uncle Thor as a
child.
Frey Haraldr Lokison was a child and heir any man – or god – would be proud to
claim.
Only Loki couldn't claim him.
He wouldn't be able to until Frey reached his physical peak and “froze” into
his immortality in the way of godlings.  His son and one joy was still all-too
vulnerable until that day, likely more than a decade off.  It was unbearable,
this infernal waiting.
But for this summer at least, if Frey agreed, they could be together.
He'd arranged things neatly with Thor and Sif, created a cover story about him
being off on a knowledge-seeking hunt.  Granted they don't know it's only a
story.  But it would work and that's what counts.
By the end of summer, Frigga willing, his son would be as ready and powerful as
Loki can make him.  Using Chiron's gift to the max would give them roughly
three years in the space of just over a month.  A month a day for thirty-odd
days.  It would have to do.
Frey already had the mind of a child much older between Chiron's gift usage and
his run-ins with monsters and battling hellhounds to save a demigoddess.
That was the way of it sometimes with Asgardian children.  They rarely stay
children for long, especially if they're born into the nobility like himself
and his son.  It wasn't a pretty fact of life but it was real.
His son couldn't afford to stay as a child not anymore, not with them still
going in blind as far as much of the Wizarding world was concerned.
Not the least of the challenges would be getting his son to answer to Harry
again, let alone what it's going to be like for a fifteen-year-old's brain to
be stuck in an eleven-year-old's body...even if that body was mature for its
age.
“Far?”  Frey asked sleepily as his eyes cracked open.  “It's not my birthday
yet, that's tomorrow.”
“I know, little prince.”  Loki felt a pang over the favored nickname that
wouldn't apply very well by the end of summer.  “I came early to talk to you,
there's many things we need to discuss...”
***** Three *****
Chapter Summary
     Author's Note: I feel I should mention that in this story Harry, or
     rather Frey, will go through a wand a year. The reason behind this is
     simple, because of how I've framed the story around Death's
     relationship with the Peverells and Frey being the last of the line,
     the only wand that will truly accept him as a master is the Elder
     Wand or Deathstick from the Hallows lore. Because of that there will
     be a little scene either where I show him and Loki and/or Chiron
     fashioning his newest wand or he will think about it sometime during
     the first part of that chapter. For more information on the different
     wand woods that I use for Frey's wands, go to Pottermore which has
     J.K. Rowlings' information on wandlore.
     Oh! And my Frey/Harry is played by Ben Barnes...with AK green eyes of
     course :)
     For Frey's warrior braids: think (and yes, I know she's a girl...but
     the braids are awesome) Daneryes Targaryan's khaleesi braids from
     Game of Thrones...
     Thanks for the reviews! They feed the muse!
     ~Sif
Chapter Three
…..
 
Heidi held tight to Frey's arm, the godling showing his gentlemanly side had
offered it to her and waited for her acceptance before he side-along apparated
her to the Apparation point on Platform 9 ¾.  This was done for a reason,
allowing those who were present at the platform to assume that the bronze-
haired beauty was the one apparating her young charge instead of simply shadow-
stepping like the Harvestmaiden preferred.  They could've made it work if she'd
insisted, the woman being no fan of the squeezed-tube effect of apparating, but
in the end Chiron voted against it, the risks of being discovered doing
something so blatantly non-Wizarding too great in the condensed atmosphere of
Kings Cross Station.
Unlike when she visited Diagon Alley to collect her charge's school things,
list of supplies and Frey's current measurements well in hand along with the
key to his trust vault at Gringotts.
The latter of which shopkeepers were more than happy to charge in lieu of
galleons-in-hand when they heard the name on the vault...for a small fee of
course on the Gringotts end.  One percent was a negligible price to pay to
avoid the questions that might be asked by the Goblins over having a
Harvestmaiden shopping for one of their most prestigious customers and long-
standing accounts.  The greedy little bastards were much more vigilant and
discerning about such things than the wizards and witches that surround them.
She had to admit, she had fun doing Frey's school shopping while he was busy
with his Father.
It was the first time she was really allowed to do such a thing for the young
master, her Lord and the youngling's Father usually supplied all his needs
before they even appeared as needs.  The two of them took excellent care of the
boy in her charge.  Though Heidi admits to a nearly overwhelming curiosity
regarding the identity of Frey's Father.
There were hints of course, tells that someone, like her, who spends an
inordinate amount of time around Frey might pick up.  But they were just that:
hints.  Shadows of rumors and supposition, hardly anything concrete.
But that was the province of the gods and the little hero-in-training to sort
out and in the end none of her affair.
That however, doesn't stop her heart from pulling a little bit at the thought
of her charge being gone from September through the end of June.  Nor does it
settle the twinges she feels at knowing that in a few short years, he would be
grown and would no longer need her care and guidance at all.
She will enjoy the company of her Lord, of course.  And that of her sister
Harvestmaidens and the shadow warriors that serve Lord Thanatos.
But she'll still miss her little Frey.
Her god-in-waiting.
And what a glorious day that will be, that of Frey's ascension to the pantheon
of his birth.  She hopes that she'll be there to see it, the true fruit of her
labors.  Proof that all that has been done and that still needs doing wasn't in
vain.
A wonderful day.
Until then she still has shopping to tide her over and the wizarding shopping
district was a hoot...literally.
She purchased the finest of everything for her charge, only the best will do. 
Fine cotton and thick woolen robes for the various season, including a set of
emerald green silk formal robes so that he would be prepared if he gets invited
to a holiday ball or some-such event.  Inky-black dragonhide leather trousers –
shed skin rather than harvested, Frey would have her head if she bought the
other.  A warrior to the core even at eleven, he disliked taking the spoils of
another's kill.  Books of course, but she picked up a few extra that would help
him along on dueling, magical beasts, runes, arithmancy, divination, and
warding and combat-magics.  All subjects he's at least had exposure to but not
been thoroughly drilled on like he has charms, transfiguration, potions, and
magical plants.
Chiron had walked him through potion-making starting from when he was first old
enough to stand on a chair and stir a cauldron, the art going back well into
history and one that the hero trainer still enjoyed to this day.  It helped
that healing salves and potions could prevent the need for demigods to become
dependent on nectar and ambrosia for healing.  It wasn't unheard of for the
more battle-happy demigods and goddess to become addicted to the powerful
substances.
Whoever his father is, he'd drilled Frey quite relentlessly on charms,
transfiguration, and defensive and combat-magic, even adding it to Heidi's list
of the many, many subjects Frey needed to learn.
Visiting the apothecary was an adventure for the former-nurse, having been
steered towards one in Grey Alley, just off of the main shopping district but
not so disreputable as Knockturn Alley, by a very helpful – and nearly drooling
– clerk in the cauldron-maker's shop who'd sold her the finest of pewter
cauldrons and potion-prep tools including a variety of knives, mortars and
pestals, and stirring rods made out of many different metals and materials that
boggled her mind but that she knew Frey was pleased by.  Inside the aromatic
store, she'd been cautioned to purchase everything separately rather than just
buying one of the stock “Year 1” potions kits.  A caution she'd passed onto her
charge.
Apparently, only a few parents or students took the time to select the best
ingredients, a practice that led to them gaining higher scores in their potions
class.  Unless they were alumni or current students of one of the school's
houses called “Slytherin House”.  Either the Potions Master was biased or he
simply enjoyed marking down students due to their own laziness...or both.
For a trunk she selected the finest model they had that was still school-
appropriate.  She'd not be supplying her young, impressionable, prepubescent
charge with a ready-made bedroom or Lord Thanatos forbid, a full apartment. 
Thank-you-very-much.  But one covered in black leather – again dragonhide –
with silver fittings and her charges Wizarding initials: HJP, in silver
leaf...that was acceptable.  It had all the best charms: featherlight,
expansion, security based around Frey's blood (which they added to the lock
once she arrived back at camp), an automatic shrinking/unshrinking charm with a
tap of a wand, wheels and a handle that popped out with another wand tap on
another trigger, and five separate compartments that revealed themselves on a
turn of a key and a different password for each compartment.
She appreciated the wardrobe compartment herself, one wave of Frey's wand and
his clothes tidily arranged themselves.  No worries about her youngling looking
unkempt.  Frey, being male and therefore having very different priorities, was
a fan of the weapon's compartment.  Especially since it was one of the
compartments that was charmed against any and all magical detection by his
Father.  The magical luggage also had a standard compartment for his school
odds-and-ends with another expansion charm, and two library compartments.  One
where Frey'd arranged his school-appropriate books, including a few that Chiron
had given him when he'd started him on brewing that were rare but wouldn't
raise any flags.  The other was the second compartment charmed by Frey's Father
containing all the eyebrow raising books: curses, advanced subject matter in
all school subjects as well as combat-magics and warding, and his family
history and magic books and grimoires.
The silver dragonhide school-bag with the featherlight and expansion charms
with a hidden weapons sheath was another winner.
Much like her only purchase in Olivander's wand shop: a frightfully-expensive
basilisk-hide wand holster with undetectable, impervious, and anti-summoning
charms.
She may be nearly a century old former-muggle Harvestmaiden...but she knew what
Frey likes.
Like what she picked up after getting a telescope and star charts and other
odds-and-ends: Frey's pet, a gorgeous pure-white snowy owl with just the barest
hint of black on her wing tips.
Frey promptly hugged the life out of her and named the owl Hedwig.
Sighing, she stared wistfully down at her charge as he just about danced in
place.  He was so excited to start the next chapter of his life.
But he would be so far away.  Both from her side and her protection.  As a
Harvestmaiden Heidi was no pushover.
He was growing and soon he would be gone.
Smiling for him as he pulled away and checked to make sure he had everything
before saying goodbye, she tugged him into a quick hug, brushing one gentle
hand down his clubbed-back hair.  He looked like a proper pure-blood prince,
not a warrior's braid in sight in his dragonhide trousers and boots, a simple
fine-cotton shirt in startling white already showing signs of stretching across
his broad shoulders.  Giving him a quick kiss to his brow, just over the faint
silvery-scar, she saw him off, waving like every other parent and guardian on
the platform.
She would miss her sweet, fierce boy.
 
…..
 
Frey smiled and waved out the window of the Hogwarts Express from the empty
compartment he'd found in the back of the train.  He'd miss his caretaker. 
Heidi'd morphed from nanny to teacher to friend over the last ten years.  He'd
miss her.
Fingering the wand-holster he gave a soft smile.  But she'd made sure he would
think of her while he was gone.  He might not be able to see her like he would
Grim on All Hallows, nor his Far either, Loki's magic being far-too-powerful to
risk his shielding failing while withing the halls of the school, but she would
still be with him nonetheless.
Like his other-parents, whose memories have never faded.
Pushing his sleeve back he stared skeptically at the wand at his arm.  His Far
and Thanatos had already warned him about regulating his power and being sure
not to push too much through it.  He'd made it with guidance from one of the
elder-satyrs who used to train wizards in wand-lore before they forgot about
cloven-kind.
Ebony and a heartstring from the hydra he slew two years ago.  The first a gift
from one of the dryads, the second kept by his Far for this day.  Quite
resilient and an even eleven inches long.  It would do...for awhile.
Grim, as his Lord Thanatos persona that He rarely uses around Frey, told him
that as the last Peverell the Elder Wand of legend was his.  His to find, his
to win, and his to Master.
None other would suit him so well.
A shocking revelation, even for his sixteen-year-old mind in it's eleven-year-
old housing to fathom.  Demigods might mature faster and then spending a total
of three years compressed in a couple of months did a lot to help him grasp a
lot of the things his Far and the others have been trying to teach him...but
when it comes to things dropping in his lap like being told that one of the
most famous wands of all time was his...times like that he still feels like an
eleven-year-old kid trying to step into his Far's shoes.
But that wasn't as bad as some of the other things his Far and his guardians
told him this summer.
Unbinding his powers sucked.  There's just no other way to put it.  It sucked. 
Suddenly he was blowing things up every-flipping-time he tried to do a spell. 
Plus there was the pain of it.  Frey's taken wounds in battles against other
heroes-in-training, from his instructors during his own training, and of course
in monster battles...but still having his powers unbound was the worst pain
he's ever known.
Then there was that other thing.
The staying-under-the-radar thing.
One point which everyone agreed with was trying to keep Frey off of
Dumbledore's watch-list as much as possible.  Nobody had managed to figure out
what the old man's angle with interfering with Frey was and until they had an
idea Frey wasn't to rock the boat.  As much as possible for Frey anyway.
Which really blew because that meant he couldn't help his Uncle Siri who Heidi
found out on her trip to Diagon Alley was being held in Azkaban prison.  For
apparently “betraying” his parents.  Which Loki knew full-well he didn't do. 
Oh.  And for killing the real traitor (which no lie, he very well could've
done) and a dozen muggles.
There was nothing.  Frey.  Could.  Do about it.
It was infuriating.
And enough to make him want to shit-start with Dumbledore just on principle.
Send his godfather to prison?  Eat-shit-and-die.
So there.
Plus!  Plus!  Uncle Moony was freaking impossible to find.  Frey didn't have
many memories from when he was with his other parents but Uncle Siri and Uncle
Moony were two of the good ones.  That they were followers of his Far in spirit
if not in practice was just a bonus.
He didn't even care about Heidi dictating his clothes: they were a little posh
for his preferred every-day wear and the robes were a little cumbersome but
nothing he couldn't work with.  He could always wear his own clothes on the
weekends according to his rule book.  But making him club-back his hair instead
of braiding it the way he likes was just adding insult to injury on top of
everything else.
Stupid Wizarding school was more trouble than it's worth.  Although he can't
deny his need of it.  He might've been able to get away with not going if not
for his Far unbinding his powers.  After that it became down-right dangerous
for others to be around him until his got them under control.  Which he does
now for the most part but that was mostly just that.  Control.  Outside the
little his Far and the others had taught him and his natural skills with fire,
ice, and his animagus transformation, there wasn't much he knew about using all
that lovely power that had been locked away inside of him.
His fire-whip (made from actual fire and not requiring his wand at all) was a
thing of beauty.  Deadly.  But a beauty.
Would've seriously come in handy against that freaking hydra.
The sound of feet moving in his direction from further up the train had him
sighing and looking ruefully at his pretty Hedwig in her cage before moving to
take a book (basic dueling) from his trunk and sitting sedately on one of the
benches, his wand covered by his sleeve once again and his dagger with its
hydra sheath firmly covered and disillusioned at the small of his back.
“Well girl.”  He said with a roll of his eye.  For all that sometimes he feels
eleven and confused, mentally he really was older.  “Time for the playacting to
begin.  Ready?”
Hedwig gave a soft hoot as she ruffled her feathers into place as the door
rattled and Frey released the locking charm he had on it to give himself time
to adjust into what would be his role for the next nine months.
“Idealistic boy-hero, take one, action.”  He mumbled under his breath with a
roll of his eyes as a bushy-haired brunette girl tumbled into his carriage
along with a somewhat-chubby boy.
This was going to be a long school year.
 
…..
 
Long was an understatement, Frey thought to himself as he restrained the urge
to pinch the bridge of his nose or rub his temples to help ward off the
headache brewing behind his eyes.
This girl is an encyclopedia.
But not in a fun way like a lot of the Athena campers back home.  No.  In the
know-it-all-bookworm way that takes everything written between the covers of a
book as pure gospel.
Even to the point of regaling him with everything that she's ever read about
him.  Him for Loki's sake!  You'd think she'd be smart enough to know that if
anyone would be an expert on The-Boy-Who-Lived, and isn't that a stupid
moniker, it would be him.
Apparently she's an expert in, well, him.
“Hermione.”  He'd finally reached his wit' end with her babbling.  “You've just
spewed so many so-called facts at me I can barely keep them straight.  I'll
take them in reverse order.”
His tone was firm and no-nonsense, cutting her off without regard when she
started to splutter.  Her companion, Neville, someone he needed to get to know
without the tag-along, simply watched the dynamics unfold as he shifted
nervously from foot-to-foot.  Frey had definitely gotten the better hand dealt
to him when it came to guardians than his godbrother.  The kid's a panicky-
wreck of an eleven-year-old.
“One.”  He started counting off.  “No, I don't know what house I'm going to be
in.  Personally, I think choosing a house based on what other people think or
because a so-called great or awful wizard came from that house is idiocy.  You
should go into the house that suits your personality and goals the best.  You
clearly belong in Ravenclaw.  Gryffindor would eat you alive within a month. 
They're the house of the brave and courageous, not of the ridiculously smart
and bookwormish.  Two.”
He raised his voice slightly to continue cutting her off.
“Neville would probably do well in Gryffindor.  Both of his parents were
Gryffindor and much of the time base traits like bravery and intelligence run
in families.  Plus I think it was pretty brave of him to barge into my
compartment to find his missing toad.  He cared more about his familiar than he
did about what I would think.”
Neville blushed beet-red at the praise from the more mature-sounding and
looking boy.  Praise from The-Boy-Who-Lived.  He stood a little straighter and
raised his head from its downtrodden slump.  Harry was right, that was pretty
brave of him.
Frey smiled at the instant change in the other boy.  Maybe working on Neville
wouldn't be such a chore after all.  They shared a bond through their
mothers...even if Neville doesn't know it yet.  And same physical age or not,
he'd always done well with mentoring younger campers.  Annabeth is already
coming along great.
“Three.”  He held up another finger as he locked eyes with the visibly-fuming
Ms. Granger.  “None of those books were written with either my or my guardian's
consent and none of those so-called authors or biographers have ever talked to
me.  And they certainly weren't there when my parents were murdered.”
Those publishers were in for a rude awakening and an unpleasant lawsuit when
Chiron's lawyers get a hold of them.  He has Hades's Furies on retainer. 
Vicious when they're after a demigod but a better lawyer doesn't exist.
“Four, and the reason you came in.”  He arched a brow.  She'd never even given
him a chance to tell Neville if he'd seen his toad or not.  “No, I haven't seen
Neville's toad.  But,” he stressed the word as Neville started to look puny
again.  “If you go and find any of the prefects or one of the professors on
board they can summon...”
He looked at Neville to fill in the blanks for him.
“Trevor.”  Neville said in a voice surprisingly deep for a young boy.  “His
name's Trevor.”
“Trevor.”  Frey nodded sharply.  “They can summon Trevor for you.”
Considering the matter closed, he turned back to his book and tuned them out. 
Or attempted to at least.
“But...”  Ms. Granger had managed to find her voice at last, mind spinning with
everything the rude – to her mind, really he'd been rather contained – boy had
said.
“Good day, Ms. Granger.”  Frey said firmly without looking up.  “Neville.”
The other boy turned back once Hermione was out of the compartment, meeting
those bright green eyes with his own mellow brown.
“Y-yeah?”
“We should talk sometime, without the audience.”  Frey gave him a crooked
little grin over the top of the book, one mirrored by its recipient.
“Yeah, sure.”  Neville said before moving to catch Hermione.  “Anytime,
Potter.”
“It's Harry, Neville.”
“Harry.”
 
…..
 
The rest of the ride went pretty smoothly.  He'd only had to ignore and
alienate one other boy – one remarkably more annoying than the Granger girl and
with bright red hair – who'd been on the verge of spewing vitriol all over Frey
when he was pulled from the compartment by his older twin brothers.  Now they
were the others that his Far told him to be on the look out for.  Fred and
George Wesley had all the budding mischievous nature and talents that had
brought his Dad and his Uncles Siri and Moony to his Far's attention all those
years ago.  The Weasley twins, if his Far was right and he usually was about
things within his purview, were even well on the way to surpassing the Marauder
legacy as the finest prankster and purveyors of mischief in Hogwarts's history.
Frey couldn't wait to meet them under better circumstances.
But the meeting he'd been waiting for happened a scant hour outside of
Hogsmeade Station.  Draco Malfoy, the Heir of the Noble House of Malfoy, had
finally acted on the rumors of Harry Potter being on board the train and made
his way to his compartment.  House Malfoy was one of the few olde-houses left
who still keep to their ancient traditions – and worship.  Not even the mad
reign of Tom Riddle over the late Abraxas Malfoy had broken them of honoring
the gods.
While relatively new to England's shores, only going back five hundred years or
so, the Malfoys could trace their lineage back a thousand more in their
homeland of France.  Back before the Church and homogenized religion to the
olde-ways.  At their roots the Malfoys were Celts and Gaels.  And, as things
worked back then, Norse.
One thing the Northmen excelled at was spreading far and wide from their
homeland.  Often in search of the next village to pillage and army to fight but
also for trade and commerce.  Norse men would take foreign wives and concubines
and foreign men were enamored with the statuesque good-looks and golden hair of
the northern shieldmaidens who would accompany the raiding and trading parties.
The Malfoys had such a shieldmaiden in their family history.  More than one
actually.  And with those northern beauties came the iconic blonde hair and
pale eyes and skin of the Malfoy line.  Their religion came with them as well,
blending seamlessly into the rites practiced by the Malfoy family.  One god in
particular gave His blessing over the family and the line, guaranteeing them an
heir with every generation.
Loki Odinson.
It was just the sort of meddling that appealed to him, keeping a strong line of
Wizards and their strong magics from dying out while gaining powerful
worshipers.  And all under his Father Odin's nose.
Fun fun fun.
That piece of patronage bumped Draco up to the top of Frey's get-to-know list. 
Possibly to the top of the maybe-friend list as well.  It would depend on what
sort of Wizard mini-Malfoy turned out to be.
The sound of voices in the corridor grew Frey's attention, a smirk crossing his
face for a moment as he heard one young piping voice order a pair of slightly-
lower voices to stay rather firmly.
Mini-Malfoy already had minions and they hadn't even reached school yet. 
A mellow knock on the compartment door had him calling out permission for
entry.  Whether he was a little snot or not, at least Malfoy had some manners,
unlike the majority of the others on board the train.  It'd proven one thing to
Frey at least, in the Wizarding world he was very much considered public-
property and considerations like personal privacy were waved in the face of his
“status”.  Something else he was thankful Lord Thanatos saved him from.
And thankful to his Far, age-confusion aside, for making the decision to
prematurely mentally age him.  Dealing with all of this with an eleven-year-
old's mind instead of the fifteen-to-sixteen year old one he currently has
would've been a ruddy-nightmare.
“It's open,” he called out softly after releasing the locks he'd placed on the
doors.  One too many pubescent visitors had him aching for some privacy to sort
himself out.
The boy who walked in was both exactly what he expected and a complete
surprise.  Far told him that today's Malfoys were of the power-mad and blood-
conscious sort.  Frey'd been expecting pure arrogance and swaggering pride. 
And the blonde was proud, no doubt about it.  But he was also graceful and
fluid in his manner instead of swaggering and arrogant.
That's what Draco Malfoy was.
He knew already his place in the world and didn't feel the need to ram it down
people's throats.  Well...not in front of Frey, not yet at least.  He could see
the other boy doing just that if he ran into the annoying Weasley.
Draco was a pure-blood prince and was secure in that safe box, not mature or
rebellious enough yet to start bucking his father and branching out.
Frey chuckled a little to himself.
Maybe he could help that along.  If the Malfoys do indeed still keep the Olde
Ways...Frey would be remiss if he didn't plan some mischief in honor of his
Far.
Draco scrutinized the patiently-waiting boy carefully.  This wasn't what he'd
expected Harry Potter to look or act like.  Everyone knew that he'd been raised
in seclusion, away from the Wizarding world.  His father had instructed him to
get close to the Boy-Who-Lived if at all possible.  To learn about his power
and how he defeated the Dark Lord.
But this...this didn't look like someone Draco could easily fool or manipulate.
His green eyes were piercing and calm, watchful.  He was dressed in the finest
of materials, even some that Draco'd never seen before while the styles
reminded him of paintings of when the Malfoys were Malfoisand battle-mages. 
Olde.
That's what he made Draco think of.  The Olde Ways.  From his hair to his
manner to his dress and demeanor.  Harry Potter, Scion of the Light, had been
raised steeped in the Olde Ways.
How perfectly fascinating.
Especially since his father's been ranting for years about the “barmy old fool”
Dumbledore doing his best to obliterate the Olde Ways from Magical Britain.
Finally making a decision, Draco squared his shoulders and stuck out his hand.
“They told me you were here.”  He said simply.  “My name's Draco Malfoy, Heir
of the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy.  Pleased to make your acquaintance
Lord Potter.”
Frey flashed him a wry grin.  The boldness was refreshing after hearing others
gush.  Taking the offered hand in a firm grip he replied.
“Harry James Potter, Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and
Peverell.  Technically I'm not a Lord yet.”
Draco shook his hand and cocked his head to one side, confused for a moment.
“Not entirely.”  He shook his head as they let go, feeling unsure about both
correcting the young Lord and needing to look up the second House he'd claimed
as his.  Peverell rang a bell but it was a distant one.  He went on to
explain.  “You might not be able to sit on the Wizengamot or access the Family
vaults but when you turned eleven you automatically became the Lord of any
Houses that are yours by either blood or magic.”
“Really?”  He trailed off thinking hard.  Things like this happening are why
he'd been having such complex lessons for so long.  And still there were things
he didn't know from not growing up in Wizarding Britain.  Stupid convoluted
laws and rules.  “I'd never heard that.”
Draco shrugged, still not entirely comfortable with the situation.
“It's not really that well-known.”  He tried to make the other boy feel better
about his lapse before a peer and fellow Heir.  Thankfully this happened with
Draco and not someone like Pansy Parkinson.  She'd act all nice but then she'd
ridicule and belittle the boy behind his back.  “The last time there was a
Young Lord was back in the 1400's I think.”
“Well I don't feel like a total idiot then.”  Frey grinned, happy that he got
an answering smile from the lithe blonde that became visibly more comfortable
once he'd made it clear he wasn't offended over being corrected.  “Thanks for
the lesson, Draco.  Can I call you Draco?”
“Only if I can call you Harry.”
“Deal.”  They each gave a firm nod to seal the pact and Draco made himself at
home on the seat opposite Harry.
“You should go to Gringotts and have them do a blood and magical inheritance
test.”  Draco went on to advise.  “That'll tell you all the titles you can
claim and when and if they have any property or vaults attached.”
“Sounds interesting,” Frey said intrigued.  “I'll do that.”  Heidi should be
okay with taking a detour to Diagon Alley before leaving for their flight home
for the summer.  He'd just have to clear it with Chiron first.  He gave a
mental groan, hating that they'd have to use mundane travel to help keep
Dumbledore and the Ministry off of their trail.
“So,” Draco was kinda eager to change the subject to one less potentially-
problematic.  “Any idea about what house you want to be in?”
Frey shrugged.
“I'll probably be in Gryffindor like my parents.”  Plus that'd make it easier
to hide in plain-sight.  “Even though I'm probably better suited to Ravenclaw
or even Slytherin.”
“Why would you go to the house of the stupid and reckless if you'd get on
better somewhere else?  I'm going to be Slytherin just like my parents and all
of their families.”  He boasted a little at the end, unable to help himself
even in the face of a more-mature peer.
His companion gave a downright cunning grin.
“Easy.”  He said throwing Malfoy a bone.  He wanted the kid to like him,
especially since he wanted him renew his line for his Far.  “Everyone expects
their “hero” to be a Gryffindor.  If I went to Slytherin, where I probably
belong, I'd automatically be “Dark”.  If I went to Ravenclaw they'd be worried
about me being a recluse or a bookworm and watch me to act out like my father
and his friends.  Hufflepuff doesn't even bear thinking about.  But if I'm a
Gryffindor...”  He trailed off, testing to see if his potential friend could
follow the thought to its conclusion.
Granted it might be a little much for an eleven-year-old.
“Everyone would see what they expect to see and ignore everything you did that
contradicted it...as long as you do something inline with their expectations
every once in a while.”  Draco frowned for a moment.  “That means we probably
can't be friends at school.”
Frey shook his head, he already had a plan for that.
“No,” he smiled.  “We can still be friends.  As long as I make it a point to be
friends with at least one person from each house, no one will think anything of
me having a “snake” as a friend too.”
“All they'd see is a goody-goody Gryff without the normal pratty attitude.” 
Draco grinned.  Yeah, this boy may be Olde but he was a Slytherin through and
through.  “Now all you need to do is rig the sorting somehow.”
Looking out the window and seeing how close they were to Hogsmeade Frey bid
Draco goodbye, telling him he'd see him later.
Watching as the train rolled closer and closer to the ancient castle buried in
the midst of Scotland, he took a deep breath.
It was time to put his Wizarding training to the test and see just how much of
Loki's son he really was.  His Far is a master of illusion and deception, even
gaining the appellation of silver-tongue.  Now it was Frey Lokison's turn to
play a perfect Harry Potter.  Even though that's not who he's been for the last
ten years.
 
…..
 
Frey grinned and waved at the friendly half-giant that exclaimed over him
before climbing into a boat with Draco and his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle,
keeping up his calmly interested expression all the way through the ride to the
castle and being greeted by a stern woman named Professor McGonagall.  From
what his Far said she had a soft spot for pranksters like his other father.  He
hoped she still had it.
He got a childish kick out of how the ghosts steered clear of him when they
popped by to scare the “firsties”, something Draco watched with a calculating
look on his angular face.  The blonde aristocrat was already coming along
nicely, especially since their little tete-a-tete on the train.  Frey was
mostly absorbed with scanning for those people his Far and guardians told him
to either watch-for or be wary-of.
Draco, watch-for.  Possible ally.  Check.
Weasley twins, watch-for.  Possible allies.  Double check.
McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid, friends/favorite teachers of his other-
parents.
Then there were the others.
Dumbledore, of course, sitting at the head table and watching over everything
with a twinkle masking his manipulative nature.
A few other students and teachers who according to his information still
followed the Olde Ways.
But it was the last name on the list that his Far and Grim want an answer about
just where his allegiances and ideals lay.
One Professor Severus Snape.
A curious mixture of an old pure-blood Scion and muggle upbringing, he is a
marked Death Eater according to Grim and his mother's oldest friend according
to Far.  He was one of the biggest enigmas in the game Dumbledore'd set up when
Voldemort rose to power.  An enigma that was Frey's charge to unravel.
Frey gave a little grin when soon after the Sorting Hat finished its song a
frustrated and frowning Ms. Granger sat and sat up on the stool, apparently
arguing with the Hat for a good five-minutes.  She must not have paid much
attention to what Frey told her.  Eventually the Hat shouted “Ravenclaw!” and
the flushed girl stormed off to sit with her new house to lukewarm applause.
He gave a genuine smile and clapped louder than ever when Neville was sorted
into Gryffindor, excited to hopefully get to know his godbrother better.
“Good luck, Draco.”  He whispered, buffeting the blonde's shoulder before the
boy strutted confidently up to the Hat and was rapidly sorted into Slytherin.
Two more people between him and the Hat.  He rolled his head on his neck and
clamped down his mental shields.  No one is sure what information the Hat
passes onto the Heads of House or the Headmaster and he's not about to screw
himself over by being reckless.
Finally it was time.
“Harald James Potter!”  Professor McGonagall called out, the din in the Great
Hall rising in a rapid frenzy before falling into a hush.  Everyone wanted to
see where the Boy-Who-Lived would be sorted.  What sort was he?
Was he a Lion like his parents?  He is a hero after all.
A Raven?  A Badger?
Or, Merlin forbid...a Snake?
Ignoring the eyes watching him from every corner of the Hall, some burning more
than others, Frey walked to the stool with the calm grace that was quickly
becoming his trademark among his year-mates.  It wasn't the aristocratic glide
of Malfoy but it was somewhat similar only more...predatory if they would take
the time to categorize it.
Lifting the Hat he perched on the stool and lowered it onto his head.
“My my.” Frey heard whispering in his head.  “You have impressive shields,
young Lord.”
“Thank you.”  He replied politely. 
“I'll need you to lower them, young one.” The Hat was both chiding and
apologetic in tone.  “I need to get a feel for what makes you, you to do your
Sorting.  Though with shields like this I should probably just send you to
Slytherin right-off.  You'd do well there.”
“Not Slytherin please.” Frey worked quickly, trying to figure out a way out of
this without giving an inch.  “Too much attention for me.”
“Hmm.” The Hat pondered.  It'd been a long while since there was someone who
could keep him out.  And that young one went right to Slytherin where he
remains to this day as the Head.  “If you won't let me in, and Slytherin won't
do, what do you suggest young Lordling?”
“What about Gryffindor?” He asked, nearly pleading.  He really, really doesn't
want to let this Hat into his head.  “Like my parents and Uncle Siri and Uncle
Moony?”
“Ahh...” The Hat made an enlightened sound.  “A future Marauder are you?  Well
then it better be...”
“Gryffindor!”
And no one saw the wink Frey shot Draco accept for the two of them and a
chuckling Hat.
 
…..
 
***** Four *****
                                 Chapter Four
                                        
The first week flew by quickly for Frey, followed on swift wings by the next
and the next.  Almost before he knew it Samhain was upon him with all of the
last two months disappearing in a combination of utter boredom coupled to
unerring deception as he strode to act out the part demanded of him while still
holding true to both his raising and his purpose at Hogwarts.  During the first
week, he'd readily established that while for the most part his contemporaries
in Gryffindor don't care for him, Neville and one of the girls in their year
named Parvati being notable exceptions, neither are the rest willing to either
antagonize a powerful wizard-in-training nor completely turn on their own.  His
ability to make friends with both the upper years of his own House and those of
other Houses serving him well in his pretense of being an affable, friendly,
but still not-to-be-trifled-with young man.
One of the first steps he took towards this aim along with keeping his
friendship with Draco alive and well was the inception of a study group. 
Originally just for History of Magic, a true throw-away class if ever there was
one, and only consisting of himself, Neville, Draco, and Draco's friends Blaise
and Theo, it's efficacy was quickly shown by their excellent test scores on
their first HoM exam.  When Neville's utter failure at Potions turned from bad
to abysmal, Draco was prevailed upon to add to the scope of the groups studies,
followed swiftly by Frey's helping them with DADA, a subject where he truly
shined.
After the first month of being left mainly on their own in their little alcove
of the massive library, their course of studies had expanded to cover all the
core subjects when their rising test and homework scores and ability to tally
up House points began to be noticed.  By the close of the first week of October
they were confronted, and not by who they thought.
Draco and the other Slytherins had taken pleasure in knocking the bushy-haired
Ms. Granger off of her pedestal and truly enjoyed the look on her face whenever
she was bested in class, the Ravenclaw falling from first across the board to
sixth behind the group members except in Potions where she still fought for
fourth behind the group's Slytherins.  Professor Snape, while not too odious to
the pair of Gryffindors who'd befriended his godson, still couldn't stomach to
give them praise of any sort.  It would've made sense then, to most, for the
muggleborn girl to attempt to join them in their studying.
Instead, she seemed content to believe them “cheaters” and that no one could
possibly best her so thoroughly in academics.
While the others grew either used to or began to enjoy her constant muttering
and glares, Frey simply felt sorry for the girl.  Being so constrained by her
worldview and stiffly proud of her intelligence to such an unhealthy degree was
no way to live a life.
In the end, a Ravenclaw did decide to join them and was in turn accepted, one
Padma Patil, the sister of Frey's Gryffindor friend.  As lovely as her twin,
Padma was much more introverted and it took her all of the previous month to
work up to asking if she could join them.  It would've been done sooner, but no
amount of sisterly persuasion could tempt Parvati into joining a study group
with Slytherins.  Even if Harry Potter was one of the leaders.
As if Padma's joining was a sign, several others followed in the next week
including a few upper years who took it upon themselves to help “the
firsties.”  Naturally, theses elders were from Hufflepuff but their knowledge
of where to find the right resources for essays and which Professors might
spring a surprise exam were invaluable.
A highlight of their pre-Samhain October was the start of flying lessons, where
Ron Weasley was successfully taunted into both breaking the rules and getting
thrown into detentions with Filch but also broke his wrist and arm when he fell
from his broom.  Since he'd been being a prat to Neville...again...Frey felt
that was justice well deserved.  On his own part Frey enjoyed the sensation of
flying although he was worried about being in the domain of both the All-Father
and his uncle Thor as well as Zeus.  At least he wasn't struck from the sky
like he'd heard the Greek doing to the offspring of his brothers.
Neville was eventually coaxed onto a broom and was soon enjoying himself
alongside his new-found friends and friendly-acquaintances much to the pride of
a beaming Madame Hooch who promptly awarded him ten-points to Gryffindor for
bravely facing his fears.
Sitting with his mismash of friends at the feast, Frey restrained the urge to
fidget in a combination of nerves and excitement.  This was the first time he'd
be presiding over the All-Hallows rites and he'd convinced both Neville and
Draco to join him.  Their little odd-coupling was coming right along, with
Draco being less of a clone of his father and Neville learning to have
confidence from the Slytherin Prince (Prince of Cocky as Frey likes to tease
when it's brought up.)
Something else was adding to his disquiet.  His demigod survivor-sense or
monster-dar as Grover calls it, was going crazy.  Or moreso than usual.
That had to be his least favorite part about Hogwarts, behind even incompetent
or belligerent Professors and caretakers.  All the different magical creatures
were messing with his ability to sense when monsters were around.  At least he
knows Care of Magical Creatures will either be a huge help or a massive failure
if he decides to take the class.
In theory the wards around the school itself should keep monsters out...but
there wasn't a guarantee of that.  Likewise the wards surrounding the immediate
grounds eventually weakened the closer you were to Hogsmeade and/or the
Forbidden Forest.
Before Frey could write-off his internal warning system for the dozenth time
that week, the stuttering nincompoop Professor for DADA stumbled through the
doors of the Great Hall.
“T-t-t-Troll!  In-n-n the d-d-dungeons!  T-t-thought you should know!”  And
with that pronouncement appeared to faint like a sissy and faceplant into the
hard cold stone of the castle floor.
The Headmaster rose immediately to his feet and ordering the students to their
Houses took off with several professors to find and contain the beast, much to
Frey's disgust.
“You guys can't go to your Houses.”  He hissed at his Slytherins and
Hufflepuffs.  After exchanging glances, Draco and the others agreed. 
“Neville.”  He was about to do something that would get him in sooo much
trouble....his Dad would be so proud.  “Take Draco and the others up to our
common room.”
“What?!”  Neville did a double take as did their other friends.  “McGonagall
will kill me for giving the password out to the other Houses.”
“Blame me.”  Frey said with a shrug as he climbed with fluid grace to his
feet.  “I'm sure Professor Snape will have zero trouble assigning me detention
until the Winter Break for breaking one of the main rules.  But they can't go
back to their common rooms, it's too dangerous.”
The older Slytherins and Hufflepuffs from the surrounding tables heard him and
agreed to herd their fellow housemates up to Gryffindor...and to let Frey bear
the burden of the points-loss and detentions.
Draco grabbed his arm before he could disappear.  “And where do you think
you'regoing?”
Frey just gave him a reckless grin as he folded up his braided and loose hair
into a club at the base of his neck, failing to give the blonde an answer.
Muttering under his breath about recklessness unbecoming a snake-in-hiding, the
Malfoy heir took a quick glance around to make sure they weren't observed
sneaking off before following his friend.
“It's a troll, Harry.”  Draco whisper-whined as they crept through the shadowed
halls, the other boy leading him unerringly towards one of the lavatories,
following the ripe stench of, well, troll.  “A troll.  What do you think two
first-years are going to be able to do against a troll?”
Frey hummed under his breath.  “Wait and see, my Dragon.  Wait and see.”
A shriek sounded from down the hall, making them hurry towards the inevitable
conflict.  Peeking around the shattered door frame of the girl's loo, they
spied the unfortunate victim of the misplaced mountain troll.
“Granger.”  Draco hissed, rolling his eyes.  “It had to be Granger.  Can't we
just leave her?”  He asked only half joking.
Frey chuckled under his breath as he grasped his dagger in one hand and his
wand in the other, preparing to rather thoroughly blow his cover to his
friend.  There was no way Draco would fail to ask more questions about his
upbringing after this.  It just depended on how much information it would take
to satisfy the other boy without endangering himself.
“She fainted.”  Frey whispered, spying the still form huddled under the sink as
the massive-smelly creature bashed around the bathroom, shattering porcelain
with every swing of his club.  “When I say 'go' sprint over to her and get her
out of there.  Use the levitation charm, you've got it pretty well mastered and
it'll be easier than trying to carry her.”
“And what'll you be doing?”  Draco asked with just a touch of fear trembling in
his voice.  Yeah, dart all the way across the large room and levitate an
annoying mudblood to safety without getting smashed.  No problem.
The godling gave his younger friend a rakish grin.  “Distracting the troll, of
course.”
Of course.  Draco snorted to himself.  Just as easy as that.
Gripping his dagger and sending a tripping hex at the lumbering form of the
troll, Frey shouted “Go!”, his accomplice taking off like a shot for the
crumpled form of their fellow first-year.  Watching out of the corner of his
eye for the blonde to be thoroughly distracted by his given task, Frey ducked a
blow as the troll climbed back to its feet with a foul-smelling bellow of
sound.  Darting around the creature, he quickly sliced at both its heels with
his Stygian-blade the never-dulling dagger making simple work of the thick hide
and thicker tendons, sending the beast crashing back to the ground.
Having to dodge back against the wall with a thud and a sharp pain through his
shoulder at a particularly well-aimed smack of the club, Frey gritted his teeth
and rose once again to his feet as he caught sight of Draco maneuvering the
slack form out of harm's way.  Sending the club flying out a window with a wave
of his wand that burned his hand as the over-powered spell overheated the ebony
casing, his hissed a curse under his breath.  He'd have to be more careful from
now on or he'd be out of a wand – something that would definitely draw too much
attention to the godling.
Dodging the still-flailing arms and legs of the monster, Frey went to the
smelly-thing's weakness, its neck, and with a precise jab of Stygian iron
severed its spinal cord.  Stumbling back as he caught the tail-end of one of
its death-throws, he picked up the sounds of approaching teachers.
Well, if nothing else taking on a troll would shore up any weak spots in the
boy-hero guise he would be wearing for nine-months of the year.
Whispering rapidly under his breath, he dedicated the slain creature to his
patron Thanatos before concealing his bloodied-dagger just as the professors
Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Quirell appeared.  As the
Headmaster opened his mouth to question Frey and Draco – who was still hovering
over the unconscious Granger – the troll followed the path of slain-monsters
everywhere by turning into golden dust and vanishing.  The Headmaster's mouth
closed with a sharp click as the rest of the teachers goggled at the sight,
Draco and an acting Frey not far behind in their shock.
“An illusion?”  Flitwick ventured in his nearly-squeaky voice.
“It didn't feel like an illusion.”  Frey muttered under his breath – but not
quite quiet enough if the sharp-eyed glare of his head of House was any
indication.
“Or smell like one either.”  Draco whispered to his friend, almost laughing in
his post-danger high.
“Quite.”  Professor Snape sneered.  “Would either of you care to explain what
you are doing out of your common rooms?”
“Well...”  The boys drawled turning to look at each other and the crumpled
Ravenclaw at their feet.
“It wasn't very safe of the Headmaster to send the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs
down to the dungeons when that's where Professor Quirrell saw the troll.”  Frey
began, the train of thought quickly picked up by his partner-in-slaying.  Not
that Draco really knew that he was now a partner-in-slaying...but still.
“So Harry suggested that we and the 'Puffs go up to Gryffindor Tower with
Longbottom showing them the way.”
The professors exchanged chagrined looks at the oversight, all but Snape who
looked partly relieved for his snakes and partly vindicated that a first-year
saw the same problem with the Headmaster's orders that he'd been complaining
about throughout the search for the troll.  At times the old man's blatant
prejudice erupted in spectacular fashion that would put the other Houses in
harms way or utterly dispirit them.  This evening's events were no exception.
“One of the 'Claws mentioned that no one had seen Granger since Weasley made
her cry earlier,” Frey continued, now completely spinning a yarn for the
teachers while Draco waited for a chance to shore up any holes in the story. 
“So we decided to split off and find her.”
“We don't like swotty wreck.”  Draco inserted with a snobbish sniff, making all
the professors but Snape frown at his words.  “But we didn't want her to be
troll-food either.”
“She passed out about the time we got here following her shrieks.”  Frey could
barely keep a lid on his disdain.  Seriously.  She was a little eleven year old
girl.  If she hadn't been so hysterical she could've just dodged around the
lumbering menace and run for it rather than shrieking and crying like some
damsel-in-distress.  “Draco went and levitated her out into the hall...”
“...and Harry distracted the troll with tripping-jinxes.”  Draco added before
frowning in thought.  “It must've knocked itself out or something.”
“Or something...”  Frey muttered under his breath.  “And then you came and it
just...”
The boys looked at each other and shrugged, Frey wincing a little at his sore
and wounded muscles.
“Poofed.”
“Fascinating tale, boys.”  Dumbledore twinkled at the them.
“However.”  Professor McGonagall scowled at them in concert with Snape.  “You
were extremely reckless and put yourselves knowingly in danger.
“Indeed.”  Snape drawled as Flitwick levitated his unconscious charge with the
intent of taking her to the hospital wing.  “Fifty points from Gryffindor for
putting yourself and others in harm's way Mr. Potter.”
Minerva McGonagall rolled her eyes in exasperation at her colleague's blatant
favoritism.
“And twenty each to Gryffindor and Slytherin for thinking of others and coming
to a school-mate's rescue despite your own feelings.”  She added.
“Now Minerva,” Albus twinkled at his old friend.  “I think an additional twenty
each for bravery would be in order as well with another twenty to Mr. Potter
for leadership for sending the other Houses to safety.”
Severus rolled his eyes at the blatant pandering to the Gryffindor.  At least
with the points to Slytherin, Draco still earned thirty more than did Potter
with the deduction.
The head of Gryffindor clapped her hands sharply.  “We will debate the
disappearance of the troll another time.  Now, Mr. Potter.”  She cast a stern
eye over her young lion.  “To Madam Pomfrey with you.”
Leaning quickly over to Draco, Frey whispered.  “Midnight, medical wing, you
and Neville.”
The blonde nodded as his godfather swept him away to collect the rest of their
house from the territory of the red-and-gold.
At least being friends with Harry wouldn't be boring.
 
…
 
***** Five *****
Disclaimer:Yep, I still don't own HP, Avengers, or Percy Jackson...
 
Author's Note: The rites that I use for Samhain, Yule, etc. all come from my
brain and are NOT under any circumstances supposed to reflect any religion or
ethnic group's practices past or present.  Also, because of the mental aging
I've done with Frey, he won't be developing feelings for people in his own
physical age group until they're around sixteen physically with his age
disconnect he's got going on so his first couple relationships will likely wind
up being with someone older like Viktor Krum or Cedric Diggory or even a crush
on Snape rather than say, Draco Malfoy.
 
                                 Chapter_Five
                                        
Three boys, one older in mind than in looks, huddled in a corner of the
Hogwart's infirmary underneath the protection of a ward cast by Frey wand and
wordlessly, much to the admiration of his two friends.  Loki knew before he
sent his son to Hogwarts and fulfilled the bargain between himself and the late
Potters that the young prince would need a way to perform the Rites without
drawing attention from Dumbledore or any of the other professors.
 
The ward was a simple thing, merely cloaking any magics cast in a specific area
for a period of time.  It wouldn't conceal large-scale magic like the
Unforgivables, but it would allow one to practice the Olde Ways unhindered.
 
Each boy sat an even distance from the others, creating a triangle centered
around a small fire glowing in a simple obsidian chalice the size of a cooking
pot.  Frey said a word and blew into the chalice, making the fire dart up
towards the ceiling before dying back down, much to the surprise of both
Neville and Draco.  They'd seen others do such things during the Rites, but
never someone as young as they are.  Wandless magics like that was commonly
held as impossible until their cores stabilizes in their late teens.
 
But then, nothing about Harry so far went along with what was “commonly held”
to be true one way or another.
 
In front of each boy was a bowl, no more than a large stemless glass really,
each a gift from one of each boy's god-parents and presented at their Naming. 
They were as individual as both the child and the giver.  Severus Snape
presented the new Malfoy Heir with a Ritual vessel wrought from purest silver
and studded with emerald cabochons each the size of the then-infants palm.  The
Potters gifted newborn Neville with one of pale yellow gold with an
ornamentation of embossed lions and owls in slightly darker golds.
 
Like many things about Frey – or rather Harry as he was known to his godfather
Sirius Black – his Ritual vessel unique.  However unlike the others, it wasn't
new.  Sirius – being Sirius – decided to buck the common ways and go back to an
older tradition, gifting his new honorary nephew with a Black relic that
harkened back to the early days of his Ancient and Noble House.  A true Ritual
Vessel from the Olde days, it was roughly carved and shaped from solid rock
before being engraved and polished.  That wouldn't be so startling or make such
a kingly gift if not for the rock it was made from.
 
Sirius Black gifted his godson with a Ritual vessel made from pure black
diamond.
 
The scandal of giving away such a rare and prized family treasure was
horrendous.  Sirius was well pleased at his mother's screeching.
 
Each boy also had a selection of three herb or plant sprigs and a ritual
athame, Frey using his Stygian dagger in place of the normal curved blade.
 
Beginning the Rite, Frey glanced at each of the others then receiving nods that
they were ready began just on time, a mere five minutes before midnight.
 
“On this, the Hallowed Night, take these small offerings and hear our pleas.
Take our words and pass them to those who have gone before thee and me.”
 
Reaching over he picked up the first herb sprig, yew leaves for Thanatos, he
lit them from the ritual center fire and then dropped the smoldering bundle
into his vessel.
 
“To my patron Lord Thanatos, Avatar and God of Death and Shadows.  Watch over
my parents and all my family who have gone on before me.”
 
Draco and Neville murmured their own words, Frey only knowing who they invoked
by watching which sprigs they tossed into their vessels.  He held back a laugh
when he saw the hops and heather – Loki's mixture – tossed in by Draco.  It
seemed the Malfoys did still hold true to their patron.  Neville's offering
merely intrigued him, grape leaves for Dionysius and laurel for Apollo. 
Perhaps he sought their favor in curing his parents' madness.
 
Continuing Frey reached for the next – dried tiger lily flowers.
 
“For my mother Lily, may she be safe and happy in Valhalla.”  He said speaking
lowly so as not to be overheard, the others following his lead.  The Samhain
Rites may be celebrated with others but was still considered one of the most
private of the Olde rituals.  Trying to eavesdrop on someone who was being
circumspect was considered the height of rudeness and feuds still rage over
lesser insults.
 
Waiting for the others Frey cocked his head to one side as he studied the
smoke, picking out the various shapes he saw for later interpretation.  He
couldn't actually speak to the dead – not yet anyway – but they could send a
message or two through the ether on the All Hallows if you knew where to look.
 
Picking up the last – wolfsbane and dogwood in honor of his father's best
friends – Frey began to finish the little but important ritual.
 
“For my -adoptive-” he whispered under his breath “father, James.  May he long
enjoy Elysium and the Isle of the Blest.”
 
“As the night closes and the veil reforms, we beseech thee ancient powers.
Hear our words, hear our cry.
All those of ours on the other side.
We live in honor of your name.
We remember and we stay true to our ways.
Magic to magic and blood to blood.”
 
With the last words Frey picked up his dagger and pricked his palm allowing his
blood to run down and sprinkle over the herbs which ignited with a whoosh the
others' offerings following suit.  They burned hot and white for an impossibly
long moment before extinguishing with a gust of wind, taking all traces of the
offerings with it and leaving only cleansed chalices behind in the shadows of
the new day.
 
…
 
After the Samhain rites Draco and Neville hurried off to bed but not before a
true bond of friendship and comradery formed between the three boys.  In the
weeks following, they managed to continue to baffle their professors over the
triadic friendship that crossed House lines.  While their study group deflected
most of the scrutiny, the more insightful adults surrounding them couldn't help
but notice the more intimate bond between the most unlikely of friends.
 
After all, who ever would've thought a Malfoy would become bosom-buddies with a
Longbottom let alone a Potter.
 
Despite the mild upsurge in attention, Frey continued to coast under the radar
for the most part.  Yes, he was in the top of all classes.  Yes, he'd managed
to continue his “hero” training by suckering Draco and Neville into sparring
practices, the other boys having had fencing and dueling lessons with tutors. 
But in reality, nothing was worthy of too much attention from the professors,
even with the jittery behavior of Quirrell and Snape's general sour demeanor.
 
…
 
Before they knew it, Yule was upon them and with it Winter Break.
 
In keeping with the charade that Frey still lived with the extremely-unpleasant
Dursleys for Dumbledore's sake, the young godling signed up to stay over the
break even though he'd much rather go home and see Heidi and Chiron and spend
the holiday sparring with Luke and teasing Annabeth.
 
When invited by Draco to the Malfoy's Annual Yule Ball, Frey regretfully
declined.  As much as he'd love to have a shot at investigating
and...liberating (steal*cough*cough) some of the ancient and Dark artifacts
Draco's family was sure to have collected through the centuries, Frey wasn't
firmly planted in the role of the “heroic” Harry he was supposed to portray in
order to stay under the radar.  He'd made inroads and only a few of the
professors still watched him such as the venerable Headmaster, Potions Master,
and just confusing DADA instructor.
 
Quirrell was a mass of confusion for the young godling.  Nothing about him made
sense.  Not one single, solitary little thing.
 
How does a supposedly confident, well-liked professor according to Cedric, one
of the older Hufflepuffs he'd become acquainted with, turn into a stuttering,
jittery wreck of a wizard?  What even possessed him to venture off into Albania
for researching vampires to begin with when he already had a cushy job teaching
Muggle Studies at one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world?
 
What, how, when, where, why, all of them questions with few answers and
baffling blanks in the mystery of Professor Quirrell.
 
Especially when you add in the few, but noticeable “gliches” as Frey'd taken to
calling them.
 
They mostly happened around him which would naturally catch his attention even
without his superior survival senses insisting something was “off” with the
professor.  But they also occurred, if much more rarely, around Frey's other
object of curiosity, Professor Snape.  Which led Frey to the question, what in
the world did the two of them have in common that leads to the “gliches”?
 
Gliches: times where a person's, in this case Quirrell's, behavior appeared to
freeze, chip, or crack, showing another persona underneath the surface.  Like a
sudden flaw in an otherwise flawless mask that appeared from too much wear and
tear.
 
In the case of the Professor Snape-induced gliches, it was very subtle. 
Something one would only catch if they were watching Quirrell for another
reason already.  Not something that one would note if merely seen in passing,
no matter the number of occurances.
 
Quirrell watched Snape like Snape watched Quirrell.
 
And sometimes his eyes would shine red for the briefest of moments.
 
Snape watched everyone and everything within his purview with a discerning and
gimlet eye.  He didn't miss a trick and was always aware of his surroundings
and company.  Frey could easily see why and how he pulled off being a spy, even
if his loyalties were still in question to the godling.  For some reason that
Frey had yet to discover, Snape watched Quirrell with more than his usual dose
of disdain and wariness he used with most of the rest of the human species.
 
Which was alarming in its self as the only other beings Snape watched like that
that Frey has noticed is himself, Draco, and the Headmaster.
 
For Quirrell to be as observant of Snape as Snape was of him was completely
out-of-character, even for his less-neurotic self from before he went to
Albania.
 
The gliches around Frey – or from Quirrell's perspective, young Harry Potter –
happened with some regularity.  Usually during the course of the DADA classes
something, a question a phrase something, would spark something within Quirrell
and the stuttering would fade into a smooth baritone and the nervous tics would
disappear.  In those moments Frey could almost see the persona hiding
underneath the stuttering wreck.  Then also like Quirrell's observances of
Snape, every now and then Frey would look up and catch his teacher's eye only
to catch a tinge of red.
 
All of which led Frey to two possibilities.
 
Either A. Quirrell was intentionally hiding his power and potential for some
reason only known to him and possibly through use of a Dark ritual (hence the
red in his eyes) or B. Quirrell was possessed by a spirit or shade of some
sort.
 
Unfortunately while Frey's been well educated in many things by his Far, his
Patron, and his caretakers, he wasn't an expert in either Dark rituals used for
concealment (his Far had considered using one on him before he came to Hogwarts
but quickly abandoned the idea) nor in possessions.  Honestly he wouldn't even
know where to start researching either and digging through his library
compartments in his trunks was likely to consume most of his Yule break.
 
Not that he had much else to devote his time to with most everyone gone...
 
Hmm...
 
Projects upon projects.
 
And he still isn't sure about that slippery bugger Severus Snape!
 
…
 
The Yule holiday found Frey celebrating alone in the Come-and-Go Room as the
house elves called it.  Loki called it proof of Rowena Ravenclaw's
eccentricity.  No teacher in their right mind after all would create such a
thing where children were able to stumble upon it, no matter how unlikely it
was.
 
Ronald Weasley of all annoyances had decided to stay over break while his
parents gallivanted off to Romania to visit his brother or some such thing. 
How two apparently not-quite-stable but not-quite-poor financially parents
could afford to do so was just another of the wizarding world's mysteries as
far as Frey was concerned.  What kind of parents would spend so much on a trip
instead of buying new clothes and school supplies for their still-at-home
children Frey didn't know.
 
But it certainly made him grateful his Grim spirited him away from both the
Dursleys and wizarding society.  Neither seemed to him to have their priorities
in order.
 
A lovely little house elf named Timsy directed him to the seventh floor
corridor and the awful tapestry of the Barmy's ballet-trolls when he asked
about the room.  Loki wasn't sure of it's location and cautioned him to be
careful when inquiring about it.  It would be a massive asset in continuing his
training but only if it wasn't known to the entire school.  It wouldn't take
much to have every Ron Weasley in the place trying to improve their Quidditch
game or some such nonsense.
 
Frey'd snuck out into the Forbidden Forest, selecting a smallish-oak and
cutting it down with a quick flex of his magic.  After cutting off a two-foot
long section from the stump end and debarking it he magicked the rest of the
tree away for the elves to use as firewood for the many, many fireplaces in the
drafty castle.  Once the log was allowed to dry (with some help from his magic)
Frey then cut runes into the smooth wood: Uruz for a time of great energy and
health along with masculine potency and wisdom, Eihwaz for protection and
defense, Perthro for the mysteries surrounding him and then Mannaz last to
represent himself rather than Hogwarts at large.  While he didn't know if the
last was needed as he'd not heard of another performing Yule rights, Frey still
took the precaution.  Lastly he wrapped the log in a garland woven of fir,
holly, yew, and mistletoe before sprinkling it with wine for the offering.
 
Saying his Yule words as the longest night covered the land, Frey held vigil
until the morning dawned, giving thanks to his Far's pantheon for the new day
and the return of the sun.
 
Before he could climb to his feet and return to the Tower for some sleep after
the long night watching the flames dance and allowing his mind to roam free and
unfettered by the stresses of living what amounted to a double life, the fire
from the log shot up sparking green and silver and gold.  Frey grinned brightly
at the sign from his Far as the new flames burned up the log completely,
leaving a wrapped bundle in its wake and the warm sensation of his father's
embrace surrounding him.  Concentrating fiercely, Frey wrapped his hands around
the small gift he'd fashioned, a small carved plaque depicting Loki cuddling a
younger Frey, and sent it off to find his Far wherever he might be with a flash
of light and a sudden and massive drain on the young godling's powers.
 
Pleased with himself that his new trick had worked – even if it made him a
bit...ok...a lot woozy – Frey picked up the Yule gift from his Far and
unwrapped it with eager hands.  Inside of the silken material which turned out
to be a small belt pouch and a gift all on its own sat a shining cloak pin, the
sort used to fasten old-fashioned cloaks like the black winter ones preferred
by the Hogwarts staff and made up part of his uniform.  Frey had one already
which while blank to begin with became engraved with the Gryffindor lion up on
being sorted but this one was much more to his taste.  Elegant but by no means
simple, it was an oval around three inches tall and half as wide made out of
hammered old gold.  He held it in one hand, awed by the age and powerful
protection magic he could feel permeating the metal. 
 
And carved in painstaking detail was the symbol of the Norse pantheon:
Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life.
 
Frey knew that if anyone was there they would see the most ridiculous of grins
on his face.  He simply didn't care.  After eleven years (sixteen if you count
all their time-bending) Loki was starting to take steps to claim his Firstborn
son and Heir and he couldn't possibly be happier.
 
…
 
Christmas came with much less fanfare on Frey's part and much more on everyone
else's.  He'd sent out gifts to those close enough to expect them: a new pair
of dragon-hide boots for Draco, chocolate for the girls from their study group,
a wand holster and some rare seeds for Neville, book vouchers for Blaise and
Theo.  He knew Heidi would've kept to their agreement and waited to open her
gift, even though it'd been sitting on his bed since the day he left and knew
she was sure to appreciate the silk scarf he'd found on one of his training
missions with Chiron.
 
He also sent out a few unexpected gifts.
 
A warm cloak to his Uncle Moony, wherever he was holed up.  Blankets with
warming and cleaning charms to Uncle Padfoot in Azkaban, delivered by way of
one of Thanatos's Reapers...which probably gave the old dog a semi-stroke.  The
notes with both were simple and likely to have all the more impact for it: 
Missing you, Harry.
 
If that didn't get the werewolf moving, nothing would.
 
The last gift on his list was all at once the most reckless and the most
calculated, with both the biggest change for failure and derision as well as
rewards.
 
To Professor Severus Snape, Frey sent a small hand-bound volume filled with
copies of letters and journal entries from those found among his Potter
documents Thanatos liberated from the Vaults.  All were written by his late
mother Lily and all were about her friendship with the little boy from down the
river: one Severus Tobias Snape.  Interspersed among the writings were pictures
also gleaned from the vault contents of Lily both as a young girl and older
both with and without Snape.  There was even one that must've been taken
without his knowledge on the day she asked him to watch over her son.  The
worry was evident in both their faces, but none-the-less Severus was happy for
his oldest friend as she carefully placed her newborn son in his arms.
 
Frey only hoped that the Professor didn't skin him alive for his presumption.
 
He sent it without a note but then he didn't quite think one was necessary.
 
…
 
Covered in the cloak he'd received among his other gifts, Frey crept through
the Hogwarts corridors.  He'd felt the compulsion magic that was placed upon
the magnificent garment that simply reeked of Lord Thanatos's divinity and was
letting it lead him to where ever the giver wanted him to go.  His instincts
told him that he was safe, a feeling bolstered by the Hallow concealing him. 
Even with the shady compulsion magic, it still felt amazing to have the Hallow
once more in Peverall hands.  It more than anything else was his inheritance
from his adoptive father and he'd not felt right ever since he'd learned of it
– and of it's disappearance before his death and Thanatos's reappearance in the
mortal world.
 
The card that accompanied it wasn't exactly soothing either, more like a prompt
towards misbehavior in an eleven-year-old's hands: Use It Well.
 
 
Use it well.
 
Most first years would use it to pull pranks, sneak out of the castle, and
otherwise drive Filch further into drink.  Using it well would not be high on
the agenda.  And something told him the sender was well aware of that.
 
But still the sender wanted him to see something specific and as curious as
ever and wanting to get to the bottom of some of the manipulations that loomed
over him, Frey went along for the ride.
 
Eventually coming to a stop before an ornate mirror tucked away in an abandoned
classroom, Frey restrained his need to look over toward the corner where he
could sense the Headmaster hiding within the concealing shadows.  At least he
knew the sender of the cloak wasn't out for his blood.  In theory.
 
Studying the writing along the gilt edge a moment he rolled his eyes. 
Apparently the venerable Headmaster wanted a boost along the path of
understanding the Boy-Who-Lived.  The Mirror of Erised.  Said to show you your
heart's desire and known for bewitching and ensnaring weak and strong alike
with it's visions of what could or couldn't be.
 
Deciding to bite and already having a good idea of what it would show, Frey
lowered the concealing hood of the cloak and allowed his eyes to rest on the
picture shown for several long moments.  Yes.  He could see now why so many
have been lost to the depths of the Mirror.  There he stood in Odin's golden
Hall, his Far on one side and his mother on the other with the god-King himself
beaming down with pride at the tableau.
 
Knowing how the Headmaster would interpret his words and wanting him to make
that false interpretation to deepen his cover, Frey spoke as he lifted his hood
once more to cover him.
 
“I already knew that.  I dream of my parents,” well parent anyway.  Loki really
is fond of dreamwalking.  “Every night.”
 
Turning he left the room, leaving the Headmaster to his comforting – but
utterly wrong – conclusions about his boy-hero wanting nothing more than a
sappy reunion with his parents.
 
…
 
 A flying body nearly tackled Frey right off the stairs leading up to the Great
Hall.  Consisting of bright blonde hair and babbling, Frey rather thought it
was the shock of Draco completely abandoning his public Slytherin mask for the
moment that nearly caused him to lose his footing instead of the total mass of
the airborne eleven-year-old's body.  He'd taken harder hits from Annabeth once
he taught her how to properly utilize her body weight in combat.
 
“Harry!”  The blonde's voice was so high with excitement it was nearing a
squeal while the amused forms of Blaise and Theo watched from a safe distance
as they climbed the steps.  “I love them!  They're perfect!  Thank-you-thank-
you-thank-you!”
 
Draco knew he was acting out of character as he just about hung from the larger
boy's neck and shoulders as he expressed his thanks.  And he honestly couldn't
care less.  The boots Harry sent him for Christmas had sent him into raptures
and his euphoria had yet to abate.  They were perfect Opaleye hide, extremely
rare and exquisitely crafted with the Malfoy crest on the other upper and the
Slytherin crest on the inner upper.  Even his father was envious and his father
has only the best of everything.
 
They were perfect.
 
Harry was the perfect friend.
 
Or just perfect.
 
And Draco was perfectly happy to show his appreciation.  He'll have to do
something equally as wonderful for Harry's birthday.
 
Patting Draco on the back with the hand not occupied with carrying his book
bag, Frey glanced over at the patently-amused Slytherins watching their Prince
assault the Gryffindor with his effusive thanks.
 
“I guess he liked his present then?”  He asked them dryly as the Prince showed
no signs of calming down anytime soon.  To the point that Frey was almost
carrying him into the Great Hall for breakfast.  Hopefully he'll regain his
senses before Frey had to split off for the Gryffindor table.
 
Although...
 
The thought of the scene Weasley would make over being joined for a meal by
Draco would almost be worth the embarrassment of having treated the blonde as a
necklace in front of the whole school.
 
Thankfully before it could get to that point the Malfoy heir regained his
composure and let go of his friend, straightening his hair and clothes with a
sniff.
 
“Like is a weak, shallow word to describe Draco's feelings about quality
footwear.”  Blaise said with a chuckle at the now-tidy blonde.  “Loves with the
fire of a thousand suns would be much more appropriate.”
 
“How did I not know this?”  Frey questioned them only half joking.  “I just
thought he'd like the boots since he's commented on mine a time or two.  Didn't
think it'd earn me a Draco-sized spider-monkey attack.”
 
Theo, already having trouble controlling his amusement, completely lost the
plot at Harry's description of Draco's enthusiastic greeting/thanks.
 
“While I don't appreciate my friends making fun of me.”  Draco said with a
sniff, looking up at the ceiling with arms folded across his chest.  “I can't
deny the accusation over my love of good boots.”  Looking down at the toes of
the footwear in question he glanced back up and bestowed a quick smile on his
famous friend.
 
Chuckling Frey told Draco he was welcome before separating for his House table
with a congenial wave.
 
“Think he has any clue Draco's officially put him at the top of his future-
husband list?”  Theo asked Blaise in a whisper, the Malfoy Heir's preference
for his own sex having been made clear the summer before, shortly thereafter
presenting his parents with a list of possible matches that he wouldn't kill if
they considered for his betrothed.  Needless to say, his father was surprised
when Harry Potter appeared at the top of the list immediately following the
opening of gifts.
 
Harry had already had a place on it, the two boys having been getting closer
ever since the train ride and the brunette being quite fanciable.  Not that
Draco is sure one way or another where Harry's interest lies when it comes to
romantic leanings, or if he's even begun to think of such things at all.
 
Which wasn't a problem in the wizarding world, whether the Potter Heir ever
returned Draco's feelings or found another wizard fanciable, same-sex marriages
and couples simply choosing to use a surrogate and then going through a blood-
adoption to maintain their House lines if the couples in question were Heirs or
Lords/Ladies.
 
Blaise just laughed.  “Not a chance.”  He shook his head before taking his
place at Draco's left.  “Not a chance at all.”
 
…
 
Time rolled quickly by for Frey and his friends and study-buddies following the
Winter Break as the professors began piling work onto the students in
preparation for their end of year exams with a few of the older study partners
in fourth year like Cedric panicking over the practice OWLs that they were
subjected to at their end of term tests.  The idea was great in theory, give
the students a pre-exam run up so that way they can focus more on their weaker
subjects.  Great.  Except it made for four years of end-of-term panic with the
fourth years and sixth years stressed over the pre-exams and the fifth and
sevenths in total meltdown over the actual Ministry tests.
 
Which tended to make excellent entertainment for Frey and company, especially
on those few rare times where the mischievous nature Frey had inherited from
both his fathers demanded to come out and play.
 
Honestly, between himself and the Weasley devil-twins it was a wonder Filch
hadn't had a complete breakdown by the time March melted into April and April
into May.
 
So when Neville came running up to him with a story about the devil-twins
finding a three-headed monster on the third floor...Frey was understandably
skeptical.
 
After all, back in February when the Valentines Day madness was infecting the
entirety of the Hogwarts population, Frey'd taken upon himself to challenge the
twins to a prank war.  The likes of which was never to be seen again once the
twins finished school although was likely to be repeated every year until
then.  The rash of hair-changing potions, dung bombings in the shower rooms,
and Snape's robes turning polka-dotted and starting to sing, were the things of
legends culminating in Frey's coup de tat: conjuring a veritable herd of two-
headed dogs who proceeded to chase Mrs. Norris and Professor McGonagall
throughout Hogwarts until the combined efforts of the professors and upper
years banished them all.
 
Following after Neville and gathering Draco, Blaise, and Theo along the way,
Frey ventured at last up into the third floor corridor whereby he found an
injured George Weasley who was shaking on the floor beside his wide-eyed twin
and their friend and accomplice Lee Jordan.  Theo, being the most familiar with
healing spells, quickly cast an Episkey.  Seeing that the charm failed to do
more than slow the bleeding, he traded worried glances with the rest of the
group.
 
“We need to get him to Pomfrey.”  He said, regretfully.  There would definitely
be detentions awarded for this.  Anytime there was blood or other bodily fluids
involved detentions were a sure bet, one of the reasons the devil-twins were on
such familiar terms with Snape's cauldron scrubbing equipment and Filch's
threats of thumb-screws.  “This is too serious for me to heal.”
 
“What the bloody-hell did that?”  Draco asked eyeing the wound as a now-focused
Fred and Lee began levitating George towards the infirmary.
 
“Look for yourself...”  George began, pointing towards a door in the hall with
a shaking finger.
 
“...but don't say...”  Fred continued.
 
“...we didn't warn you.”  Lee finished, being completely in tune with his long-
time friends' way of speaking, often lapsing into himself when they were
around, much to Snape's displeasure during classes.
 
Feeling the sticky-aware feeling of his monster-dar going bonkers, Frey glanced
at his friends before moving towards the still-cracked door across from him,
the others falling in at his back and sides.  Opening the door wide, his eyes
shot open comically wide at the sight of the three-headed black dog chained to
the wall, the other boys whispering furiously at the sight.
 
“Well...”  Draco drawled.  “Now we know what the Headmaster meant by 'dying a
horrible death' if we ventured into this area.”
 
“Indeed.”  Theo choked out.  “What is that thing?”
 
“Three-heads, canine, apparently vicious by the tear in George's leg...” 
Blaise thought out loud.  “I'm going with Cerberus.”
 
“W-w-who would house a Cerberus in a s-s-school?”  Neville stuttered, his old
shyness coming back in full force as he watched the beast anxiously.
 
“Our venerated Headmaster, apparently.”  Frey said dryly, cocking his head to
one side as he tried to remember if Cerberuses were protected by Thanatos.  He
didn't think so....but he'd have to check his books before he did
anything...final.
 
“My father always said Dumbledore was a barmy old goat.”  Draco rolled his eyes
with a haughty sniff.  “Never thought he'd be this barmy though.”
 
“Going to 'tell your father about this'?”  Frey teased the blonde gently over
his recurring threat to Weasley every time the prat does something truly foul.
 
Draco stuck out his tongue as his friends all laughed, Frey ushering them all
out of the doorway before locking the thick door with a whispered spell, one
thought circling through his mind.
 
“...what could be so important in a school that a Cerberus was needed to guard
it?”
 
…
 
“A Philosopher's Stone.”
 
That night in his dreams he stared blankly at his Far.  Loki was known to yank
his chain every now and again in the guise of “helping” Frey “think beyond the
Bifrost” Loki's way of encouraging creative solutions to set problems, such as
his own way of using the hidden doorways and back-trails winding through
Yggdrasil to avoid Heimdall's all-seeing-eye.
 
 But this took it to a whole new level.
 
“You're telling me Dumbledore has hidden a Philosopher's Stone in the depths of
the school in some kind of magical scavenger hunt-slash-obstacle course?  And
that my Uncle Thor and his Warriors Three are betting on the outcome?”
 
Loki shrugged.  “Eternity can be boring.  And in Asgardian terms my brother and
I are barely in our twenties.  Betting on the Savior-vs.-Voldemort has a more
even odds schema than say...” he searched his mind for one of his brother's
more idiotic challenges to his friends.  “Who can steal Lady Freyja's corset or
Lord Tyr's sword.”
 
Frey was flabbergasted.  His Far had never talked about this side of his Uncle
Thor before, mainly sticking to his more harmless pranks and adventures on
Vanaheim.
 
Seeing his son's incredulous look, Loki just shrugged once more and reiterated:
 
“Eternity can be boring, especially in times of peace.”
 
The godling grinned putting another piece of the puzzle in place.
 
“So you do things like sneak down to Midgard and have an Heir and Uncle
Thor...”
 
“Picks fights and bets on the outcomes of the more interesting of Midgardian
events.  You've become a particular favorite after slaying that troll and not
being trapped by that thrice-damned Mirror.  That a priceless magical object
even Odin would like in his collection is on the line only makes the stakes
that much more interesting for those in Asgard.”
 
Frey chuckled.  “And how did the Trickster bet?”  There was no way Frey would
believe his Far would forgo an opportunity to brag about and profit from his
exploits, even if it was merely through a wager about a supposedly random
Wizarding orphan.
 
“On the orphan Mage of course.”  Loki grinned.  “I always tend to back the dark
horse in these things and am rarely proven wrong to the point that Heimdall
always collects my bet last when we play these games.”
 
“What are the obstacles?”  With all of Asgard watching him alongside a
manipulative old coot there was no way Frey could abstain from going after the
Stone now, even if Voldemort wasn't in play.  “And is Voldemort what's
possessing Quirrell?  I thought it had to be but he can't be the only
malevolent Wizarding spirit floating around.”
 
Loki nodded solemnly.  He'd hoped that he and Thanatos were wrong over the
depths of the Headmaster's manipulations but the quest for the Stone and
allowing a possessed teacher inside the school merely proved their suspicions
correct.  Thanatos sending a Reaper, one of the few Dark creatures that no
wards could control or contain, to inspect the Professor once Frey came to Loki
with his observations of the man.
 
Whether complicit in his own possession or not, now Quirinus Quirrell was
Voldemort's creature.
 
“A Cerberus, as you know,” Loki smirked at his son.  Finally a monster that
Frey couldn't simply slay.  All creatures of Shadow like Cerberus, Shadow
wolves, and Thestrals were sacred to Thanatos and all the other Avatars of
Death.  Although Loki would've like fashioning his son a cloak of Cerberus
hide, it was more flame-proof than dragon-hide.  “Devil's Snare, keys charmed
to fly that must be caught to open a locked door, a giant chess set that you'll
have to play across, a logic puzzle, another troll, and that bedamned Mirror at
the end.”
 
“Nothing too worrisome then.”  Frey said sarcastically.  Most of it wouldn't be
a problem but the chess set sent up alarm bells.  If he couldn't figure out a
way around it he would have to try a second time, this time with a companion or
two to play across the board.  It would make offering up the Stone to either
his Far or Grim problematic.
 
“Not for a Prince of Asgard.”  Loki said pridefully.  “Not at all.”
 
…
 
He couldn't wait.  Not for Dumbledore to leave or for Quirrell to be occupied. 
That Stone needed to be gone from the castle before the Headmaster leaves once
more for his duties with either the Wizengamot or the ICW.  Voldemort will move
as soon as it appears Dumbledore was busy.  With children knowing of the
creature in the corridor and Snape limping from a bite wound to his leg, the
mad spirit's patience had to be close to evaporating.
 
Not that Frey could really blame him per se.  If he had to live as a shade for
ten years, he'd be low on patience and goodwill as well.
 
A few moments of colluding with one of Loki's servants, Peeves the Poltergeist
who's love of his Master's son was only eclipsed by his love of troublemaking,
and the scene was set.
 
He felt a small twinge of regret, the devil-twins were likely to be blamed for
the sudden rash of dungbombs that were about to go off in the Great Hall and
all the surrounding corridors, including the ones leading outside and up to the
various Towers.  For all intents and purposes, the entirety of the school,
except for those few who chose to stay in their rooms and study for exams like
Frey was supposedly doing, was about to be trapped in a veritable fog bank of
stink and smell.  And unlike standard-issue dungbombs, the output of these
couldn't merely be vanished.  It would settle in the halls and corridors until
whisked away by a good old-fashioned breeze.
 
Frey wasn't the son of the Trickster and a Marauder for nothing.
 
If that didn't distract and annoy the teaching staff for the half-hour he
needed, nothing would.
 
Except flooding the place or setting it on fire but those were both very last
resorts.
 
Knowing that Peeves was on his way, Frey didn't wait around for the bombs to go
off, instead utilizing the extra few minutes to sing a quiet little lullaby
he'd gotten stuck in his head after watching an animated movie with Annabeth
this last summer.
 
“Dancing bears,
and painted wings,
things I almost remember.
And a song,
someone sings,
once upon a December.”
 
After the first stanza the dog's three heads started to droop as Frey mentally
thanked Heidi's love of the shadow creatures for knowing how to get around it. 
Another stanza had the creature well asleep.
 
“...figures dancing gracefully,
across my memory.
Oh, far away,
long ago,
growing dim as an ember.
Things my heart,
used to know.
Once upon a December.”
 
Sliding down through the trap door, Frey allowed himself to slip into the grasp
of the deadly Devil's Snare.  Channeling his magic into his hands and then
sending it to course along his body and radiate outward he set himself alight,
never in danger himself as the elemental creatures of Camp Half-Blood had long
since taught him how to do simple spells with the elements.  Things such as
hovering an inch above the ground by using the air as a cushion or send fire or
water coursing along his skin.
 
The plant let out a shriek, dropping him as quickly as it'd grasped him. 
Landing in a crouch, he formed a small blue-bell flame a foot in front of him
to help with the inky shadows covering the area.
 
“I must be under the castle itself.”  He mused looking up at how far above him
the rough-hewn stone walls went and then down at the floor that continued to
slope downwards.  However, he wasn't too far underground as he could still feel
the tingle of the castle wards pinging on his mind.
 
Moving forward, not worried about how he would get back to the Tower as the
plethora of shadows meant he could just step through them and into his bed
since the hangings were closed and he would actually know where he was going. 
You didn't just step into the shadows and go anywhere.  That would be the
height of idiocy.  You'd end up on the moon or next door to the Earth's core.
 
No, you had to know exactly where you wanted to end up.
 
Otherwise he wouldn't put himself through all this and would've just shadow-
stepped into the chamber that held the Stone.
 
Opening the door at the end of the tunnel, Frey found the room with the charmed
keys, Professor Flitwick's contribution to this farce of a test.  He wondered
absently how many of the professors actually believed Dumbledore when he came
up with crap like this?
 
Odin knows Snape certainly didn't seem to buy into it but went along with it
anyway if what he knew of the man's character held true.
 
Smiling lightly for the sake of his Asgardian audience, Frey held out one hand
and simply pulled with his magic.  While the part-goblin was powerful and
knowledgeable, there were few charms or wards that couldn't be bested through
shear power and will.  One just had to want it bad enough and have the mojo to
back it up and most anything in the wizarding world could be bested through
might.
 
It wasn't an elegant solution.  Not something his Far would approve of, that
was for sure, and Frey would likely hear about it tonight.  But with the
Headmaster occupied and not monitoring him for the moment and finally having
the attention of at least his Uncle if not his Grandparents, he wanted to show
off a little.  Be a little flamboyant.
 
Not the most mature of decisions but for Hel's sake, he'd been hearing about
them all his life.  He wanted them to remember him even if they were unaware of
who he actually was to them.
 
A chance like this might never present itself again until Loki was finally able
to take him to Asgard itself.
 
With an almost inaudible 'pop' the charm on the correct key broke, falling down
softly into his hand.  Unlocking the door, he propped it open with one of the
brooms present before doing something that would appeal to Loki's sense of
elegant magic usage.
 
Cupping the key with his hands, he channeled his magic again, this time into
his lungs and then breathed out onto the key.  Wings once again sprouted from
the handle of the little tarnished silver key but instead of simple feathered
wings, these were ephemeral fairy wings that sparkled and danced in the low
light.  Flitwick would no doubt be boggled over the change before writing it
off as an oddity of magic.
 
Entering the next room he blinked, bringing up what his Far called Mage-sight. 
Magic permeated Hogwarts, making keeping his Sight active more of a hindrance
than any kind of help but down here he could clearly see the webs of magic
honeycombing the room.  It was mostly Professor McGonagall's distinctive red-
gold but here and there was a threading of Dumbledore's bright yellow. 
Monitoring charms and a net to prevent the Stone from leaving the room if
someone made it to the end and back.  Frey smirked as he disabled the
monitoring charm along with building in ten second delay in the charm work that
would trigger the chess set.
 
A few second was all he needed to step into the shadows by the chess set and
back out of the shadows on the other side.  Another few seconds to open the
door and it was as if no one had ever entered the room at all.
 
As he stepped across the doorway, flames sprang up behind him and likewise
blockaded the archway into the next room where Frey's monster-dar sensed the
troll.
 
Still using his Sight, he Saw that Snape had set a trap on the potions that
made up the logic-puzzle.  He'd be alerted at once if any of them were
disturbed.  Frey swore under his breath.  This wasn't the simple charm the
Headmaster had woven in among the chess set, relying on McGonagall's magic
trace to hide his own much fainter touch.
 
 
This was a complex, powerful, and unique warding charm, likely of the Potion
Master's own design.  Even with Frey's power reserves it would take more than
he wanted to give to undo it and there would be no way he could reset it
afterwards.  Not exactly how he wanted to waste his rapidly diminishing time
and power before having to fight and slay another monster and then work around
the traps Dumbledore himself set around the Mirror.
 
“This is notgoing to be fun.”  He muttered under his breath as he quickly fire-
proofed his clothes.  Thank Odin for Heidi's extravagance.  He thought to
himself.  Her insistence on the best of everything was paying off in his
dragon-hide boots and cloak.  His silken shirt and woven pants were likely to
get signed beyond repair but at least he wouldn't end up naked after his mad-
dash through the flames.
 
Crouching down in a sprinter's stance he braced himself against the back of the
table holding the potions, lifting the cloak's hood to cover and protect his
head and hair.  Exploding into motion with all the strength of his burgeoning
immortality, lunged straight through the flames and unsheathing his dagger in a
smooth, practiced motion, leapt onto the shoulders of the mountain troll
waiting on the other side.
 
Flipping himself around, he hooked his ankles behind the creatures head and
before the slow, lumbering monster could react to it's easy meal suddenly on
top of it, Frey stabbed the Stygian blade up through the bottom of the troll's
jaw and into it's brain.  Releasing his hold, he sprang away, bracing his hands
against the troll's chest and pushing, finishing his flip and shoving the troll
onto the ground all at once.
 
Looking down at the dead monster he grinned to himself as he cleaned the knife
on the creature's raggedy garment.
 
“Ok.”  He admitted.  “Maybe that was a little fun.”  He looked down at the
holes in his once-fine pants and groaned.  Heidi was going to kill him if Loki
didn't beat her to it.
 
Whispering too low for any eavesdropping Asgardians to pick up he dedicated his
kill to his Far and continued, sheathing his knife.
 
Entering the last chamber he came to a stop before a familiar Mirror.  Ignoring
the scenes that played out inside it and knowing that anyone spying on him
couldn't see what he saw – a good thing since most of it revolved around Asgard
and Loki with sprinkles of his Mum and Dad – he focused utterly on the spells
cloaking the room.  Dumbledore had gone all out.
 
With a twist of his wrist his wand slapped against his palm from its wrist
holder.  He winced, knowing that the spell work he was about to use was going
to fry it.  He'd have to be extra vigilant through the last month of school and
exams not to give away that he'd burned out the core.  Maybe use a glamour on
it or something.
 
Lifting both his hands like a conductor he began chanting in Ancient Greek,
waving his wand in graceful arcs as he sought to set up a cloaking net of his
own to hide himself and his actions and magic from the massive networking of
spells Dumbledore had interlaced throughout the chamber.
 
“Hide and seek,
lost and found,
cloak me and mine from both air and ground.
 
Shadows born
and shadows mastered,
help the one
who Death won't gather.
 
Peveralls past
and Peveralls gone,
none may know
what this Peverall won.”
 
Rising with his command the shadows stretched out from the walls, covering the
floor and ceiling and buffering the room from Dumbledore's magic.  Moving
freely inside the dome of dark, Frey ignored the wood burning against his hand
at the demands of his power.  Funneling his power into the very tip, he struck
the Mirror precisely in the center of the silvered glass.
 
Rippling like a pebble in a pond, the glass parted, revealing the cache inside
it.
 
Containing much more than the Stone, Frey arched a brow at what must be one of
Dumbledore's hiding places for things both Dark and Dangerous.  Recognizing
more than one item, he shook his head at the old man's folly.  Many of the
things contained in the Mirror were a death sentence for anyone but their
creator or master to use, not least among them was an Elven see-stone right out
of Tolkein.
 
Taking out a warded and bespelled bag from his pocket, a precaution just in
case he came across things on missions for the Camp that he didn't want to
touch him (like a gorgon's head or one of Persphone's Pearls) he quickly and
efficently raided the space.  Many of the items would wind up either with his
Far or Chiron, being too risky for him to keep until he has many more years of
experience, but there were a few he knew he'd like to hold onto.  Like the book
on bloodwards that had his mother's magical signature all over it.
 
Task done and his magic beginning to strain at how long he's held the Mirror
open, he reached out at last for his prize, the Stone.
 
Allowing the Mirror to close after he removed it, he held it up in his hand in
an ageless gesture of triumph.
 
“I offer up my trophy to my Patron, Lord Thanatos.”  He said with utter
solemnity.  “For no mortal should be able to cheat Death.”
 
With a flash the Stone disappeared, never to be seen in the wizarding world
again.
 
…
 
In Asgard, Thor turned to congratulate his brother in good cheer.
 
“Once again you've chosen well, brother.”  The blond god of Storms boomed, his
voice like that thunder that was his trademark.
 
Loki smirked, covering his fatherly pride, concern, and exasperation with his
usual mask of superior intelligence and unflappability.
 
“You chose wisely as well yourself, my brother.”  Loki said with a wince as his
hulking sibling clapped him on the back.  “For once.”  He jabbed.
 
Thor merely boomed another laugh as Sif made her way over to the celebratory
duo.  Of all of Asgard, only the two Princes through in their lot with the
young orphan, most astutely it seemed.
 
“There is much more to that Seidr than meets the eye.”  She commented lightly
as she joined them.  “He holds to the Olde Ways it seems.  He hasn't forgotten
us.”
 
“No.”  Heimdall agreed as he moved forward to give the brothers their
winnings.  “He is much like his parents, though he follows his family's Patron
rather than that of either his dam or sire.”
 
“Who were their Patrons?”  Sif asked her head cocked to one side.
 
Loki mentally cursed, knowing full well what Heimdall would say.
 
“The late Lady Lily was a follower of our own Queen Frigga.”  Heimdall said,
humor sparking in his eye as he turned to the Silvertongued Prince.  “While
Lord James and the other Marauders followed none other than Loki himself.”
 
Looking up at the sky in mock-innocence, Loki ignored the shocked looks he was
getting from his brother and long-time friend.
 
“Methinks,” Sif said dryly.  “Loki had inside information on this wager.”
 
Loki rolled his eyes as he studied the faces turned towards him, waiting for an
explanation.
 
“No.”  He said with a sigh.  “Not quite.  I merely wagered on the boy having
his father's luck and his mother's brains.  I had no idea of the extent of the
child's powers.  After all,” he reminded them.  “His father was one of mine,
not he himself.”
 
“True.”  Sif agreed reluctantly.  “However...I believe this Seidr bears
watching.  If for no other reason than witness whether he will at last best his
foe.”
 
“Agreed.”  Thor said with a smile before frowning.  “I do not like the sound of
this Voldemort.  He seems to be a cretin and a villain of the first-order. 
What thinks you, brother?”
 
He nodded, eyes shadowed.  “Voldemort struck down the young one's parents as
they were defenseless in their home, betrayed by one of their closest friends,
before turning his wand on an innocent child.  And that is only one of his
crimes.”
 
Faces solemn at his words, the group broke up, each going their separate ways
as Loki cursed silently.  Spending time with his son just became that much more
complicated.
 
…
 
The last month of school flew by with only the disappearance of Professor
Quirrell to mar the ending of another school year.  One day right before the
end of term, Hagrid the Keeper of the Keys, brought tidings of the Professor's
body being found in the Forbidden Forest by one of the males of the centaur
herd with the back of his head blown off.
 
It seemed Voldemort had tired of his vessel once the Stone was out of his
reach.
 
Frey and his friends all excelled in their end-of-year exams, each placing well
at the top of the class with Frey only losing out to Draco in Potions, Neville
in Herbology, and Blaise of all people in Charms.  The godling congratulated
them on their scores with their favorite chocolates picked up from Honeydukes
by owl-order, transparently pleased by being bested by his friends.  Draco was
entertained as always by the now-commonplace tantrum thrown by Granger, her
feelings of being put-upon not having been soothed but rather aggravated by
having to be saved by her two arch-nemeses.
 
The blonde was rendered ecstatic over Frey's acceptance of his invitation to
visit Malfoy Manor for the last week of summer, both his parents and Frey's
guardians having corresponded by owl to arrange the treat for their excelling
students.  Draco would get Harry all to himself for once, no matter how small
the amount of time would be.
 
His friend's and friend's guardians reason for agreeing was much less
innocent.  Frey wanting a chance to size up Lord and Lady Malfoy for himself
and do what research he can into Voldemort's Horcruxes while staying at the
home of one of his Inner Circle.  His safety would never be in question, what
with everyone and their owl knowing about the planned trip thanks to Draco's
crowing to their friends.
 
All packed and having boarded the Express, expanded and warded bag of what few
treasures he was able to keep rather than give over to his Far for safekeeping,
Loki then giving some in turn to Chiron for the centaur to keep and study, Frey
was nearly humming in satisfaction.
 
The year could've gone better.  His Boy-Who-Lived mask definitely wasn't as
smooth and blemish-free as he'd like.  But all in all, it went well.  Only
Snape and Dumbledore seemed to be watching him at all anymore, his fellow
students and the rest of the teachers having well-established him as a
gregarious, friendly, unbiased boy who was smart as a whip and rather powerful,
exactly as they would want a hero to be.
 
Now all he and Heidi needed to do was make it to Gringott's.
 
Then no matter what Dumbledore discovered about him or suspected, his control
over him would be gone, along with his control over the Potter and Peverall
seats in the Wizengamot and ICW.
 
After all, thanks to his best-friend Draco, Frey knew he could claim his
Lordship and become the first Young Lord in almost five hundred years.
 
 
Making friends with the Malfoy Heir, no matter how risky initially or when the
Dark Lord made his comeback, was exactly the right decision.
 
Now it was only a matter of time to see when the Prophecy would reach
fulfillment.
 
And for a godling who would be immortal one day, time wasn't something that
mattered at all.
***** Six *****
                                  Chapter_Six
                                        
After taking his leave of his friends, including a very brief, very formal
introduction to Lord and Lady Malfoy during which he got the impression that
the Lord was shocked by his manners and the Lady by his appearance, Frey made
his way over to Heidi on the mundane side of the barrier at Platform 9 ¾.
 
“My little Lord.”  Heidi murmured quietly, tears wetting her eyes for a second
as she took in the changes in her charge.
 
Before he'd left for school, while quite advanced from most his age he still at
least appeared to be an eleven-year-old.  His gait was still a little gangly
from limbs that grew in stops-and-starts, his face still plump with baby-fat
despite his otherwise lean physique.  He still had that air of...innocence, she
supposed.  Which again, was everything it should be after growing up in almost
total isolation from the modern world except for a few trips into the City.
 
Frey had lost that sometime during the year.
 
He'd lost most of those things in all actuality.
 
His face was becoming lean and sharp, the aristocratic angles and planes of his
face cushioned by a much smaller margin of baby-roundness.  He was looking more
and more like a perfect fusion of his parents with the barest hint of Peverell/
Potter thrown in from his blood adoption.  His gait was smooth and confident at
all times, without the occasional hesitance that marked it before.
 
And that air of rarefied innocence was nowhere to be found.
 
Her little Lord was growing up and growing fast, both in maturity and body to
match his advanced mind.
 
Her Lord Thanatos will be pleased.
 
“Heidi.”  Frey beamed at the sight of his caregiver and friend, glomping onto
her with a massive hug that almost lifted the Harvestmaiden off her feet.  “I
missed you.”
 
“And I you, little Lordling.”  She smiled down at him, though not as far down
as she once did.  He'd nearly caught her own five-four height.  He would likely
outstrip her by the end of summer with the way he was growing.  Leaning in
closer she whispered in his ear as she fussed about with his hair.  “As
requested there is a car outside to take us to the entrance of the Alley then
to Heathrow.  My Lordlling's parent,” who's identity was becoming crystal-clear
to anyone who'd spent any time around the mischievous creature and his First
Son.  “Has a private jet there standing by.”
 
Looking up at her from under lowered lids Frey grinned, ready as always to
tease the woman who'd been much like a mother to him while always maintaining a
“proper” distance between them.
 
“You flew?”  He asked, barely containing his laughter.  None of his Patron's
older Harvestmaidens would fly if given the option.  They simply didn't trust
planes when shadow-stepping was so convenient.  But charades must be maintained
if they didn't want Dumbledore to become even more suspicious.
 
Rolling her eyes at his teasing, she tucked her arm through his, leading him
out into the heavy summertime-London air.
 
“And will do so again,” she said with a put-upon sigh.  “And again until you're
of age to fly alone to keep up appearances.”
 
Frey chortled under his breath as he held open the door of the long black car
for her, ignoring her scathing glance at his reddening face and shaking
shoulders.
 
Thanatos save her from troublemakers and their spawn.
 
…
 
Dumbledore paced in his office, one hand stroking his beard as he awaited one
of his Professors.
 
The children were off for the Summer, the train had arrived at Kings Cross
station and so there ended his and his staffs' responsibility for them for
another year.  He could at last devote a small measure of his time to the
problem that was plaguing him before the Wizengamot's summer session
commenced.  One that as things stood had the potential to become a disaster the
likes of unforeseen proportions.
 
Harry Potter.
 
When the letter didn't address itself to Number Four Privet Drive, something he
didn't know until after the Feast when the child's appearance raised some...red
flags...Dumbledore was at first concerned.  After running a few diagnostics, he
discovered that magic of some unknown origin was cloaking young Mr. Potter's
place of residence.  Fine and dandy for keeping him safe from the remnants of
Tom's minions but supremely unhelpful in discovering if Mr. Potter was, as he
should've been, raised by Vernon and Peturnia Dursley.
 
Under no circumstances could he understand how a child raised by what Minerva
still insisted on calling “the worst sort of Muggles” raise up what seemed to
be the perfect Scion of an Ancient and Noble House.
 
It was there in nearly everything the child did.  Except for his rather mind-
boggling attitude of having friends no matter their House affiliation, Harry
Potter made a better pure-blood Heir than did young Heir Malfoy or Heir
Longbottom.  The way he walked, talked, studied, held himself, even ate smacked
of a pure-blood education from the cradle.
 
Dumbledore couldn't fathom it.
 
This wasn't what he had in mind when he place the child with his relatives.
 
Harry Potter should've been awed by Hogwarts and magic.  He should've been
naive.  He should'vebeen many things and if meek and beaten down was among
them...well so much the better.
 
Harry Potter was none of those things.
 
Harry Potter was blasé about magic and already quite impressive in his control
according to Minerva and Filius.
 
Harry Potter was sharp and observant, sending the other Houses to Gryffindor on
the All Hallows instead of simply going on like the rest of the students.
 
Harry Potter was many things.  Meek and beaten down wasn't anywhere among them.
 
And so, Dumbledore called his most valuable resource into the doings of the
Dark to him.  He wanted, nay, needed to know what Severus had observed and
suspected of the child who behaved as none of them could've predicted.
 
Oh, that isn't to say he hasn't put up a good show of it.
 
Being sorted into Gryffindor, being unaware of his Vaults at Gringotts'
(another concern about his living conditions considering the sheer quality of
his raiment and school supplies), saving the Granger girl despite his own
dislike; those are all very well and good and expected from the Boy-Who-Lived.
 
But he didn't act without more red-flags either.
 
Befriending young Mr. Malfoy and spurning Mr. Weasley were at the top of that
list.
 
“You called for me, Headmaster.”
 
…
 
To say that Severus Snape was less than pleased at his summons to the
Headmaster's office directly after he returned from his turn at chaperoning the
hormonal dunderheads to Kings Cross Station would be like saying that the sun
was just a little warm.
 
Oh, he knew what this summons was about.  There was no question in his mind
that it was about the little Potter child.  Before this year he would've spat
and cursed the name however...he really didn't have much of Potter in him, epic
pranking war aside.
 
Potter looked too much like Lily for his disdain to remain alive and thriving.
 
And the way he acted...
 
James Potter wouldn't have befriended a trio of Slytherins let alone the Prince
himself for a million galleons.
 
His son on the other hand did just that and more.  With top Marks in nearly
every class and a convivial attitude towards most of his fellow students (the
cretin Weasley and annoying know-it-all two notable exceptions) Harry Potter
was quite less James's mini-me than he was Lily's son.
 
And with that realization came a dramatic change of heart in the dour Potions'
Master.
 
He would stand by the Vow he made all those years ago and protect Lily's son. 
From whoever that threat might be.  Including his employer.
 
Whatever it might take.
 
Steeling himself to do whatever he could to dispel Dumbledore's suspicions –
and he had no doubt that the old man was suspicious – he took a breath and
entered the office.
 
“You called for me, Headmaster?”  His dark voice was heavy with dislike, a tone
that simply rolled off of the old man's be-spangled shoulders.
 
“Ah, yes, Severus.”  Dumbledore beamed over his half-moon spectacles as he
moved to sit behind his paper-laden desk.  “Lemon drop?”
 
Severus merely sneered at the offer, folding his arms across his chest with one
hand clasping an elbow inside his robes.
 
“Ah, well,” the old man huffed, sucking on the tart treat in his own cheek. 
“Straight to the point then.  What do you think of our young Mr. Potter?”
 
The dark man merely arched a brow and deepened his sneer.
 
“Oh come now, Severus.”  Dumbledore rolled his eyes.  “Even you can admit that
young Harry has little in common with his late father.”
 
“That doesn't make him a shining light in the darkness, Headmaster.”  Severus
said smoothly.  “Merely less objectionable than a cockroach.”
 
“Severus.”  Dumbledore attempted to chide the man.
 
“Albus.”  Snape snapped, unfolding his arms.  “I know what you're after so ask
it plain.  Beyond his status as a moderately-intelligent student and friend of
my godson, I have no opinion on Potter.”
 
“Very well.”  Albus sobered, interlacing his fingers and he clasped his handed
and laid them before him on his desk.  “To you knowledge was Mr. Potter
fostered in any of the old Dark families?”
 
Severus arched a surprised brow.  That wasn't quite what he thought the
Headmaster would be after.  Though, after a moment's reflection he supposed it
made a kind of twisted sense.  Potter was nothing like Albus had told people he
was.  The story being commonly held that he was being raised like a young
prince far away from the wizarding world.  The Potter who appeared on September
First was nothing like that child would be.  That child would've been
everything he was prepared to hate and despise.  No this inquiry meant...
 
“Do you mean to tell me you've lost the Boy-Who-Lived?”  He nearly smirked at
the question.
 
Dumbledore scowled.  He hadn't thought Severus would twit him over this, though
he likely should've expected it considering the bad blood between young
Potter's father and the Potions Master.  Any hint of impropriety would either
be fuel for the fires of his dislike or cause for amusement in the dour man.
 
“Not lost.  Merely am...uncertain.”  He admitted.  “I placed him with his
closest living relatives in the Muggle world...”
 
He was rather abruptly interrupted.
 
“You gave him to Petunia?”  Severus's voice was nearing a shout.  “Have you no
sense? That woman hated and likely still hates, anything to do with magic or
magical people.  Including myself, James Potter, and her sister.  What were you
thinking?”
 
“I was thinking of young Harry's safety behind the blood-wards Lily's sacrifice
enacted.”  Dumbledore chided the man, eyes like chips of hardened ice. 
“Petunia and her son are Harry's closest blood relatives and best match for
keeping her sacrifice alive.  There was no other place on Earth where Harry
would've been as safe from Death Eaters.  A moot point since as I've
discovered, the Dursleys never took custody of him.”
 
Severus rubbed one hand over his face in a rare show of emotion.  In this case
fury mixed with exasperation.
 
“If you placed him with Petunia, yet she never took custody of him, and yet you
cannot find him through normal means, why haven't you used your contacts at the
Ministry to sniff him out.  He's not with any Dark family that I'm aware of and
someone would've made a fuss by now over the Boy-Who-Lived not being where he
was supposed to be.”
 
Dumbledore shifted under his Potion Master's gimlet gaze.
 
“I did.”  He admitted.  “That's why I am...uncertain.  Whoever has custody of
Harry had the wills and guardianship papers sealed.  Only Harry himself can
unseal them and allow them to become a matter of public record once he is
seventeen.  The magic on the document prevents it.  The same magic that has
cloaked him from all attempts at tracking his whereabouts.”
 
Snape sank into a chair.  For all that he would protect Harry against the
Headmaster's machinations....this wasn't good news.  Very few beings had that
kind of power.  And almost none of them were of the human kind.  He swallowed
convulsively.  He remembered something the late Potter said to him once while
gloating over the success of his latest prank on Severus.  About the origins of
his family and that blastedcloak.  If Dumbledore had the same suspicions...
 
He could only imagine the kind of havoc the old man would wreak to control that
kind of power.
 
He needed to be diverted.  Post haste.
 
“If the wills were sealed.”  He began slowly edging the Headmaster away from
his suspicions.  “Then how did I receive a bequest from Lily?”
 
“Certain parts were allowed to become public knowledge.”  Albus admitted. 
“Bequests to yourself, Remus, a few other friends who were alive and well at
that point.”  Including a bequest for Black that the man received even though
he was trapped in Azkaban.  “The rest is utterly concealed.”
 
“That sounds like the work of the goblins to me.”  Snape said with a snort. 
“Greedy little buggers must've not wanted that much gold locked down until the
boy's inheritance.”
 
“Likely so.”  Albus said with a sigh.  “However we still do not know the truth
behind the child's home.”
 
Severus shrugged.  “He was picked up by a blonde woman on the muggle side of
Kings Cross and left using muggle means.  Wherever his home is, it likely is
with some relative of Lily's that we simply didn't know about.  Lily was wise
beyond her years, she likely made arrangements in case her son wound up in
Petunia's hands.”
 
“That...is plausible.”  Dumbledore had to concede.  It was very like Lily
Potter nee Evans to make such arrangements.  “The goblins did seem to find
her...less objectionable than most wizarding kind.”
 
“And young Mr. Potter has made plans to spend time at Malfoy Manor with Draco
towards the end of break.  I could always pop over and see my godson while he's
visiting, see what I can discover.”
 
“Thank you, Severus.”  Albus said with a sigh.  Happy at last to have a solid
plan in place so he could focus on other things.
 
“You're welcome, Albus.”  Moving towards the door he looked back over his
shoulder at the Headmaster.  “Albus, what of the Philospher's Stone?  Was it
found with Quirrell's remains?”
 
“Sadly no.”  Dumbledore shook his head.  The mystery of where that blasted
stone disappeared to vexed him nearly as much as his plans failing to come to
fruition.  He would merely have to come up with something better next year. 
“It remains undisturbed and yet unaccounted for.”  Along with quite of few of
his secret treasures.
 
“Blessings upon your thief hunt then, sir.”  Severus said with a knowing
smirk.  He'd advised against that plot from the start.
 
Nothing good would come of having such a thing at large.
 
Nothing at all.
 
…
 
Walking through Diagon Alley with Heidi was an experience.  While she was
familiar with quite a few of the locations from doing his school shopping last
summer, the purely magical area still caused her to jump and start at times
when her Harvestmaiden instincts regarding protecting her charge from threats
ran headlong into strange sounds and sights in the wizarding district.  Frey
was amused to an indecent degree that a woman who served an Avatar of Death and
hung out with a centaur and nyiads was rattled by witches and wizards.
 
Although, he had a moment himself when he caught sight of the inscription on
the doors of Gringotts' London.
 
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
 
'Yeesh.' He couldn't help but think a chill rolling up his spine as he
remembered the tales of the goblin wars from his Far.  Especially when the face
of Luke Castellan, son of Hermes flashed before his eyes.  'Good thing demigods
are rarely magical.  Every single child of Hermes would take that as a dare.'
 
Nodding politely to the goblin warriors guarding the doors, he held one open
for Heidi before following her inside the wizarding bank.  Staring around in
curiosity, Frey eyed the various weapons on display and the differing ages
apparent in the ranks of the goblins.  The bank was largely empty, a good thing
for the secrecy of their business, most people busy with the ending of the
Hogwarts term, either in welcoming home children or preparing for the
inevitable post-school rush in the shops.
 
Approaching one of the tellers in his turn, Frey nodded solemnly before the
goblin could bark at him as was their wont with wizards who waste their time
with unimportant (to goblins) pleasantries.
 
“Honorable Goblin Ragnar,” Frey said spying the name on the plaque.  “I request
a meeting with the head of the Potter and Peverell accounts.”
 
Ragnar sneered down at the young wizard before noticing the aura surrounding
him and his female companion.  While she was cloaked mainly in black with
rivers of gold and rust-red, the colors of the Harvest Lord, he was a confusing
and confounding mish-mash of color.  There was the black of the Peverell
Patron, Lord Thanatos of course, as well as the bright green that came from the
youngling's dam and the white of her blood-sacrifice.
 
But there was another color present.  Two actually.  Both of which were the
cause of the goblin's shock and the subsequent behavior the youngling would be
treated with.
 
Ichor, a kind of silvery-gold.  The color of the gods.
 
The child had a divine parent.
 
And even beyond that, and most startling and rare of all was a color he and
every other goblin had only ever heard of: purest purple, the color of ambrosia
petals.  Shimmering and unique, it denoted a Godling, a child of divine
parentage that unlike a demigod would become immortal and with divine powers
without undergoing the heroic trials.  More importantly, it meant that one day
the youngling's aura would change utterly, freezing along with his immortality
into a symbol of his divine province.
 
Ragnar was suddenly and completely grateful he hadn't had a chance to be seen
as rude by the child.
 
“Yes.”  He said at last his voice like rough gravel.  “I expect you would.”
 
With a stroke of his pen he sent off a note summoning the requested goblin.  A
few moments passed where Frey and Heidi studied both the goblin before them and
their surroundings before the manager of Frey's accounts strode through a
door.  Eyes widening in the same manner as Ragnar's had, the goblin quickly
ushered them inside a stark office decorated only with large piles of parchment
and scrolls.
 
“I am Chief Account Manager Ironhide, manager of the Peverell and Potter
accounts for over a hundred years.”  The elder goblin said solemnly.  “More
importantly, I am the one goblin in this bank other than the bank Manager
Ragnok himself, King of the Goblin Nation, who knows the circumstances of your
placement and patron, young Heir.”
 
Heidi nodded regally.  “I am Harvestmaiden Captain Heidi Lothbrok, the main
caretaker for my charge.”  Rather than name him she simply waved a hand.  “His
guardians could not attend, however for the purposes of this meeting that
should not matter.”
 
“Excellent.”  Frey said with a sharp nod.  “I require a blood and magical
inheritance test.  I would like to claim any Lordships I am entitled to now
that I am of age to do so and have a full accounting of my inheritance once I
reach of age.”  He thought for a moment.  “And I'd like to know what's going on
with any seats I many control and if I am able to change who manages them for
me.”
 
Surprised but pleased at the turn what he thought would be a simple accounting
meeting had taken, Ironhide nodded and with a snap of his fingers cleared his
desk and made a ritual chalice, knife, quill, and black parchment appear.
 
“What you request is easy enough, young Lord.”  Ironhide's voice was just as
gravelly as Ragnar's but with a smoother edge.  “However it is not
inexpensive.”
 
“How much?”  Frey asked, Heidi content to take the back seat now that
everyone's positions have been made clear.  She was simply there to provide a
sheen of normalcy to those outside the room.  In all honesty, she's been little
more than a sounding board, adviser, and personal shopper for the last year or
two.  Her charge has merely outgrown her for anything other than keeping up
appearances and having a stable adult in his life.
 
“One thousand, three hundred galleons, twelve sickles, and three knuts.” 
Ironhide named the prohibitive price with a blank face.  With the danger of
importing certain...questionable...ingredients needed to make the specialized
parchment and treat the quill, Gringotts had not choice but to increase the
price every year to the point that a once common-place service had become all
but extinct.
 
“Done.”  Frey said with an arched brow over the price and a wave of his hand. 
“You can take it from my trust account.”
 
On that long ago night Thanatos made sure to ensure that no one would be able
to touch his accounts, not even the meddling headmaster.  Any keys that the man
might possess were actually to a “dummy” account that was in reality empty
except for the single galleon to keep it open.
 
“Very well.”  Having the youngling sign for the expenditure, Ironhide magicked
the draft for funds to the fee collectors before warding the room for the
procedure.  Arranging the parchment and quill next to the chalice, he
instructed the young Lord through the process.
 
“Using the knife, puncture your wrist just below the thumb on your left hand
but do not take the blade away.  Keep it there for the count of five galleons
then remove it and hold it blade down above the chalice.  The wound will heal
on its own once the blade is removed.”
 
Nodding his understanding, Frey followed the directions precisely and stoically
much to the goblin's approval.  This one will be a warrior.  There's no doubt
of it.
 
Watching carefully as the blood collected by the blade flowed down into the
chalice, Ironhide nodded then took the knife from Frey's grasp and returned it
to its box in the depth of the bank where it would automatically be cleansed
for its next use.  Once the contents of the chalice turned white he continued
with his instructions.
 
“Using your magic,” Ironhide gave Frey a firm glance.  “And only your magic,
grasp the quill and nib side down hold it in the chalice's potion.  The ink
should turn silver when your magic touches it.  Once all the liquid is
absorbed, you can pick up the quill and hold it above the black parchment. 
When it starts writing you can let go.  It will only stop once it finishes its
task.”
 
Again obeying the not-complicated but still precise commands, Frey watched as
the potion which contained a fair amount of his life-blood did indeed turn
silver and then the quill began writing in elegant script, the silver showing
up nicely against the black.  As it finished and the quill stopped, Ironhide
again snapped his fingers and two copies appeared of the parchment.
 
“One for the Gringotts Archive.”  The goblin explained.  “One for you to take. 
The original should remain in your Family Vault.”
 
Looking over the finished list of inheritance, Frey looked up with a smirk and
dryly asked:
 
“Which one?”
 
…
(Note: lines or words that are underlined denote obscured information that only
Frey and the goblins can read.)
                       Patrimonium Frey_Haraldr_Lokison
                         Known As: Harry James Potter
                                        
                           Lord, by blood-adoption:
                The Utmost Ancient and Noble House of Peverell
                           The Noble House of Potter
                                        
                   Heir, by blood-adoption and appointment:
                     The Ancient and Noble House of Black
                                        
                                Heir, by blood:
                            The_Throne_of_Jotunheim
                                        
                              Heir, by adoption:
                             The_Throne_of_Asgard
                                        
…
 
“Well,” Frey said looking over at his companion.  “If there was ever an 'oh-
shit' moment, I'd say this is it.”
 
“What does it say?”  Heidi asked but being circumspect by refraining from
looking for herself.
 
“Let's just say my family tree just got a lot more screwed up.”  He said with
icy sarcasm.  'I wonder if Far even knows...if they've ever told him?  And if
they haven't....what the hells am I supposed to do?'
 
“If I may young Lord.”  Ironhide nearly swallowed his tongue seeing what the
inheritance ritual showed.  While it didn't name anyone other than young Harry,
no, Frey, it certainly lent itself to quite a few conclusions.  “I believe the
Peverell Vault is the oldest and therefore the most difficult to access with
the strongest protections.  That would likely be the best place to hide this.” 
He said motioning to the original parchment.  “Until you are ready, if ever, to
share the information it contains.”
 
“Thank you, Ironhide.”  Frey said gathering himself in the wake of what was a
devastating blow.  And I can't eventellhim.  If Odin hasn't after all this
time...there must be a reason.  Plus, why would Far believe me if he hasn't
discovered this on his own?  The parchment won't do any good, the spells in
place would keep even him from seeing the obscured information...
 
“To complete the ritual and summon the Lordship rings,” Ironhide spoke crisply
once the documents were safely squirreled away in their Vaults and Archives. 
“Simply hold your hands, palm up, over the chalice and incant: Domus annulos,
domum rediret. (House rings, return home.)”
 
Following along as he has all along, Frey smiled when the three rings appeared
in his hands: Lord rings for Peverell and Potter and the Heir ring for Black. 
He moved at once to put them on their respective fingers, not twitching at all
as they resized to fit his hands.  The Heir ring, nearly as old in feeling as
the Peverell Lordship ring, was the least simple of the lot.  Made of bright
platinum and not at all tarnished by age, it was studded with sapphires,
diamonds, and onyx all along the band that nearly took up an entire knuckle
with the Black Crest with it's stars, sword, and hunting dogs engraved in the
metal between the stones, shaking his head at the obvious sign of wealth he
slipped it on his right index finger.
 
One his ring fingers went his Lordship rings, the plain gold band with its
large center ruby and engraved stags rampant for the Potters on his right hand
leaving the ancient and heavy Peverell ring alone on his left hand.
 
Plain by comparison with the Black ring, the Peverell ring was actually much
more valuable both in meaning and content.  Matching his ritual cup by being
carved entirely from a solid piece of black diamond, it seemed to suck up the
light with its dull gleam that caught and captured the eye.  Instead of the
many carvings of the others, it simply had one of the Hallows symbol on the top
while the family phrase was engraved inside: The last friend that shall be
greeted is Death.
 
Happy with the end results of the meeting if still rattled by the information
revealed, Frey arranged for them to send him the audit of his holdings and then
set up another meeting at the end of the summer to discuss placing new proxies
for his seats, as they couldn't be changed at the moment with the ICW already
in session for the summer and the Wizengamot about to commence.
 
A pity, that.
 
He was looking forward to ruffling Dumbledore's feathers for good and all this
time.  Oh, well.
 
A pleasure for another day.
 
…
 
After leaving the goblins, Frey convinced Heidi to make a pit stop at the
bookstore so that he could pick up some more books, wanting to know more about
Jotunheim and Jotuns without alarming any of his guardians or his Far.  He
quickly added the few books they had on Norse Mythology as well as Mythical
Creatures and Beings to his other selections on Care of Magical Creatures,
Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Warding and Ward-Breaking.  Catching the look
from his companion he simply shrugged, telling her that it was never too early
to take a look at his possible electives starting in third year.
 
Besides:
 
“all those magical creatures at the castle kept setting off my monster-alert-
system.”  Hoping that learning more about magical creatures would stop them
from tripping his highly-tuned-senses twenty times a day.
 
Plus it was a good cover to discover more about his newly-revealed bloodlines.
 
After all, what if Jotuns had some weird food-allergy or Achilles Heel?
 
Inquiring minds needed to know.  Especially if he was supposed to go to Asgard
someday.
 
…
 
Deplaning in New York City after an exhausting flight that he'd rather have
avoided by following his suggestion of boarding the plane in London and then
once hidden inside simply shadow-stepping to New York, Frey was wired and tired
and Heidi was just tired of dealing with an anxious, sulky teenager.
 
Climbing into one of the Camp vans with the Strawberry decals, Heidi started
the engine and navigated their way out of the city.  It wasn't long before
Frey's greater-than-normal kicked in...in a big and smelly way.
 
Glancing into the passenger side's side-view mirror Frey groaned.
 
“Oh come on!”  He complained, only partially-excited about having an outlet for
his pent-up aggression.  Despite the challenges of the school-year, he'd never
really been able to let loose for fear of blowing his cover in some way or
another.  A monster attack was just what the doctor ordered.
 
But the rest of him just wanted to see the other campers and then collapse
face-down on his comfy bed in his cabin and forget about Hogwarts and trolls
and Stones for a solid twelve hours before reporting to Chiron.
 
“We're three miles out from Camp, little Lord.”  Heidi reported, slamming on
the accelerator as the monster picked up speed.
 
Nodding Frey ditched out of his safety belt and peeled off most of his clothes,
leaving only his dragon-hide under-armor, boots, and knife sheath.  Lowering
the window he crawled out, hanging onto the side of the van with one hand and
summoning his Stygian sword with the other.  A Reaper's sword, given to him by
his Patron.
 
“Keep driving until you get to camp and bring my jacket and things inside the
cabin.”  He ordered.  “I'll jog the rest of the way once I sort out our bovine
problem.”
 
Springing away from the van, he rolled smoothly once he hit the ground coming
up in a wary crouch.
 
“Seriously?”  He hissed as he got a better look at the creature rapidly closing
the distance between them.  “Who'd I piss off that a freaking Minotaur decided
to become my welcoming wagon?”
 
Shrugging he ignored his own somewhat-serious question, deciding to ponder
his...interesting run of luck when it came to outings outside of Camp or the
wizarding world later.
 
Because...really?
 
Hellhounds, Furies, hydras, and now a Minotaur.  Someone, somewhere had it out
for him and those were simply the highlights, not the sum of his kills.
 
Crouching low to the ground he hid himself as best he could.  In theory it
would've been better to go up one of the trees and go for the high ground and
advantage, hopefully striking a weak spot with sword or arrow but he didn't
have enough time to make it far enough up a tree without being spotted.  So he
was going for his tried-and-true heel-strike to make it stumble and fall down
to his level.
 
Hey, if it worked on a mountain troll it should, in theory, work on a Minotaur.
 
In theory.
 
…
 
Frey grumbled to himself as he stumbled through the door of the Thanatos
Cabin.  Stupid thick-hided monster cows and their stupid giant swords.  It took
half a dozen healing potions to patch him up after he'd dragged himself up
Half-Blood Hill and he'd lost his favorite dragon-hide under shirt.
 
Stupid, stupid Minotaurs.
 
At least his Far should be happy with his tribute, Thanatos had gotten quite a
few during his school year just from the Stone being something only rightly
held by one of the Death gods.
 
So hopefully the Minotaur, one of the more fearsome Greek monsters, would
smooth over any prickliness over Thanatos gaining the Stone.
 
 
His Far could hold a grudge like no other.
 
He still had moments where he thought he wasn't forgiven for turning his hair
blonde to match Uncle Thor two years ago.
 
Loki's reaction wasn't pretty.
 
Although Thanatos thought it was bloody hilarious.
 
After stripping off Frey went to plummet face-down onto his bed when a dully-
gleaming box in the center caught his eye.  He was suddenly glad he'd taken a
moment rather than just belly-flopping because that would've bloody hurt to
land on.  Made of black ceramic, the sign of the Hallows was engraved on the
lid of the hinged box.  Curious about the gift, as he hadn't really done
anything in Thanatos's name nor given him any tribute outside of the general
sacrifices at meals since the Stone, Frey flipped the box open as he perched
lightly on the bed.
 
Inside nestled in a thick nest of cushioning black silk and velvet were six
small vials, all made of crystal, and filled with a gleaming silver substance.
 
Finding a note attached to the bottom of the box, Frey set the curious gift
aside for the note, making sure it was safely residing on the center of the bed
before turning his attention to his Grim's message.
 
Frey,
 
The Elixar of Life is a dangerous substance in the wrong hands.  I thank you
most sincerely for gifting me with the source, the Philosopher's Stone.  Many
have been the years where I and the other Death Avatars have cursed it's
creation as soul after soul has used it to cheat Death and escape us for a
time.
 
No mortal may escape Death forever.
 
In appreciation for your deed, I have gifted you in turn with six doses of the
Elixar.  Not for your own use little Godling, as you've no use for such things,
but there are other ways, othergiftsthe Elixar can bestow besides false-
immortality.
 
I will tell you more upon your birthday...if you haven't figured it out for
yourself by then.
 
Thanatos
 
A frown wrinkled his brow as he studied the innocuous little vials once more. 
Nodding abruptly, having come to a decision within his own mind, he closed and
warded the little box before placing it in one of the secret compartments in
his school trunk.  Later he would dig into his library and research the Elixar
and try to puzzle out what his Patron meant.
 
A yawn nearly cracked his jaw in his exhaustion.
 
Much, much later.
 
Sleep now.
 
…
 
The next weeks flew by between training with the other campers and helping
train the newer campers.  Chiron had been right, more and more were appearing
in his age range, the half-blood ranks swelling.  Although in preparation for
what he wasn't sure even though he was certain that they were in the beginning
stages of something.
 
Being a prophecy child and raised as he was, he was pretty canny at picking out
the lines of Fate when one of Her avatars decides to meddle.
 
Like using him to help turn Thalia into a tree...for instance.
 
In hindsight...total meddling.
 
In the moment...he just...had to.
 
The only cloud on an otherwise excellent summer of swordplay and *shudder*
lessons, was that he didn't have any way to correspond with his new friends
back in the wizarding world.
 
Yeah, he was able to catch up with Grover and Annabeth and Luke...but they were
more friendly-ish than actual friends.  Chiron and Heidi definitely didn't
count.  At least not yet.  He wasn't ruling out an actual friendship developing
once he'd been around a couple more decades and the age gap wasn't quite so
outrageous.
 
It's not like any of the three of them really needed to worry about dying.
 
Except for him.
 
He could still die...for the moment anyway.
 
Although the tantrum Loki would throw in that unlikely event made even Thanatos
shudder at the thought.
 
Well...
 
One other thing sucked this summer.
 
Loki wasn't able to visit.
 
He'd even had to cut waayyy back on the dream-time visits because Frey was
under so much scrutiny from Asgard.
 
Apparently Thor had told a rather exuberant version of the Stone gauntlet at
the next feast in Asgard and Frey was now their favorite mortal to wager on. 
They'd even taken to betting on the outcomes of his sparring matches according
to his put-out Far.  Even his Grandmother Frigga had started peeking in on him
from Loki's report.
 
Though in her case it was more being worried about an orphaned child being
placed in dangerous situations and not about the boredom-relieving rash of
bets.
 
But, his Far did say that as long as he didn't do anything too exciting over
the rest of the summer holiday that most of the fervor will die down along with
most of the scrutiny.  Not all, unfortunately.  He was will and truly on their
radar now.  But most.
 
Which would be nice because prematurely-mentally-aged hero-and-god-to-be or
not....Frey was still just a kid who needed his dad.
 
Not even Thanatos could fill the gap that Loki's continuing absence left
behind.
 
Frey'd not realized prior to this separation just how much he relied on the
Trickster's advice and listening ear during their dream rambles or how much he
enjoyed playing with his magic and hearing tales of his Far's childhood in
Asgard on his birthday and Samhain until Loki was artificially taken away.  It
wasn't a searing hurt like the god's death would be.  Loki would be able to see
him more regularly once things quieted down and Frey knew that.
 
But still...
 
This sucked monkey balls.
 
And the distance was just too great for him to be able to owl Draco and his
other friends so he was stuck until the last week of August when he went to
visit the blonde.
 
Thanatos interrupted his charge's brooding with a sharp whistle that startled
the usually-graceful preteen into falling off the table he'd been leaning
against into a pile on the floor.
 
Rumbling his low, rough laugh, the death god hauled the young man to his feet
casting an appraising eye over him.  Coming to a conclusion, he gave a nod and
the ghost of a smile.
 
He was ready.
 
Not quite the power-house he'd been foretold to be, at least not yet, Frey
stood a respectable five-eight, tall for his physical age and was lean and wiry
with it.  He'd shoot up more and fill out as time passed but for now he would
likely tower over his fellow year-mates.  All his weapons training and
etiquette and dancing classes had made his motions very smooth and graceful,
comfortable in his body even as it changed with becoming a teen and young
adult.
 
And after his performance against the Headmaster's test and the Minotaur, Frey
had both the physical and mental skills to complete the task Thanatos was about
to set before him.
 
Even if it took him a lifetime to do so.
 
It would be done, of that the god had no doubts.
 
“Frey.”  He spoke at last to the young godling standing patiently before him as
the god inspected him.  “You've mastered many of the skills we've sought to
teach you, and will likely master many more before you leave school and Camp
Half-Blood.  Normally demigods and demigoddess must seek a sign or an oracle
before taking on a quest.  However,” he paused seeing the caution and
excitement warring in his charge's eyes.  “You are no ordinary half-blood.  The
task I have for you involves the prophecy that stood to ruin so much of your
life...”
 
Thanatos went on to explain about Tom Riddle and his search for immortality,
culminating in his making the most foul of all artifacts, a Horcrux.  Only he
went further and attemptedmake seven.
 
“I removed the one that sought to latch onto you.”  Thanatos said simply before
moving onto the real purpose of the quest:
 
“Find the soul shards and offer them to me in tribute.  You can keep their
containers,” here he had to be careful knowing what one of them was.  “Or offer
them up to the god of your choice.  Many of them, from what I've found, are in
priceless artifacts.”
 
Frey managed to unhinge his clenched jaw.  Immortality.  His life had been
irrevocably changed because of one megalomaniac's search for Immortality.  The
very thing Frey didn't have to do anything to gain other than survive.  The
irony of the prophecy struck him hard.
 
All Tom Riddle wanted was Immortality.
 
And it was the one thing he could never really have while the child he sought
to “remove” as an obstacle merely had to exist to gain it.
 
He could definitely see his Far enjoying the turn of events.
 
“Let me make sure I understand.”  Frey said, wanting to be sure.  “In order to
fulfill the prophecy, I either have to kill or be killed by Tom.  In order to
come out alive, I need to destroy his soul containers.  You want me to find
them, offer up the shard to you and do whatever with the containers.  Then kill
Tom once all of them have been...Harvested?”
 
“Essentially.”  Thanatos gave a flashing grin.  “Though you won't be one of my
Harvestmen.  Rather, consider it more like a graduation test.  Once you finish
your practical exam you'll be free of my guardianship and be considered a
fully-fledged adult godling.  Though that won't impact when you freeze into
your immortality any.”
 
“Very well.”  Frey said with a solemn nod.  “I accept this quest.”
 
A flash of light surrounded them, linking their hands in a bond before
disappearing.  The agreement was struck.
 
Frey eyed his guardian for a moment longer before mentioning something he'd
heard in passing.
 
“Azkaban has a...” he sought the right description.  “...very detrimental
effect on it's denizens.”
 
Thanatos simply hummed in agreement as he studied the newer additions to Frey's
weapons wall since he'd last visited.
 
“And lycanthrope destroys the host body after a time.  They rarely live past
fifty.”
 
“Hmm.”  This time Thanatos gave a more vocal response.
 
Finally Frey just came out with it.
 
“What the hells are the other four doses for?”
 
Thanatos gave a twinkling smile eerily reminiscent of the Headmaster before
mentioning:
 
“Did you know the Elixar can cure insanity.  Or remove say a magical tattoo? 
The possibilities really are quite limitlessin it's ability to revert damage. 
Times like this Wizards are so one-track minded.  Immortality.  Wooo.  Did they
never notice what the bloody stuff actually does?”
 
…
 
 
***** Seven *****
 
Warning for this chapter, it gets into the politics and culture of the
Wizarding World quite a bit more than the previous chapters.  I know that this
area probably isn't as interesting for many of you but it is information that
Frey/Harry is going to need throughout the rest of the story and has a big
impact in later chapters.
 
                                 Chapter_Seven
                                        
Mentally rolling his eyes at the action, Frey shadow-stepped onto a plane that
had just landed at Heathrow Airport in London.
 
While he was ready to abandon the charade of him being raised solely in the
mundane world without contact with anything magical or supernatural, his
guardians were not.  Chiron's point, and the one that he'd eventually caved to,
was that as long as the illusion of propriety met what people expected, they
were likely to leave him be.  Especially when dealing with wizards who were
mostly stuck in the middle ages.
 
However, Frey had won the battle over him having to actually fly into London. 
With his ability to shadow-step and no need of a chaperon since he was being
met at the airport, he'd convinced Chiron to let him step away from the plane
just before takeoff and then step back when it touched down in London, saving
him from having to take the trip.
 
It was the same measures he'd wanted to take at the beginning of the holiday
but had been outvoted on.
 
Unfortunately for Chiron and the other adults in his life once Thanatos gave
him his quest, they'd largely lost their veto power.  Especially since he was
only nominally considered a child at this point anyway with his current mental
age actually being of age.
 
Ah...time bending.
 
There was a definite spring in his step as he de-planed and made his way over
to the hidden magical waiting area where international port-keys arrived for
customs clearance or those waiting to use muggle transportation lounged.  While
not common, there were a few countries where the magical governments refused to
allow international port-keys, preferring to have visitors go through the
muggle arrivals process before vetting them for magical entry with most of
those in the Middle East.  Although sometimes travel would also be restricted
due to a high-level threat, such as during Britain's first Wizarding War or
most of Europe during WWII and the treat of Grindelwald.
 
Making his way through the muggle-repelling charms, he spotted a slightly-
taller Draco standing with Lord Malfoy himself.
 
Frey hummed under his breath at the sight.  He would've wagered galleons to
knuts that they would've just sent a house elf to collect him.  Grinning a
little at the fidgety form of the younger Malfoy and the scowl lurking beneath
the mask of the elder he had a sneaking suspicion that the cause of this
surprise was likely an epic fit thrown by the boy.
 
He'd certainly seen enough of them to understand why his parents had caved. 
Draco could be relentless when it came to getting his own way.  Thank Odin he
didn't share a dorm with him like Blaise and Theo.
 
The Malfoy Heir would've been hexed silent long before the first month was out.
 
…
 
Lucius, Lord Malfoy studied the boy seated beside his only son and Heir at his
dining table.  After picking the child up with all due haste from the
international port-key arrival lounge in London, a trip that he would've
skipped if not for the out-right rebellion it would've caused, Draco had
spirited the Young Lord up to his wing and spent the rest of the afternoon
monopolizing his company.  Narcissa was rather put-out by the display of bad
manners, which meant his night was likely to be better spent alone with a
snifter of brandy than in his lady's company.
 
The child was an enigma.
 
A true puzzle.
 
When asked, any practitioner of the Dark Arts, Death Eater or not, would
readily inform one that the toddler's survival of the Killing Curse could only
be attributed to an Olde blood magic ritual.  Likely one using a life-for-life
sacrifice.
 
Which made Harry Potter rather inconsequential except for being the son of the
rather remarkable Grey-to-Dark Witch Lily Evans nee Potter.
 
The true defeater of the Dark Lord.
 
It certainly explained Sev's fascination with the witch if nothing else.
 
And so, when he first laid eyes on the child at the beginning of the Summer,
Lucius was prepared to be underwhelmed his Heir's gushing – for Draco –
descriptions and stories both during breaks and in his letter aside.
 
Children, even ones being groomed as the Head of an Ancient and Noble House,
were often easily impressed by simple things.
 
Even a Malfoy, as the regrettable brand on his arm could attest.
 
Harry Potter however, was every inch the Scion of an Ancient and Noble House
and nothing like Lucius expected.
 
He'd given Draco permission for the boy to visit knowing that if nothing else
he could gather information on the child in the event that Voldemort was ever
re-embodied.
 
After meeting him, he'd quickly set his contacts to work learning everything
there was to know about the budding Lord Potter.
 
What he'd learned was certainly a surprise.
 
No one could find him.
 
The Ministry had been silenced, the records were well and truly sealed.
 
The Goblins were quiet, refusing to part with even a sliver of detail.
 
Even Dumbledore was stymied, according to Severus losing the child's trail once
he'd crossed over into another countries' jurisdiction.
 
However, the lack of information was in itself telling.  Whoever had taken him
in and wherever he'd gone, it was hidden from the wizarding world with an
ironclad power that most would think over a thousand times before challenging.
 
Dumbledore and the Dark Lord being the likely exceptions.
 
Lucius couldn't help but smirk at the one piece of information he hadbeen able
to uncover.
 
Potter had claimed his Lordship and as things would have it more than one,
freezing his seats in the process.
 
While the barmy old coot had shrugged off the absence of the Potter proxies and
the appearance of the Peverell seat, Lucius wasn't so blinded by the old man as
to take him at his word.  Neither were several others on the Wizengamot, ICW,
and Hogwarts Board.  Granted, the two may not be combined, and Lucius was the
only one to believe them to be if his inquiries were correct, but the timing
was certainly suspect regardless.
 
 
The mere name had the power to send shockwaves rippling throughout the various
Houses, Ancient, Noble, Honorable, and every combination thereof.
 
 
It harkened back to the Olde Ways and the very foundation of their culture, one
of the oldest and most respected Houses in all of Wizarding Kind.
 
And was, or so the Legend went, the name of the infamous Three Brothers.
 
Rumor and innuendo aside, the Young Lord was certainly impressive from other
standpoints as well.  He had a...presence, the Malfoy Lord easily understanding
how he'd been able to gather students together from all the Houses for his
study group.  Young Lord Potter also was likely the tallest and fittest boy in
his class, easily appearing to his eye as one in his mid-teens rather than just
embarking on his teen years.  And if his claiming of his Lordships and his
Marks were any indication, the child was clearly intelligent.
 
Yes, Lucius was intrigued to say the least by his son's best friend.
 
It should make for an interesting week.
 
…
 
Frey very much enjoyed being able to catch up with Draco.  The other boy was a
veritable font of information and gossip not only about their mutual friends
and acquaintances like Blaise and Theo, but also about those he'd never met and
the wizarding world at large.  One thing that the Malfoy Heir had taken care to
do after that first gaffe of Frey's was secretly educate him in the little
nuances and hidden rules and etiquette of their society.
 
A boon that made being friendly with him worth it even if he didn't like him
for his own merits, which thankfully he did.
 
It would've been awful to hang around someone like idiotic Ronald or pratty
Percival Weasley if that was his only option to gain the knowledge and practice
he needed to navigate wizarding politics.
 
Of course, if Frey'd had his way it wouldn't have mattered one way or the
other.  But with Dumbledore foolishly deciding that a toddler defeated the Dark
Lord and then allowing his godfather to be falsely imprisoned, he didn't have
any choice between his fame and wanting his Uncle Padfoot freed.
 
A project he wanted to start on post-haste with Moony still being the very
devil to find.
 
Better one honorary, if slightly off,Uncle than none at all.
 
Plus there was always the Elixar.
 
Smiling at one of Draco's better jokes, Frey turned to his older hosts and
asked about when they'd be able to visit Diagon Alley for their supplies.
 
“Tomorrow would likely be best, don't you think Lucius?”  Lady Malfoy said
lightly.  “That way you boys can pack your things and be able to make the most
of the rest of your holday.”
 
“Indeed.”  Lord Malfoy inclined his head regally.  “Have you any errands in
particular you need to run after being away all summer?”  He asked, every inch
the courteous host.
 
Draco turned to him and whispered in his ear.  “Broomstick.  We can try out for
Quidditch this year!  Father already bought me a Nimbus 2001 for my birthday!”
 
Frey laughed lightly before answering his friend rather indulgently.
 
“Yes, I need to get a broomstick,” although he'd probably not be trying out. 
Better to not tempt the Fates...any of them...into having him blasted out of
the air by a territorial god.  “But first I need to go to Gringotts and
finalize a few things I set in motion when school let out.  And I need new
robes.”  He grimaced seeing the light spark in both Lady Malfoy's and Draco's
eyes.
 
Seeing it for himself, Lord Malfoy gave him a commiserating look.  He didn't
know how it'd happened but Narcissa had firmly planted her own love of being
fashionably turned out on all occasions into their only child.
 
The Young Lord had no idea the ordeal he'd just let himself in for.
 
“If you need any assistance at Gringotts.”  Lord Malfoy offered smoothly. 
“Don't hesitate to ask.  I'm always willing to share my experience with the
young Lords when they come into their titles.  Even for those raised in the
wizarding world dealing with the goblins and their morass of paperwork can be
trying to say the least.”
 
“Thank you, Lord Malfoy.”  Frey nodded politely.  “I will keep that in mind.”
 
“You're welcome, Lord Potter.”  Lucius said formally.  “And call me Lucius.”
 
Draco watched this take place with wide eyes.  Never before had his father
offered his first name to be used by one of his friends.  Although, with Harry
being a Lord in his own right it wasn't as strange as it might've been.
 
It was still bloody weird though.
 
…
 
That night while the Manor and it's family were asleep, Frey was wide awake,
tossing and turning as his senses ran haywire.
 
Everyone had warned him.
 
His Patron, his guardians, the older campers, even his Far Loki.
 
They all told him.  The older he got, the more his body matured and grew closer
to the peak of physical ability that was required for him to “freeze” into his
immortality, the more his magic and his powers would also mature and grow often
in uncomfortable waves of growth spurts to match those of his physical self.
 
And while Wizarding kind are more predictable in their growth spurts,
experiencing spikes at seven, eleven, thirteen, and seventeen as their natural
blocks on their cores wore away, godlings are anything but predictable.
 
Hence his current discomfort.
 
He'd had his first real power spike last month right after he shot up to five-
eight in a matter of weeks.  It was...painful and exhilarating all at the same
time to suddenly by able to do things that were formerly out of his reach, even
for a magical prodigy.  It was also the first taste he's gotten of what could
become his divine domain as his body started to adjust to contain ever
increasing levels of magical power along with tuning into coming divinity.
 
If so...
 
 
It was looking more and more like Thanatos did more than bless him when he
decided to take an interest in his life.  Although his new sensitivity to
things in the Dark and Shadows – traditional domains of Death gods – could come
from another source.  His older half-sister is Hel, the Asgardian goddess of
the Grave and an Avatar of Death.  Also a friend of Thanatos's.
 
So...if he really is destined to become one of Death's Avatars...he had more
than one being to blame.
 
And the freaking sensitivity is driving him batty.
 
Fed up, Frey threw back the luxurious covers and climbed from the antique four-
poster bed, slipping into a pair of soft-soled shoes and grabbing his new wand
– desert ironwood, ten-and-a-half inches, very hard and brittle with a minotaur
tail-hair core, excellent for blood magic and warding.  The desert ironwood was
a bastard to work with, it wasn't any wonder it was rarely used for wands. 
Still, this one was much more powerful than the last, it had to be to withstand
his burgeoning power levels.
 
He hoped so, he rather fancied the pale wood with its black and dark red
striping.  Loki had surprised him once again with a trophy from a slain monster
for his wand core.  He'd had a laugh over that, deciding that if he really was
going to have to keep making wands that he'd better keep up with slaying
monsters, no slacking while at Hogwarts or on holiday.
 
Wrapping his Hallow around himself, Frey wandered through the Manor, following
the tingling sensation that had refused to let him rest.
 
Something was here, something important and his powers weren't going to let up
on him until he figured it out.
 
Entering a part of the Manor he'd not seen during Draco's tour, he walked
through a heavy ebony wood door and felt like he was being slapped in the face
by a pervading sense of wrongness.  Shaking the feeling off Frey studied where
he'd found himself.  Taking in the emerald and silver décor and the bookcases
stuffed from top to bottom along with the massive ebony desk, there was only
one place in the Manor he could be.
 
Lord Malfoy's study.
 
Stretching out his magic much the same as when he worked with his Far on his
abilities, he reached for the wrongness, calling it to himself.  With a nearly
silent crack a slim leather volume jerked from its hiding place behind a shelf
filled with law books, dislodging them in the process, and fell onto the rich
carpet with a thud at his feet.  A short wordless gesture of his wand had the
books back in place except for the one before him.
 
And a creak from behind him had him whirling with a wand on the intruder.
 
 
Intruder was a little harsh considering it was actually Lord Malfoy's study and
Frey was in fact the invader but...details.  Merely details.
 
“And what might you be up to?” Lucius asked the young man before him calmly, as
if he wasn't being held at wandpoint with a look on the other's face that
promised pain.
 
Frey ignored the question, quickly casting a privacy ward before asking one of
his own.
 
“Tell me, Lord Malfoy.”  His voice was silky in its menace.  “Who do you
serve?”
 
“I don't know what you mean.”  Malfoy furrowed his brow in consternation as he
internally struggled over just what to do with the creature before him.  Draco
did seem to value him after all.
 
“It's not a hard question, Lord Malfoi.”  Frey changed his pronunciation of the
name slightly back to its older incarnation.  “Who do you serve?”
 
Lucius felt his eyes spring wide as the child before him loosened some of the
restraints on his power, letting it flood the room.  He recognized that power,
at least in part.  He'd been sworn to it the day he was Named, the same as his
father and his father before him.  The same as his son had been, no matter what
delusions the Dark Lord liked to fool himself with.
 
“Loki, God of Mischief and Magic.”  He said at once.  He didn't know what
relationship Young Lord Potter had to the deity, but he undeniably had some
connection to Him however tenuous.  “The Malfoys serve Loki.”
 
Frey lowered his wand, question answered.  He'd thought so after witnessing
Draco's Samhain ritual the previous fall but he couldn't be sure.  However, how
that worked with Malfoy Senior being a Death Eater he simply wasn't sure.
 
Normally being sworn to one of the gods would preclude any oaths to others such
as Dark Lords.
 
“Good.”  Frey said, his voice changing from menacing to soothing.  “That's
good.  And your wife, the Lady Narcissa?”
 
“My wife is a Black, even though she married a Malfoy.”  Lucius admitted
reluctantly, moving around the curious creature to get a better look at what
was on the floor before him.  “They're all sworn to Hades, though Cissa does
give Loki obedience as her deity by marriage.  And you, Young Lord?  Who do you
serve?”
 
Frey simply smirked as he picked up the book to get a better feel for it.  It
couldn't have been that easy...
 
“Half-bloods don't serve by oath, we serve by deed.”
 
It wasn't strictly the truth but Lord Malfoy didn't need to know that.  This
new alliance was tentative to say the least.  Besides he was sworn to keep his
godling status secret from those who weren't aware of it already.  A safeguard
to prevent assassinations from gods unwilling to share power with a new, young
deity.
 
Lucius sucked in a shocked breath.  A half-blood.  A true, living half-blood,
not just the product of a pureblood and a muggle or muggleborn but an acutal
half-blooded child of a god.
 
And the Lord Malfoy knew it had to be a god.
 
For all his sins, James Potter was not the type to be unfaithful even if his
pureblood pride would've allowed it.
 
Lucius didn't hold the same high opinion of his mudblood wife.
 
Harry Potter was a half-blood.
 
It explained so much, not the least of which how he survived the Killing Curse
and banished the Dark Lord as a toddler.
 
Demigods were known for their...durability.
 
“Who may I ask...?”  He trailed off as he was subjected to a sardonic look. 
Take a guess,that look said.  Of course.  He shook his head ruefully.  Why else
would the Young Lord have asked about his oath?  He was the child of his Lord. 
His true Lord.
 
Resolved to what was demanded of him now that he knew even if it wasn't
confirmed, Lucius watched the boy as he studied the slim volume in his hands
with undisguised disgust.
 
“How did you end up with this?”  Frey asked, though he was relatively certain
of what the answer would be.
 
“The Dark Lord gave two of his most trusted followers artifacts to guard in his
last days.”  Lord Malfoy answered quietly.  “To myself, he bestowed that
diary.  A remnant of who he once was.  I was to guard it with my very life.”
 
“Interesting.”  Frey turned it over in his hands once more before grimacing and
moving towards the fireplace with purposeful steps.  “And the other?”
 
“The goblet of Helga Hufflepuff.”  Lucius told him.  “To my sister-in-law
Bellatrix Lestrange.”
 
“Balls.”  Frey cursed under his breath.  If there was one kind of foe he
disliked crossing swords with it was the batshit-insane.  Bella Black certainly
fit that description from what he'd heard.  He was not looking forward to
prying the Horcrux's location out of her.
 
“Quite.”  The older Lord agreed dryly, watching avidly as he removed a few
things from within his cloak that covered him still, if only haphazardly.  It
was rather distracting watching different pieces of the boy disappear and
reappear as the cloak shifted.
 
Under the Malfoy Lord's careful gaze, Frey tossed in a few things into the
magical fire.  Yew, of course, along with a piece of cypress.  Both woods
associated with Death.  Then a bundle of nightshade, not enough to be
poisonous, and lastly sage for purification.
 
Speaking in Ancient Greek Frey offered up the Diary to his Patron tossing the
volume onto the dancing flames.  A piercing shriek cried out as something black
and wrong mingled with the flames before being consumed by the very shadows on
the edges of the fire.  At the back of his mind Frey heard the faintest
whisper: well done.
 
Extinguishing the fire with a flick of his wand, he levitated the now inert
book from the fireplace, setting it down neatly on the desk.
 
“There.”  He said with satisfaction.  “It is done and the diary never left your
care.  If asked, you'll truthfully be able to state that it never left this
room or the Manor once you placed it within the safety of your wards.  And as
you didn't know what it was,” and still don't was left unsaid.  “You can
protest your innocence in the matter and none can prove otherwise.”
 
Without another word, Frey gave his host a little bow, returning to his room
and hopefully to get some sleep before going to the Alley in the morning.
 
It was already shaping up to be quite the eventful day.
 
…
 
“My god.”  Lucius whispered as he collapsed back into his desk chair.  He'd
never expected things to take the turn they had.  There was only one thing he
could think of that would fit the way Young Potter disposed of the evil
pervading the diary.  Only one that would require calling upon Thanatos to
cleanse and deal with.
 
A Soul Leech.
 
All this time he had a Soul Leech in his study.  Where his son was known to sit
at his side and play at being Lord Malfoy or do his work for his tutors.  If
that fucking thing had gotten its hooks into his son...
 
He let out a growl.
 
Dark Mark or not there would've been one less megalomaniac running around.
 
No matter how many times he had to kill him to make him stay dead.
 
“You rang?”  Loki said with a chuckle as one of his more interesting followers
jumped at his appearance.
 
“Lord Loki!”  Lucius exclaimed quickly rising to bow before being gestured back
into his seat.
 
Loki waved a hand and locked down the wards on the study.  As things were the
wards around the Manor should protect him from prying eyes, he'd made sure of
it in ages past, but with the extra scrutiny upon his son it paid to be sure. 
Odin forbid they figure out his relationship to Frey.
 
“Lucius.”  Loki bestowed a smile upon his servant.  “You're looking well, if
rather more pale than usual.”
 
“Thank you, milord.”  Lucius nodded his head in thanks.  “I just had the
pleasure of getting better acquainted with who I believe is your son.”
 
“I know.”  Loki waved a hand nonchalantly.  “That would be the purpose behind
me visit.”
 
“Milord?”
 
“My son and heir,” Lucius's eyes widened at the additional information.  “Has
been set a task, part of which he just accomplished with your help, I believe.”
 
“Yes, milord.  Although it was more a lack of opposition than actual
assistance.”
 
“Yes,” Loki gave him a thin smile.  “I have long protected and favored your
family.  Long been your patron.  Rarely do I require anything of your family
but now I am in a position where your assistance is required.”
 
Lucius sat up straight.  It'd been generations since their patron asked
anything of his family.
 
“If it is within my power, milord, it is yours.”
 
“Look after my son.”  Loki said simply with a grave look in his eyes.  “Watch
over him, protect him from harm when you can.  Look after him the same you
would your own child.  Things have occurred that keep me from being the guiding
force I used to be in his life.  With your help, I can at least protect him
from afar.”
 
“Of course, milord.”  Lucius said with the solemn understanding of one father
to another.  “It will be done.”
 
“Good.”  Loki said rising to his feet.  “You cannot overtly assist him with his
quest.  However...”
 
“Milord?”
 
“If your sister-in-law were to meet a fatal accident, I'm sure the world would
be a better place for it.”
 
“That's an understatement.”  Lucius muttered under his breath as Loki appeared
to simply fade away.  Leaning back in his chair he summoned the firewhisky.
 
It'd been one hells of a night.
 
…
 
Diagon Alley was definitely notsame place that Frey had visited with Heidi back
on the first day of the holiday.
 
Where before it was calm and nearly still with very few people shopping or
running errands, now it was a teaming morass of wizarding kind.  Taking their
leave of Lord and Lady Malfoy, the former heading to the apothecary in Grey
Alley and the latter to Twilfit & Tattings with their measurements in hand,
with assurances of proper behavior and staying out of trouble, Draco and Frey
headed straight for Gringotts.  Picking up where they'd left off with their
etiquette lessons, this time the Malfoy Heir was the one learning something.
 
How to select and appoint a proxy.
 
It was a process his father had explained to him in the unlikely event that he
died before Draco reached his majority but not something that was generally
used much anymore.
 
In most cases where a proxy would be needed, the deceased Lord or Lady would
make an appointment during the course of writing out their Will.  This
appointee became the proxy and unless the Heir in question either A. brought
them up on charges of misconduct or B. claimed their inheritance while still
below the age of majority, they would stay as the voting and managing party for
the Heir until they became the Lord or Lady.  Often it was a trusted friend or
advisor, a godparent most usually.
 
For Frey his appointed proxy and manager of his estate should've been Sirius
Black and/or Remus Lupin.  But with Dumbledore's scheming and Thanatos's
intervention, the seats and estate had remained empty except for the false
proxy Dumbledore appointed for the Potter seats by claiming his old friend
Elphias Doge was the one Lord and Lady Potter had designated for the duty. 
Frey was less than pleased by that communication that was attached to the
inventory of his inheritance and sent his way via mundane mail the week before
his birthday.
 
Thankfully any damage Doge might have done to the estates was nullified by
Thanatos's intervention even though the god hadn't been able to fix the proxy
appointment.
 
For one thing it happened well after Thanatos was finished rearranging Frey's
future and for another it had the potential to draw too much attention to just
who was in charge of said rearranging.
 
And with the goblins' help his estates remained in excellent shape with his
goblin account manager doing an excellent job of investing and allowing the
House Elves a budget to work from to maintain the properties.
 
He had to admit not being able to access Potter Manor and Peverell Castle along
with the smaller properties: a shack in Little Hangleton (not much of a loss
though the land is supposedly nice), a seaside horse farm in County Kerry,
Ireland, a hunting lodge in the Highlands, and a private island in the Virgin
Islands; well...that did kinda suck.  Especially the bits about the horse farm
and the private island.
 
This was all leaving out the Black estates which as the Heir he received an
accounting of but couldn't access until he either was gifted one by his
godfather, took over the Lordship due to his godfather not managing the estates
for a term of twenty years, or Odin-forbid, Sirius died.
 
Frey'd thought that the American inheritance laws he'd studied for his Law &
Government class for his mundane diploma were complex, they had nothing on some
of the Wizarding ones.
 
Reaching Gringotts they were quickly ushered into his manager's office once
more, Chief Account Manager Ironhide greeting them with a grimace that was as
close as most goblins ever came to a congenial expression.
 
“Lord Potter-Peverell,” Ironhide nodded as the two boys took the seats he waved
them into.  “I have received your completed paperwork and attached
correspondence, everything is in order.  You simply need to name who you would
have act as your proxies as follows.”  Eyes trailing down the rather length
listing of seats and positions, he rattled them off.
 
“The Potter and Peverell seats upon the Wizengamot, the Potter and Peverell
seats upon the International Confederation of Wizards, the Peverell seat on the
Hogwarts Board of Directors, the Peverell seat on the Drumstrang Board of
Directors, the Potter seat on the Salem Witches’ Academy Board of Directors,
and the Potter seat on the American Magical Congress.  There are also many
seats left vacant for the Blacks, however until you are of age you cannot make
decisions regarding the Black estate or until you are made Lord.  There is
however outstanding decisions regarding your business activities that require
attention that would best be handled by a solicitor until you are better versed
in your holdings and businesses.”
Draco’s eyes were ready to pop out of his head at the – even to a Malfoy –
impressive list, while Frey simply nodded already deep in thought.
 
“Is there a solicitor Gringotts’ would recommend?”  He asked after careful
consideration.  He could always hire one of the Furies if Ironhide didn’t have
a recommendation.  Despite their contentious relationship with his status as a
powerful demigod, and their habit of eating people, say what you will Furies
made great lawyers.
 
“Our more prosperous clients who either do not have the time or inclination to
oversee their own affairs,” this was said with a heavy frown on the part of the
goblin.  Laziness or stupidity were never acceptable reasons to a goblin for
not looking after your own gold.  “Seem to prefer Carlisle and Bones.  The
latter is a squib and distant relation of the noble House of Bones but still an
excellent man-of-business who can handle affairs in both the magical and muggle
worlds.”
 
“If he had your approval…?”  Frey trailed off with a questioning arch of a
brow.  Ironhide gave a hesitant but affirmative nod.  “Then by all means retain
him.  I’m not interested in branching out too much at the moment, more in
shucking off any dead weight in my portfolio and maintaining what is already
working.  After I’ve done more research into business matters and opportunities
that will likely change, however.”
 
With a flick of a quill across a parchment by both Frey and his account manager
it was done and he had a solicitor and man-of-business to manage most of his
affairs.
 
“One thing I would like Solicitor Bones to look into is all the articles in the
Prophet.”  Frey mentioned with faux-casualness.  “I don’t know the precise laws
to quote offhand, but I believe many people could be found in offense of
several.” Alecto, borrowed from Hades, had ripped into the unauthorized
merchandise like the Fury she was, netting him quite the gains. But that hadn't
stopped the Prophet from continuing to speculate - or flat out lie - about him
in its pages.
 
Ironhide gave a sharktoothed-grin at that, prospects of plundering some of
their more annoying customers was always welcome to the goblins.
 
Giving Draco a small smile as if to say the ordeal was almost over to the
fidgety blonde, Frey quickly made his way through the appointments.
 
“Remus Lupin I believe holds two Masteries, both in Charms and Defense Against
the Dark Arts.  And he is a Pureblood,” if one ignored his “furry little
problem” which was most definitely not common knowledge.  “He should make an
excellent member of the Hogwarts and Drumstrang boards.  If Gringotts can
locate him.”
 
“Gringotts can locate anyone.”  Ironhide said with a smirk.  “It’s simply a
matter of galleons.”
 
“Authorized.”  Frey didn’t even miss a beat.  His own attempts to find the
wayward wolf had yet to bear fruit.  It was time to let others have a go. 
“Whatever the cost.  As far as the American seats,” he hummed a moment,
thinking it over.  It would have to be someone who could at least pass as
magical.  “Leave them vacant.”  He decided with a sigh.  “I have to do some
research on their laws before I appoint someone.”
 
“And the British and International seats?”
 
Frey gave a blood-thirsty grin in anticipation of coming upheaval.  Time to
really rattle Dumbledore’s bones.  He gave Draco a little smirk, jewel eyes
glinting.
 
“I believe Lord Malfoy knows precisely how I want to deal with the Wizengamot
and ICW.”
 
And if he didn’t yet, he would surely learn…
 
…
  
***** Eight *****
                                    Lokison
                                 Chapter_Eight
Finished with selecting the proxies, Frey and Draco stood and turned for the
door, only for Frey to turn back and look at his account manager with an
inquiring gaze.
“Is it possible for the Goblins to start inquiries into why and how my Uncle
Siri wound up in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit or should I take that
issues directly to my soon-to-be Solicitor?”
Ironhide gave him a vicious grin.  “Gringotts would be more than glad to assist
in freeing the Lord Black, Lord Potter-Peverell.  I will get our best team on
it.”
Draco sucked in a shocked breath.  Lord Black?  Sirius Black?  Innocent?  At
least that seemed to be what his Harry and Harry’s goblin were implying.  He
must tell his parents.  His mother at least had missed her “goofy but powerful”
cousin.
“Excellent.”  Frey nodded once.  “Charge all expenses to the main Potter
account.  How long do you think it will take for him to be freed?”
Here the goblin was cautious.
“Azkaban is a horrid place, Young Lord.”  The gravelly voice warned him.  “A
barbaric punishment no goblin would ever inflict.  Even once freed it will
likely take months if not years for Lord Black to be fit for public arenas. 
Though,” he had to admit based on what was known of the man’s devotion to his
godson.  “He’ll likely be safe around yourself no matter the level of damage.”
“Thank you.”  Frey said simply, leading his blond companion from the towering
edifice of the bank and out into the summer sunshine of Diagon Alley.
“You’ll really see him freed?”  Draco asked, his voice pitched low below the
tumult of the crowds.  A particularly rowdy group of matrons had gathered
outside Flourish and Blott’s.  Thankfully his parents had consented to owl-
ordering their books for them, leaving them free to bypass that stop and focus
on the bank, acquiring Harry’s broomstick, and approving his mother’s
selections at Twilfit and Tatting’s.  The latter wouldn’t even be on the list
if it wasn’t for Harry insisting on paying for his clothes, requiring his
presence to approve the withdrawal from his vaults if nothing else.
The Lady Malfoy did have impeccable taste in fashion after all.
Frey nodded slightly, keeping the conversation as covert as possible as they
stopped to stare at the broomsticks on display in Quality Quidditch Supplies.
“He is my godfather.”  Frey whisper back.  “And he’s innocent besides being
both a distant cousin and the Lord of a house that I’m heir to.  I’ll see him
freed if I have to step into the Wizengamot myself and use the Peverell name to
start knocking heads together.”
“Understandable.”  Draco said.  And it truly was.  Even if, as Harry said,
Black wasn’t innocent of his crimes as Harry was certain he was any Lord or
Heir would do the same for one of their own.  Sirius Black according to what
his friend had told him had been put away without trial and by the Wizengamot
inside of by a Lord’s Tribunal.
In other words…
Once the goblins and Harry’s solicitor got started on the Ministry, they were
royally fucked.
And then some.
“So…”  Draco trailed off smirking at his friend.  “About that Nimbus 2001…”
…
After leaving Diagon Alley, Lady Malfoy having selected clothes that his Far
and Heidi would definitely approve of and not seeming to notice the ruckus
outside the bookstore before whisking off her son and his friend, the two of
them chattering over the broom to be delivered in the morning, she shooed them
off to finish any outstanding homework before the evening meal.
Together they spent a fun and entertaining rest of break playing wizarding
chess, racing their new brooms – low to the ground for Frey - and engaging in
mock duels before joining their elders for dinner.
“Harry.”  Draco whispered from his spot tucked in on the other side of the bed.
Frey kept his eyes closed as he snuggled into a silk-covered pillow.  Lady
Malfoy had given into Draco’s pleas for a “sleep-over” on the last night before
they left for second year where they both ended up tucked into one bed instead
of in their separate quarters.  They’d each claimed a side of the massive four-
poster in Draco’s room which had a curious mix of childish dragons flying
around the ceiling and snitches, quaffles, and broomsticks taking up poster
after poster.
“Hmm.”  He hummed keeping himself awake by pure dint of will.  The week had
flown by as he re-accustomed himself to playing down his mental age and acting
like a twelve year old.  Though he had enjoyed the surprise visit from his Far…
…Flashback…
Three days into his visit at Malfoy Manor, Frey was again haunting Lord
Malfoy’s study.  He’d spent the last couple nights visiting the Lord after his
friend fell asleep, quizzing him about what he knew about the Dark Lord and his
possible horcruxes as well as coming up with a workable plan for how his seats
now under Lucius’s proxy would be voted in all matters.
On this particular night, he’d had a singular question for the Lord.
“What were your specific orders regarding the Diary?”  Frey asked idly as he
sipped carefully at a butterbeer.  It was one of the few drinks in the
wizarding world he actually enjoyed more than those in the mundane world.  “Or
was protecting it the sum of your orders?”  There was justsomethingabout that
damned evil book that tickled at his mind.  Like it had a purpose beyond being
a Soul Leech.
Lucius sat back against the luxurious leather of his desk chair.  After that
first night and the harrowing events in his study and the visit from young
Harry’s godly sire, he’d actually found himself enjoying the company of the
Young Lord.  He didn’t think he would if for no other reason than he was just
that: young.  But for all that he acted very much the adolescent especially
around his son, in private with the Malfoy Lord the half-blood showed his
mettle, coming across as every inch the proper pureblood Lord.
And the conversations weren’t bad either.
The child had a dry wit and sarcasm that Severus would greatly enjoy if the
dour man was ever able to look beyond a passing superficial resemblance to
James Potter the boy enjoyed.
“I was to give it to a pureblooded blood-traitor when the Dark Lord commanded,
to be taken and smuggled unknowingly into Hogwarts.  It was supposedly able to
release Slytherin’s Monster of all things.”  Lucius would’ve snorted at the
notion, except for the mention in the school’s history that he as one of the
governors had access to.  A history that included petrifications and a sudden
death.
“A monster.”  Frey nearly sighed.  Of course his year wouldn’t bethateasy. 
Destroying one horcrux before the year began hardly counted towards his
monster-draw after all.  Therewould bea monster.  “Any idea of what caliber?”
“The you’ll-not-be-going-anywhere-near-it caliber.”  Loki’s voice drawled from
behind them, making both heads turn towards his place by the fire with a
nearly-audible crack.  “Or I’ll have your hide, my little one.”
Frey restrained his desire to roll his eyes at the not-quite-accurate
nickname.  He’d stopped being little for good over the summer.  But it’d been a
long time since he saw his Far even in dreams.  The scrutiny was much too high
at the moment.
Climbing to his feet with a smile, he clasped his father in a bear-hug, looking
up at the god’s not-inconsiderable height.  Thinking about that nickname he
grinned inside.  According to at least one Seeress he’d outstrip his Far before
he stopped growing, out-doing him in muscle mass as well.  Then it would
behisturn to tease.
“Far.”  He greeted him simply as the god motioned for his servant to leave them
alone.  “I thought it was too dangerous for us to meet?”
“And so it is.”  Loki nodded once before holding his heir out at arm’s length
to look him over.  After a moment he nodded pleased with what he was seeing. 
“But…thanks to some meddling on my part over the years we’re safe enough here
for the moment.  As long as we don’t abuse the privilege, these wards should
shroud us for a time.”
Frey nodded in acceptance.  Hehadnoticed that the Malfoy wards were both
stronger and stranger than most he’d seen since entering the wizarding world
last year.  It made sense that his father had a hand in that.  He was just
happy he was getting some time with him, even if it wasn’t nearly as much as
he’d grown used to.
“Why can’t I go after this monster?”  Frey asked quietly after answering Loki’s
almost rote set of paternal questions about his schoolwork and training.  “Itis
in the school after all.”  That made it within his temporary domain and his to
hunt.
Loki sighed.  He knew this was going to come up eventually with Salazar’s now-
gigantic pet beneath the school but hoped he’d have a few more years before
having to deal with the now-imminent heart-attack this adventure will be sure
to cause.  Why his old friend justhadto leave his snake in the school instead
of releasing it into the wild like anysaneperson would do he’d never know.
“It’s a basilisk.”  The god said flatly.  He didn’t hold out any hope that
knowing the monster was a King of Serpents would curtail his monster-slaying
responsibilities for the moment but there was always the sliver of a chance…
Not really.
His son was far too much like himself and his mother for that to work.  While
that cold logic he’d learned from Chiron and Thanatos could and sometimes did
overcome his natural tendency towards half-blood heroics, he stillwasat heart a
mortal child of the gods with the need to strive for glory they all possess,
godling or no.  And Frey was better at said heroics than most.
Lily would skin him alive, slowly, if she ever found out what their son got up
to before he froze into his immortality.
“A basilisk.”  Frey repeated, his voice just as flat as his Far’s.  “Like big-
ass-snake, killing gaze, venom, and impenetrable hide,basilisk?”
Loki nodded before adding:  “Her name is Selena and she’s quite the beauty. 
Also quite mad from the centuries of isolation.”
“So it’s a crazed, lonely,female, basilisk that’s centuries old.”
“Yes.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
…End Flashback…
There’s really no hope for it, Frey supposed.  He’ll have to kill it, out of
mercy even if his duty didn’t already demand as much from him.  His Far would
be no help, however.  With his affinity to snakes and ability to talk to
animals, Loki wasn’t a proponent of taking on the more…natural monsters.
Minions of the Underworld, Tartarus, and other “unnatural” creatures, yes.  No
problem.  That’s one of the duties that goes along with being a demigod.
But Loki frowns on the others, the dragons and basilisks, the great wolves and
ancient lions.
Unless, of course, like the situation with Selena where it’s been driven mad or
was ill.  Then the mercy of the deed outweighed the wastefulness of it.
Frey would do it, and offer it up to his father but there was no glory in it,
not for him.  Not this time.  This wasn’t a kracken or a hydra or a drakon.  It
was a King or well…a Queen…of Serpents and it deserved to sleep.
And like it or not, he would see it done.
“Yeah, Dray.”  He finally prompted the blonde after what seemed like forever. 
“What’s up?”
“I saw you the other night.”  Draco whispered, almost afraid of what the
fallout would be from this conversation but still resolved to have it.  His
friend, his best-friend,was hiding from him and he wouldn’t have it.  “With my
father in his study.  You were…different.”
He probably wouldn’t have said anything, letting Harry have his privacy, if it
wasn’t for one thing that struck him harshly.  Harry was supposed to be his
best friend.  But the Harry he saw talking with his father was radically
different from the one he knew.  Or thought he knew.
And Draco would get an answer out of his friend if he had to pester him all
night and all day and all night again until the other boy gave in if that was
what it took.
“Yeah, Dray?”  Frey prompted him again now wide-awake, knowing there was
something Draco was trying to get at.  The other boy might be years behind him
in mental maturity but he was still a pureblooded heir.  And a highly
intelligent one at that.  The blonde would’ve drawn his own conclusions from
whatever he’d seen and now was searching for answers to confirm or deny his
ideas.
“He…deferred to you.”  The word was barely uttered, more of a breath than a
whisper.  “You were like a completely different person.  Strong,” though the
other boy was always strong.  “And commanding.  A real Lord.  But there was
more.  He respected you.  He deferred to you.  To a twelve-year-old boy.  I
don’t…”  Draco sighed.  “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Frey thought quickly.  He truly did appreciate Draco and all he’s done for
him.  More he saw him as a true friend and maybe even more once their maturity
levels aren’t so far apart.  Right now he can’t even entertain the idea of
Draco as more than a friend.  But when he’s older…
Lucius Malfoy is quite the attractive wizard.
He wanted to keep Draco close to him, for as long as he’s permitted to have
him.  In time he’ll freeze into his immortality and have to leave.  Maybe even
sooner than that depending on events.  One thing was certain though, Frey will
leave the wizarding world.
And unfortunately, that meant Dray, and Neville, and everyone else along with
it.
But until then…
Until then, there was no reason not to enjoy Draco and his other friends and
their company and do what he needs to do to keep them.
Megalomaniac spirits of Dark Lords and manipulative Light Lords aside.
“I have…”  How to word this…?  “Valuable connections.  Your father knows that
and wants to keep me onside so he listens to me more than he would another
person my age, even another Young Lord.  Plus as my proxy he has to defer to me
in some things when it comes to my seats.  He doesn’t have a choice unless he
wants to face the scandal that having them taken away has inflicted on
Dumbledore and his pawn.”
Draco’s response was barely more than a whisper, as if he was afraid to pry any
deeper.  As if he was afraid of what he might find if he kept digging but
resolved to do it anyway.
“It’s more than that.”  Draco squeezed his eyes closed.  “I don’t know what
exactly.  But there’s more than that.  It’s you.  There’s something different
about youwhen you’re around him.”
Frey flipped over in the bed, facing Draco’s rigid form.  With delicate,
careful hands he pulled the boy around and coaxed him into opening his eyes. 
Leaving one hand soothingly resting upon a downy cheek Frey stared deep into
his best friend’s silver eyes.
“He knows a secret about me.”  He said simply.  “One I’m not allowed to share
with you just yet.  But someday I will and you’ll understand why your father
treats me the way he does and why I seem different when I’m around him.”
Draco searched Harry’s jewel-green eyes, looking for any signs of lies.
“You’ll tell me?”  He asked to confirm.  He could wait.  If Harry promised that
he’d know when the time was right, he could wait to find out more.  As long as
he promised to stop pretending around him.  “And you’ll stop pretending around
me?”
“I will tell you.”  Frey nodded with a little smile.  As if the blonde would
let him get away with not fessing up at some point.  “And I still have to act
like a kid around others, you know that right?”
“I know.”  Draco smirked.  He’s known about Harry’s need to present a false-
front ever since that first train ride last year.  He just didn’t realize at
the time how far the acting really went.  It didn’t feel good to know that some
of how his friend was around him was a front for others as well as him.  “But
not when we’re alone.  You’ll act like you, no matter how weird it might seem
to me, when we’re alone.”
Frey let go of the other’s face and squeezed his pajama-clad shoulder once in
reassurance before agreeing to his terms.
“Agreed.”
Draco smiled brilliantly, turning once more to face out the windows. 
“Agreed.”  He snuggled down into the pillows.  “G’night Harry.”
Frey sighed, he would never get used to that name.  “Night, Dray.”
…
 
***** Nine *****
A/N: Yes I know Remus really is a half-blood but I went with Pureblood for this
story.  I think it’ll work better as the story progresses and gives him that
little prestige boost that he’ll need for holding the seats for Frey.
As far as Slash goes, I’ve already addressed this once and no amount of begging
or flames is going to change it.  Frey is going to have several relationships,
some of them with other males.  No matter how serious the relationships appear
none of them are his ultimate match.  That won’t be addressed until the sequels
and the various spin-offs I have planned for A/U-type sequels that are kind of
“What if Frey did so-and-so…” stories.  Not the official sequels but still fun
to read and write.
Now on with Year 2…
                                    Lokison
                                 Chapter Nine
With a smile and a flick of his wand, Prefect Cedric Diggory enlarged the
compartment that had become home to an impromptu birthday party for Harry
Potter.  Most of them were upset when they found out before the end of the last
school term that Harry would be unreachable until the last week of August due
to his living situation.  As a result, everyone had held onto their birthday
gifts for the now-second-year, deciding as a group to have a little celebration
of their own.
Different parties had brought different things, with most of them heavily
raiding the snack-cart for candy.
Cedric himself had provided the butterbeer along with Padma Patil and some of
the others pitching in galleons.
Frey grinned and laughed along with his friends when the Weasley Twins
presented him with a magical trick cake that exploded into glitter and confetti
when he blew out the candle – it being one of the tamer gags they’d played…ever
– and thanked everyone for their various gifts.
Most of the study group had pitched together for gift vouchers to shops in
Diagon Alley.  The Ravenclaws giving either Scrivenscafts or Flourish and
Blotts vouchers, the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor
or Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the Slytherins to various apothecaries or
Twilfit & Tattings.  A rare exception was Cedric who gave him a wand-polishing
kit, having noticed that “Harry’s” wand tended to get progressively more
damaged throughout the year.
Naturally the Twins couldn’t help but make a few crude “wand-polishing” jokes
buoyed by Draco’s scowls and Blaise and Theo’s cackles.
For themselves the Twins gave him a few of their prototype tricks and gags,
things that they’d only tried themselves and not yet unleashed on the Hogwarts
populace – a rare honor.
Blaise and Theo had each gifted him with rare books from their family
collections, neither of which he was surprised to see that he owned, making the
gift doubly precious.  Neville had likewise given him a tome, only his was on
rare and extinct flora both magical and mundane.  Some of which Frey was pretty
sure his Far had access to on Asgard.
If it wouldn’t completely blow his cover he would’ve given Neville one of those
“extinct” plants as his own birthday gift.  However he’d had to settle for a
large packet of mundane seeds from all over the world that Grover had
collected.  Neville was rather thrilled as many of them he’d never encountered
before.
Draco of course had to top all the other gifts, presenting him with a gorgeous
Golden Eagle that had been caught wild and trained for post.  One of the
largest avians, and being a magical cousin to the mundane raptor, Ajax would be
able to carry post between Frey’s home and England.  Apparently Draco wasn’t
okay with not being able to contact him during breaks if he went home.
His own belated gift to the blonde was as well received as his Yule present had
been, the blonde having clung to him for an hour earlier in his visit when he
opened the beribboned box that contained an Opaleye cloak to match his boots.
“Happy Birthday To Harry!”  The singing – more like shouting in bad rhythm –
rang through the enclosed space.  “Happy Birthday To You!”
Laughing, Frey thanked everyone for their presents, sinking into the role of
“Harry Potter” under Draco’s knowing silver gaze as the red steam engine sped
on towards the Scottish Highlands.
…
The first week passed quickly and in a blur, as it had the year before, and
Frey was no closer to either figuring out the loyalties of one Professor Snape
nor to discovering the location of the Chamber of Secrets.
Though he was close to losing his normally-steady temper.
He didn’t always have control of it, both of his birth parents and his adoptive
father were known for their tempers – and the consequences of rousing it.
But one thing all his guardians agreed upon was that controlling his temper – a
thing which could very well be his Fatal Flaw – was vital to his surviving to
reach immortality.  In this Chiron, Heidi, Lord Thanatos, and the other
trainers all were united.  Even though his Far disagreed, having been drawn to
Lily’s infamous temper alongside her beauty, wit, and power.
His trainers hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Mr. Potter!”  The pink-and-glitter wearing hack of a DADA Professor called
out, flashing his famous smile.  “Come up and help me demonstrate!”
Gilderoy Lockhart was one of the most imbecilic people he’d ever met.
And that included Draco’s minions and the entire contents of the Ares and
Aphrodite cabins.
At least the former two had brawn backing them up and the latter some sense.
Lockhart had neither and as far as all the boys could see was an utter
failure.  Not that they were stupid enough to say so around the gaggles of
twitter-pated girls that swooned whenever the irritating creature walked by. 
No one wanted a repeat of what Lavender Brown had done to Ronald Weasley
inflicted upon themselves.
The male half of Hogwarts was irritated.
Not suicidal.
Finally conceding with a sigh, Frey climbed onerously to his feet and strode
towards the front of the class.  It was only their third lesson with the idiot
and following the disastrous first lesson with the Pixies – nasty little
beasties sometimes – Lockhart had stuck with acting out ridiculous portions of
his many, many books.  Usually with Frey as a “helper”.
Even his allies among the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses were snickering –
including Draco and Neville the prats – over Frey getting called up to the
front yet again.
“Excellent, excellent.”  Lockhart beamed as Frey took his usual place standing
in the center of the teacher’s platform.  “Now.”  And the fraud – had to be –
began to explain.  “When that ghoul jumped out at me.”
Frey took his as his cue to mockingly growl with a roll of his eyes.
The male half of the class snickered while the female half alternately frowned
at “Harry” or sighed as Lockhart flexed his non-existent muscles.
“…I” The idiot was still talking.  “Grabbed him ‘round the neck and said…”
Quickly making the leap toward what the moron was about to do, manhandle him to
the floor, Frey gave an almost unnoticeable wink towards his three Slytherins
where they were stationed towards the back of the classroom and planted his
feet.
Lockhart reached out and put – or tried to anyway – Frey in a headlock.
A headlock that was used to toss said idiot over Frey’s shoulders and onto the
floor in front of him, the wind thoroughly knocked from him.
“Professor!”  Frey said with mock-worry, echoed by gasps from all the girls. 
The boys were too busy laughing under their breaths to notice, though Draco,
Blaise, and Theo were all paying rapt attention to his playacting.  “I’m so, so
sorry.  You must not know your own strength.”  He finished innocently, reaching
down to give the bumbling fool and hand up.
“Quite…”  Lockhart wheezed, barely hiding a flinch when the previously-serene
boy gave the hand he’d used to haul him back to his feet a painful clench
accompanied by a scorching glare.  “Quite so, Mr. Potter.  P-please take your
seat.”
With a barely-hidden smirk, Frey did just that, satisfied that the birdbrain
would call on some other unfortunate soul for the next “demonstration” of
Lockhart’s supposed skills.
…
“Bravo, Harry.”  Draco said laughing.  “Bravo.”
“Did he really flip Lockhart onto the ground?”  Cedric asked, being two years
ahead of them – and in Hufflepuff – he wasn’t present for the event that was
taking the school by storm.
They were at their normal set of tables – if a little bit smaller in number
most of the girls not wanting to spend time around Frey after he winded their
idol – in the library where Draco set to recounting the tale with much emphasis
on the befuddled look on Lockhart’s face as he went flying over “Harry’s”
shoulders.
“With ease.”  Blaise answered with a nod after following Draco’s tale with a
little smirk.  “Strange since you’re only a second-year, Harry.”
Frey rolled his eyes.  “I’m also only a couple inches shorter than Lockhart. 
It wasn’t that hard.”
“But much slighter.”  Theo eyed him up analytically.  “I know from seeing you
run on the weekends that you’ve got some muscle but Lockhart must still
outweigh you by several stone.”
The others fell into discussing momentum and force, Cedric and the other older
boys drawn into the debate between Blaise and Theo with Draco occasionally
butting in to champion “Harry.”  Frey just sighed and continued on with his
Transfiguration homework.  It wasn’t hard due to his personal studies and his
Far’s manic ideas of preparation but it was tedious having to pretend to
reference and crosscheck facts in the books surrounding him like the others.
A not-often-heard voice piped up.
“I’m not surprised.”  Neville said with quiet authority.  Though not as shy as
he once was, the “quiet” Gryffindor rarely said much in public, saving his
thoughts and observations for when he, Draco, and “Harry” were alone.
“What do you mean, Nev?”  Frey asked, head cocked to one side in a wordless
gesture of curiosity.  While Neville rarely gave his opinion in public, he did
Frey tended to pay attention to it, the shy brunette often having an incisive
viewpoint.
“I’m not surprised you were able to toss Lockhart.”  Neville clarified with a
shrug as the others all turned to look at him.  After several moments of
staring he sighed and set down his quill to explain.  “You knock me and Draco
around all the time in duels.  Yeah, with magic but also with swords or just
horsing around.  You’re a lot stronger than you look and you know how to use
that strength.  I’m not surprised you knocked Lockhart on his arse.”
Finished with his mini-speech, Neville tucked back into his Potions essay,
studiously ignoring the others.  He’d said his piece and he was done.
Knowing that they’d not get anything more from the other boy, the rest of the
group went back to studying, leaving Draco and Frey eyeing both each other and
Neville.
It seemed Draco wasn’t the only one who’d started to notice things out-of-
place.  Perhaps it was time to bring his friends more fully into the fold. 
After he started them on Occlumency.
Frey had zero intention of losing his secrets to one of Dumbledore’s
legilimency scans.
…
September ended and October began with little fanfare.  Frey had successfully
dodged Draco’s attempts at getting him to try out for Quidditch, though why he
was so insistent when they’d be competing against each other he would never
know.
Lockhart had taken Frey’s wordless – though no less effective – warning to
heart, staying as far from the godling as possible after being unceremoniously
dumped on his arse.
He did however decide to host a dueling club and shanghai Professor Snape into
helping…much to pretty much everyone’s surprise.
Frey stood towards the front of the platform Lockhart had set up in one of the
cavernous abandoned classrooms on the second floor.  Neville and Draco flanked
him with Blaise and Theo, the latter of which complaining about Frey’s height,
standing behind them.
Rolling his eyes, Frey reached back and hauled the shorter Theo – the shortest
of their group besides Draco who’d pouted for days after seeing his fellow
Slytherin topping him by an inch – to stand in front of him, resting his elbows
on the shorter boy’s shoulders and his chin on the top of his head.
“There.”  He said with mocking cheeriness.  “All better.”
Theo growled and batted at him, Frey standing straight with a laugh, joined by
most of their friends.  Except Draco who echoed Theo’s growl with a scowl.
Harry had been almost embracing Theo.
That would not do.
Before the blonde’s burgeoning jealousy could explode, Lockhart drew their
attention as he sprang with studied grace on to the platform, Professor Snape
gliding silently onto the opposing side.
“Welcome, welcome!”  Gilderoy sang out over the gathered masses of students.
Frey tuned him out as he examined the enigma of Severus Snape once more.  There
had been an almost unnoticeable softening in the man this year – at least
towards Frey.  Draco had pouted for days when his godfather hadn’t been able to
make it to Malfoy Manor because of a stock of rare potions ingredients being at
auction in Marrakesh, foiling Frey’s plans of studying the man in a more
“natural” setting.
“…3!”
At the shout from Lockhart, Frey focused back on the duel.  The blonde ponce
fumbled whatever spell he was trying – Frey thought it might be the Disarming
Charm but wasn’t certain.
Professor Snape’s on the other hand knocked the idiot off the platform and into
the wall, an unpleasant but pleased smirk on his dour face.
The entire population of Hogwart’s male students snickered and laughed while
the girls gasped or cried out in worry.  Lockhart stumbled to his feet and
stuttered his way through his attempt at covering up his poor performance.
“W-well.  That was very good Severus.”  The man fumbled around, glancing to and
fro frantically.  “Ah!”
Frey winced when the periwinkle blue eyes lit on him.
“Mr. Potter, I believe we’ll start with the Boy-Who-Lived!”  Lockhart stated
grandly, with a sweep of his arm.  “And can I have…  Very good, Ms. Granger!”
His study group rolled their eyes in unison as Frey grumbled under his breath. 
Of course the Ravenclaw would jump at the chance to duel him.  If she actually
managed to win it would validate the poor grace she’s always shown at having
him and his friends besting her marks.  Never mind that when it came to pure
power, he had her bested hands down, as did many of his friends.
Ms. Granger was an intelligent witch of some power.
She wasn’t a match for a godling.
Few were outside of the ranks of divinity and even some gods would have
problems depending on their province.  The Dark and Shadows and Trickery when
combined were a formidable combination.
Even without knowing what he is, he’d proved himself as the most powerful
wizard in his year if not in the school altogether.
She really didn’t stand a chance.
“Good luck, Granger.” Draco shouted with glee as she and Frey climbed onto the
platform.  “You’re going to need it!”
Granger just scowled fiercely at the laughing students, which was most of
them.  Hermione hadn’t managed to endear herself to her fellow students with
her know-it-all attitude and ungracious behavior.  Her right hand clutched at
her wand, enraged by their mockery.
“Remember,” Lockhart cautioned as they stared across the dueling platform,
Granger visibly maddened while Frey was patently blasé.  “This is a friendly
duel, disarming spells and minor charms and jinxes only.”
Granger sneered.  “That’s all I’ll need.  Ready, Potter?”
Frey bowed as they were promted by Lockhart.  “Ladies first, Ms. Granger.”  He
said politely with a sweeping wave of his arms.
“Expeliarmas!”  Granger shouted with a flick of her wand.  The beam of light
shot well passed Frey’s shoulder as he spun to the side, turning his shoulder
towards her and minimizing her target area.
Deciding to make a point, Frey smirked.  With a silent swish and a flick of his
ironwood wand, he levitated her by her wand.
Behind him Snape choked back a snicker as the gathered students all broke down
in giggles at the sight of the girl floating in the air and desperately
grasping her wand.
Shrieking, Granger lost her grip and began to fall the now six-feet back to the
platform.  Frey gave another swish and flick, catching her before she could
fall and lowered her to the ground then Summoned her wand with a quiet:
“Accio.”
Applauding politely, Professor Snape moved to stand between the two of them as
Granger was helped to her feet by a stunned Lockhart.
“Winner.”  Snape pronounced without the need for a Sonorous, the students
instantly quieting and sobering at the sight of him.  “From Gryffindor House,
Mr. Harry Potter.”
The applause was uproarious as Frey bowed then presented Ms. Granger with her
wand.
Swiping it from his hand with a hiss, she huffed.  “He cheated.”  She
objected.  “He used a fourth-year charm to summon my wand.”
Severus bowed his head, rolling his eyes when they were shielded from the
watching crowd.  “No, Ms. Granger.  Lord Potter did not cheat and accusing him
of such could be grounds for an actual duel not one of these children’s games. 
Ten points from Ravenclaw for poor-sportsmanship and another ten for defaming
the honor of a Lord.”
An unruly murmur had broken out in the mass of students, especially among the
Slytherins and Gryffindors over the Know-It-All’s accusations.  Many of the
high society and noble children knew that he’d claimed the Potter seats, having
heard the gossip from their parents.  Such an accusation was an offense on his
honor and that of his House.  If he’d been so inclined, he could’ve fought an
honor duel over it – claiming a forfeit up to and including her life for the
slight as she was considered a commoner.
Especially as a neutral third-party – in this case Snape – recognized the
slight.
“Lord Potter,” The Professor continued.  “Will your honor be satisfied with the
penalty already levied against Ms. Granger or do you insist on a duel?”
Frey thought quickly, there were many forfeits he could claim if he beat her
again in a proper duel – one where he wouldn’t be restricted to schoolyard
rules of spellwork and conduct.  But in the end, he’d gain more by being
gracious in his victory than he would be causing her further humiliation.
“Your punishment is sufficient.”  Frey said with an agreeing nod.  “However I
believe Ms. Granger should attend a rudimentary Wizarding etiquette
course…perhaps with her Head of House?”
“Very well.”  Severus nodded sharply then turned to the red-faced muggleborn. 
“Ms. Granger you shall also have weekly detentions with Professor Flitwick
until such time as he believes you are fully informed and aware of the
etiquette of the Wizarding world.”
Fuming Hermione flounced off the platform and out of the room while most of the
school watched and snickered or gossiped over her massive faux pas.
Rejoining his friends they talked quietly, Frey observing Professor Snape, as
they paired off the years to practice the Disarming Charm or basic dueling
etiquette.
Joking and laughing with Draco who’d been paired with him thanks to Professor
Snape, they tossed spells back and forth.  Frey found himself dancing
uncontrollably at one point and Draco sprouted green and silver feathers in his
hair at another.  With so little room to move due to the large amount of
students, Frey wasn’t able to dodge the way he preferred.
They passed an enjoyable hour this way until they were dismissed for Lunch in
the Great Hall.
…
Later that night Frey was wandering the corridors, another growth-spurt having
him up and out of bed.
Finding himself over towards the Ravenclaw Tower, Frey’s overactive senses went
off when he heard a quiet whimper.
Too low for a normal person to hear, it drew him towards an out-of-the-way door
at the far end of the corridor.  Bracing himself, he summoned his sword.  If it
was a monster or some other beasty roaming and hiding the halls, a sword was a
better weapon for a godling than a wand – if more conspicuous.
Throwing the door wide, he light what appeared to be a closet with a wandless
Lumos only to draw up short and send away his sword at the sight that met his
disbelieving gaze.  Rather than a monster or beast, lying curled up without
pillow, blanket, or even a jacket or shoes was a tiny figure of a girl. 
Platinum blonde hair – nearly as pale as Draco’s – haloed around her head and
surprised – and frightened – eyes the color of bluebells stared up at him.
“What are you doing here?”  Frey asked what had to be a first-year.  He’d
become used to most of the students the previous year, and slightly recalled
the pale blonde girl from her Sorting.  Shrugging out of his inner wool cloak –
not the Hallow – he crouched and wrapped her in its warmth.  “You’re freezing.”
Rubbing her arms briskly under the wool of his cloak, he tried to warm her as
she watched him from farseeing eyes.
“I’m Luna Lovegood.”  She said simply, her voice hardly more than a whisper. 
“The other girls in Ravenclaw think I’m odd.  Sometimes things go missing from
my trunk and sometimes the door won’t open for me.”
“That’s awful.”  Frey said in a growl.  “They’re bullying you, you need to tell
one of the Professors.”
“Why?”  Luna asked baffled.  “They’re only playing, they don’t mean anything by
it.”
Frey looked her dead in the eyes.  “They’re not playing, Luna.”  His voice was
gentle but firm.  “They are bullyingyou and you need to report them or they’ll
never stop.  You could’ve frozen out here all night.”
“That wasn’t all of them.”  She protested feebly.  “Just Hermione.  She was mad
because you beat her again and now she’s lost points and has detention.”
“Even worse.”  Frey said, helping her to her feet.  “Now that one’s done it
they’ll all do it unless something is done.”
Luna just stared over her shoulder as he helped her towards the Tower.  She
knew he was right, knew that the others weren’t just playing when they called
her Looney.  She was strange to them and people, especially young girls,
weren’t kind when it came to others being strange or different from themselves.
Reaching the door to Ravenclaw Tower, Frey let out a little pulse of power
forcing the statue to move away from the door.
Head turning with a sharp crack, Luna faced him with suddenly piercing eyes.
Meeting the Seeress’s stare calmly, Frey gave a short bow and waved her into
the stairs leading to her common room.
“I will be reporting this encounter to my Head of House.”  He said, ignoring
her now knowing eyes that were startling in their clarity when she wasn’t lost
in her own mind or in her visions.  “Feel free to keep the cloak until your own
is located, I can be found in the Library most evenings.”
“Very well.”  Luna said with stiff formality.  Even at eleven she wasn’t
foolish enough to play games with a godling.  Her mother had taught her better
than that before her passing.  Descendants of the Moire have an innate sense of
who can be moved – and who were better left alone.  The First Born of Loki and
Chosen of Thanatos is not a half-blood to trifle with even if he wasn’t a
godling which his power most assuredly marked him as.  “Do as you will, Frey
Haraldr Lokison.”
Coming up from his bow he gave her a solemn nod then turned on his heel and
disappearing underneath his Hallow.
…
By Samhain Luna was a regular member of their study group of friends and
friendly acquaintances.  Professor Flitwick was quickly put a stop to the
bullying with a heavy spate of detentions and point-losses that pretty much
guaranteed Ravenclaw for last place in the House Cup unless they pulled off a
minor miracle.  The girls in her own year slowly warmed to her without the
pressure of the older girls falling on them and while they themselves never
forgave the dippy blonde for their detentions and in some cases letters home,
they at least kept their animosity to themselves.
The Ravenclaw’s personal blend of sage wisdom and head-in-the-clouds attitude
slotted in well with Frey’s core group of friends, bringing in some much-needed
femininity to the group of boys.
He invited her to join himself as well as Neville, Draco, and the other new
additions of Cedric, Theo, and Blaise for their All Hallows Rites.
To his great surprise he found from watching her closely that Luna worshipped
the Moire who were the Greek fates as he’d pegged her as Celt or Norse. 
Blaise’s family Patron turned out to be Venus, the Roman version of Aphrodite
while Theo’s was Lugh the Celtic lord of Light and one of the main gods of that
pantheon.  Cedric was another he’d been right about though not completely. 
From his readings he understood the Diggory family Patron to be Bellatona, the
Roman goddess of War.
Instead, Cedric gave homage to the Morrigan.  The Morrigan was one of the most
feared of the War gods and goddesses – and with good reason.  She was just as
likely to smite a follower as she was a foe, being highly tempestuous and
tricky.
Not exactly the Patron of good little wizards and witches.
November First or All Saint’s Day brought good news on owl’s wings: the goblins
had succeeded in gathering enough information for Frey to go ahead with his
request to reopen his godfather’s case – and actually be able to force the
Ministry and Wizengamot to do so.
Without the affidavits and evidence Ironhide had been able to secure he had
solid proof that not only had the Wizengamot and the Ministry not followed
protocol by giving Sirius – then an Heir of an Ancient and Noble House – a
hearing before a Lord’s Tribunal, required for all criminal cases involving a
Lord or Heir and how so many had been able to skate around the charges levied
during the aftermath of the War against Voldemort, but they hadn’t even given
him a trial at all.
Something Frey was already well aware of that would have the wizarding public
up in arms…especially with the man’s godson being the Boy-Who-Lived.
Frey immediately wrote back for Ironhide to forward the information to the
Ministry and the Wizengamot with another set sent to Lord Malfoy.  Lucius was
already aware both from Frey and Draco speaking to him that he’d put the
goblins to the task and was merely waiting for word from Frey to begin
whispering in the Minister’s ear.
Having a hard-nosed politician who wasn’t above bribery did come in handy on
occasion.  Frey was a big believer in utilizing all of the tools at hand and
when dealing with dirty politics, having a dirty politician bound in service to
his Far was good to have in his back pocket.
They’d also located Remus Lupin in Tibet of all places and were in the process
of contacting him.
All-in-all things were going swimmingly…which was usually the cue for all hell
to break lose.
Which it did, right before Yule.
…
“Mr. Potter.”  Minerva McGonagall’s starched Scottish tones rang through the
Gryffindor common room where Frey and Neville were working on their Herbology
homework and discussing the location of Neville’s pet toad Trevor who seemed to
spend most of his life lost.
Turning slightly in his chair Frey faced his formidable Head-of-House.
“Yes, Professor?”  He asked politely, setting down his quill.
“Headmaster Dumbledore would like to see you in his office.”  She said
briskly.  Though she couldn’t for the life of her fathom why.  “At once.”
“Yes, Professor.”  Nodding he gathered up his things and handed them to Neville
who promised to look after them for him until he returned.
Thanking his friend, Frey stood and went to join the patiently waiting tartan-
clad woman by the entrance.
“Who knows?”  Neville joked in his quiet way.  “Maybe you’ll find Trevor along
the way.  Unless he’s disappeared down a drain and into the plumbing
system…again.”
“Maybe I will, Nev.”  Frey said with a laugh at the thought of the amphian
escaping through the sewage system and making a home out in the Black Lake. 
“Maybe I will…”
He trailed off, an idea sparking.
How would an ancient basilisk travel unseen throughout the school in order to
petrify and/or kill muggleborn students from the subterrean Chamber?
If you were a serpent and capable of maneuvering through pipes.
The only question remained…which of the innumerable bathrooms, water closets,
and even kitchens and water fountains concealed an entrance into the
underground lair.
A problem for another time as he was rapidly approaching the gargoyle-sentry
posted at the stairs to the Headmaster’s office and suite.
One problematic relic at a time.  Facing off with Dumbledore seemed to be the
problem du jour for the evening, the other ancient problem would have to wait
for another day.
“Twizzlers.”  McGonagall said and the statue moved aside, revealing the
circular stair up to Dumbledore’s chambers.  “There you are, Mr. Potter.  I’m
sure you’ll be able to find your way back afterwards?”
“Of course Professor.”  He said with a gallant bow.  “No need to make a lady
such as yourself wait upon me.”
Giving him a faint smile and a wistful nod, she left him to his business. 
James and Sirius were two of her all-time favorite students and both had a
similarly charming roguishness to them.  Some days it was as if young Harry was
the ghost of them striding through the halls…though with more grace than either
of them ever managed.
Frey turned and stepped on the first stair, riding it up to the top with no
surprise.  The elevator effect of the stair was well-documented…if you knew
where to look besides having a Far who’d helped build the place.
Salazar was one of his favored followers of the time and Loki had enjoyed
dipping his hand into the creation of the Castle’s sentience, a bit of
spellwork far beyond even that of the Founders.
Enchanting a hat to sort students based on a set of criteria was one thing. 
Creating a nearly-sentient being out of pure magic was something else entirely,
requiring a deft hand and divine touch.  Even now Hogwarts tended to remember
who helped form her – and helped Frey conceal his steps and power where
possible as a result.
“Ah, Harry my boy.”  Dumbledore beamed at the lean form of the growing wizard
with his twinkling eyes.  A piece of parchment was held in one hand, no doubt
the reason for the unusual summons.  “Please take a seat.  Lemon drop?”
Refusing the candy with little fanfare, Frey took the offered seat, waiting
patiently for the Headmaster to come around to the purpose of his visit.
Which after a few minutes of mind-numbing pleasantries, he finally did.
“I was reviewing the stay-over list for the coming holiday and noticed that you
had failed to make arrangements to stay in the castle this Christmas.” 
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled up at him as he peered over the top of his glasses. 
“As I thought it was an oversight I was going to add your name to the list but
felt I should confirm with you first.”
“Headmaster Dumbledore.”  Frey answered him with hard eyes and stiff formality,
borrowing Draco’s Prince-to-Peon tone.  “As you well know you should at least
refer to me as Mr. Potter if not Lord Potter as you’ve never been giving leave
to address me so informally.  Secondly as I have not arranged to stay at the
castle over break, my plans are therefore none of your business.”
Standing after delivering this firm set-down, Frey moved towards the door
conversation finished as far as he was concerned.
A belief Dumbledore appeared not to share.
“I am your Headmaster, young man.”  The Professor said with wounded
affability.  “As long as you attend this school, youare my concern.”
“I beg to differ.”  Frey met his gaze head-on.  “As my Headmaster, only my
behavior within these walls and my grades are your concern.  Everything else is
the concern of my guardians, of which you are not.”
Albus’s genial gaze hardened perceptively at the young man’s persistence.  He
knew, he just knew that he was going to spend the break with the Malfoys, a
Dark family if there ever was one.  The damage that friendship could’ve already
done was incalculable on the Boy-Who-Lived.  If only Ronald hadn’t managed to
so thoroughly offend the young Savior.
The hero of the Wizarding World had to be Light.  There was no other option…for
the greater good.
He held little hope of Mr. Longbottom’s ability to counteract young Malfoy’s
influence on the Young Lord Potter.
He needed to find another way.
Fortunately, a recent accusation lodged against the Wizengamot may have given
him the “in” he needed into the boy-hero’s life.
Sirius Black and his partner Remus Lupin had always been strong supporters of
the Light, no matter their inherent magical leanings.
Breaking the silence Frey strode from the office, calling: “If that’ll be all,
Professor?”  Over his shoulder without giving the older wizard time to answer
or call him back.
…
“Ho, Brother!”  Thor called out boisterously as he caught sight of the slighter
form of Loki leaning elegantly over the seeing pool the Asgardians were using
to watch the goings-on of the young Seidr Harry Potter.
It wasn’t an odd sight, Loki often took interest in the doings of the magical
Midgardians especially with this young one being the son of one of his own
followers.
He was often alone in his vigil now that much of the betting had tapered off
with the young Potter Lord spending more time dredging through schoolwork and
political machinations than battling monsters.
Though Thor and Loki had made a tidy sum betting on the outcome of the minotaur
fight at the beginning of the summer season on Midgard.
“What occurs with the Young Seidr?”
Loki held back a growl.  If it wasn’t for this thrice-damned seeing pool he
would be able to actually spend time with his son and help him through his
trials instead of making do with snatched minutes in dreams here and there.  As
it was Dumbledore was lucky he was Favored by one of the many Fates or he’d be
meeting the sharp side of his blade sooner rather than later.
“Yule on Midgard approaches.”  Loki said before the pause became telling.  “The
young one prepares to spend the holiday with his pale-haired friend.”
Thor nodded approvingly.  “A budding warrior has need of stout companions,
though methinks perhaps his pale-haired companion has less-than-wholesome
thoughts about our young warrior-to-be.”
The dark-haired god withheld a snort.  That was one way of putting it.  If he
hadn’t already discussed the problems his mental aging presented towards his
more social activities he would be worried for his son’s virtue with the way
young Draco carried on.
Although something told him that after meeting the elder Malfoy, Frey might
simply be waiting for the blonde to grow up.
An unpleasant thought when paired with his son’s inevitable disappearance from
the Wizarding world.
Nothing could come from affairs with mortals but heartache, as Loki well knows.
…
Yule at Malfoy Manor was very different from spending it haunting Hogwarts
Castle or at Camp Half-Blood.
He’d spent the first several days of break splitting his time between being in
conference with Lucius and relaxing and doing homework with Draco.  The Lady
Malfoy had escorted both boys into Diagon Alley to finish any leftover
shopping, giving Frey a chance to use the certificates he’d been gifted for his
birthday along with ensuring that he had robes appropriate for the ball on the
night of Christmas Eve.
Usually referred to – incorrectly – as the Malfoy Yule Ball, it was a
celebration of Winter itself.
The Malfoys – led by the Lord – and their young guest were joined by Severus
Snape for their private Yule celebrations on the longest night of December
21st.
Ostensibly out of respect, both Frey and Severus gave offerings to Loki as the
Patron of the House of Malfoy while Narcissa gave to Hades in addition.  Frey
and Severus were also allowed a few minutes of privacy to finish their private
rites, though that didn’t stop Frey from discovering that Severus’s Patron
remained Thanatos and that he does still give him reverence – an issue Loki and
Chiron were uncertain about.
Severus still needed to be vetted but he was looking more and more like a
possible ally.
Rather than make a show of having his gift appear in the flames of the Yule
log, this year Loki transported it directly onto Frey’s bed in his guest room. 
The young godling was ecstatic over the portraits of his Far along with his
Uncle and grandparents.  However it dinged his conscience as he’d yet to
approach his divine parent about his own parentage surprise he’d discovered
thanks to the goblins.
It just wasn’t something he could bring up in casual conversation.
“By the way Far, you’re adopted.”
Yeah, Frey didn’t see that going well.
 …
Mingling among the guests at the Malfoy’s Winter Ball, Frey restrained the urge
to fidget in the silk and heavy brocaded satin formal robes Draco had insisted
he wear.
Frey was no stranger to dressing up, not with being raised mainly by Thanatos’s
Harvestmaidens until he was old enough to begin training with Chiron.  Looking
through the early pictures of him they’d taken for his Far and Grim, he looked
more like a human dress-up doll than a child.  And heavy clothes was also
nothing new.
He just about lived in his armor at Camp Half-Blood.
No, his discomfort was more about who was around than it was what he was
wearing.
Former Death-Eaters and Death-Eater sympathizers outnumbered neutral parties
two-to-one.
Spotting a lime-green bowler, Frey set down the sparkling wine he’d been
sipping on and headed for the unfortunately-dressed Minister of Magic.
Sirius’s trial had yet to be scheduled, blockaded by Ministry bureaucracy.
That simply would not do.
And what better chance to swing things his way would he get than cornering the
Minister at a party?
Snagging Lucius from his spot watching over the party beside a shadowed arch,
Frey steered him towards the Minister.
“I need an introduction.”  He pitched his voice low, keeping it from being
heard by the crowd filling the glittering ballroom.
Lucius looked up with a darting glance then gave him an unobtrusive nod.  He’d
tried to move the trial of his wife’s cousin along but something was stalling
it – something more than Fudge’s usual incompetence.  It stank of Dumbledore’s
meddling causing the ineffectual Minister to dig in his heels.
“The pink creature trailing him is Dolores Umbridge.”  He prepped his Lord’s
Heir quickly as they glided through the crush that parted like rippling silk
before the powerful pair.  “A reprehensible woman with little tact of low
breeding.  But vicious and bears watching.”
“Status?”
“Pureblood but weak.  No title or fortune to speak of, glorified Secretary.”
Frey tapped a finger against his Host’s arm in signal that he’d heard and
understood the briefing.
“Minister Cornelius Fudge,” Lucius said smoothly.  “Allow me to introduce you
to the Young Lord Harry Potter.  Harry, this is Minister of Magic Fudge.”
With one move, Lucius established his familiarity with the Boy-Who-Lived and
snubbed the irritating Umbridge, who as a commoner wasn’t someone Frey would
need an introduction to with his higher station.
“Lord Potter.”  Fudge was visibly shaken, clearly not prepared for the
introduction.  “Pleasure to meet you at last.  Dumbledore tends to keep you all
to himself.”
Frey arched a brow, “Good to meet you Minister.  Although I don’t quite know
what you mean?”
Lucius smoothly took a step back, separating Umbridge and maneuvering Frey and
the Minister so they had a little more privacy.
“Why,” Fudge blustered.  “The Ministry had requested meetings with you and
well-child visits with no response for years.  And it has been understood that
Dumbledore placed you with your relatives.”
With a put-upon sigh and slight shake of his head, Frey had the Minster’s
utmost attention as he realized that “Harry Potter” wasn’t Dumbledore’s
creature, validating what Lucius had been saying for the last several months.
“The records regarding my placement and guardians are sealed.”  Frey said
conspiratorially.  “But I can say that Headmaster Dumbledore has zero authority
over myself outside of his position within Hogwarts.”
Fudge’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline.  This was news indeed.  The general
wizarding population as well as the Ministry were all under the impression that
Dumbledore had the Boy-Who-Lived in hand – and in his pocket.  That he was
powerless over the boy-hero except for being his Headmaster was news indeed.
“That is interesting to hear, my boy.”
Frey inwardly winced over the often-used phrase.  Why everyone insisted on
calling him “my boy” when he topped the Minister by at least an inch and a Lord
in his own right was beyond him.  That didn’t stop him from taking the opening
the Minister granted him.
“I received interesting news myself just before break.”  He kept his voice
conversational.  “That the trial for my godfather has been delayed, again, and
with no idea when it will take place.”
“Well,” Fudge started sweating.  The Potter Lord hadn’t sounded happy.  He’d
assumed that as Black was accused of being responsible for his parents’ deaths
that he would be pleased by the hearing being stalled.  Even though everyone
around him save Dolores had told him otherwise.  “That’s not a matter for a
young man such as yourself, Harry, to concern themselves with.”
“I beg to differ.”  Frey’s voice went from pleasant to hard-edged in a split-
second.  “The Lord of the House of Black rots in Azkaban after being denied a
trial before the Wizengamot, let alone a proper hearing before a Lord’s
Tribunal.  Such matters are the concern of every titled witch and wizard in
Britain.”  His tone went sibilantly soft.  “Could you imagine the uproar among
the nobles, let alone the average voting witch and wizard when they find out
that the Ministry shunted a Lord away…without a trial let alone actual
evidence?”
“I’d be out of Office the next morning.”  Fudge whispered, visions of a mob of
irate citizens descending upon the Ministry dancing through his head.
“No, no.”  The godling turned soothing in his burgeoning triumph.  His
godfather would be out of that hell-hole and receiving treatment at St. Mungo’s
before a week was out.  “You’renot at fault.  Not in the least.  Youare simply
rectifying the mistakes of the former Minister Bagnold and her witch-hunting
administration that tossed an innocent noble into the worst place on Earth –
all because of his Name.”
Pulled from his horrifying day-dreams, Minister Fudge studying the calm and
benevolent face of the young Lord he was facing.
No, in no world was this Dumbledore’s creature.  No one could be a pure bastion
of Light and the perfect Gryffindor – as Lord Potter was often touted – and
come up with that twist of a knife that not only gave him reason to accede to
the other’s wishes but also allowed him to come out smelling like a rose-
bedecked knight of old in search of justice.
Forgetting himself for a brief moment he joked:
“Are you sure you’re a Gryffindor?”
The young Lord simply smiled an enigmatic smile and gracefully returned to the
side of the Malfoy Heir, allowing his jibe to go unanswered.
…
Frey was right.
By the first of the year Sirius Black had been removed from Azkaban and was
ensconced in a private room in St. Mungo’s, recuperating before facing a Lord’s
Tribunal.
Along with diagnostic spells, restorative and nutrient potions, and plenty of
chocolate came the ability to send and receive owls as he met with the lawyer
his godson sent and corresponded with Harry.
Sirius still couldn’t quite believe that this all wasn’t some sort of Dementor-
induced hallucination.  All the food he could manage, health care, owls with
Harry.  Harry remembered him.  Harry had insisted he receive a trial if his new
solicitor was to be believed.  It all seemed like too much good-fortune after
his time in prison.
Then he felt he was warm and not chilled to the bone and truly believed he’d
been freed, albeit temporarily until his Tribunal.
And wasn’t that a strange turn of fate?
Never would Sirius Black have ever thought he’d see trial, let alone a proper
Tribunal.
Whoever had been raising Harry has certainly taught him well.
He only hoped that after all this time there was still room in Prongslet’s life
for his Uncle Padfoot.
Only time would tell and he wasn’t allowed visitors other than Solicitor
Bones.  If nothing else, that alone was reason enough for him to cooperate in
his own defense.  Any lingering guilt his part in James and Lily’s deaths had
been worn away by his time with the Dementors of Azkaban.
Now it was time for him to take up his mantle and help his godson become the
man and Lord he was meant to be.
“Hey Pads.”  Soft brown eyes glinted golden-amber as a shabbily-clad figure
shadowed the doorway.
“Moony.”  Sirius breathed at the sight of his mate.  Missing Moony had been a
throbbing ache all throughout his sojourn in Azkaban, more than even being gone
from his pup’s life.  Missing a child that was like his own son was one thing,
missing his mate was a whole different level of hurt.
Remus stared with pained eyes at the emaciated form on the hospital bed.
It was luxurious to be sure, all the room’s accoutrements would be in the
private wing of St. Mungo’s, and the security was tight.  Remus himself was
only able to visit due to his status as Sirius’s bonded mate.
A status that held regardless of their almost twelve-year separation during
Siri’s incarceration.
“I’m sorry.”  He sobbed, collapsing against the side bedrail.  “I’m so sorry.”
…
 
***** Ten *****
Enjoy!
                                    Lokison
                                  Chapter Ten
It was good to be back at Hogwarts.
After a “holiday” spent mostly wrangling politicians including Lucius and
tending to his estates via his solicitor, going back to only having to worry
about mind-numbingly boring schoolwork was a relief.  He’s been keeping to his
Far’s study schedule and was now well-into Apprenticeship level in both theory
and practical even without having his Far there in the flesh to help him.  The
Room of Requirement really could provide just about anything someone needed –
including dummies programmed to help with spellwork.
Draco was excellent company as usual, keeping him from lapsing into a studying-
haze in the Malfoy Library, hauling him out to their covered Quidditch pitch or
convincing him to pick up a longsword and have a mock-duel.
Even so, being around their other friends like Neville, Blaise, Theo, and Luna
was a welcome diversion from the occasionally-obsessive blonde.
The only cloud hovering on the horizon – well one of several with Frey still
not finding the entrance to the Chamber nor having cornered Severus – was his
inability to visit with his godfather Sirius until he was released from St.
Mungo’s and tried.
He was pleased to finally have received a communication from Remus, who in
addition to writing about himself and Sirius’s current condition had agreed to
take up the seats on the Hogwarts and Durmstrang Boards.
His werewolf-godfather had been found by the goblins – at no little expense –
in Tibet.  He’d barely arrived back upon English shores before being alerted by
the front-page expose in the Prophet over Sirius’s upcoming Tribunal – and his
new residence in St. Mungo’s.  Apparently the wayward wolf had presented
himself to his wronged-mate and then sent off a letter of acceptance and
apology to Frey, including an effusive greeting from his dogfather.
At the moment however another problem had presented itself.
In the form of the aforementioned occasionally-obsessive blonde he’d befriended
for a reason he couldn’t quite recall…at the moment.
“Out with it.”  Draco demanded flatly, arms crossed and a fierce-scowl on his
refined face.  “You’ve been sequestered in the dustiest parts of the Hogwarts
Library every spare moment since we got back from the Manor two weeks ago.  And
when you’re not you’re wandering the halls with the oddest look on your face.”
“Uh…”
The blonde gave an irritated hiss.
“Don’t try and brush me off.”  He cut him off sharply.  “If this was one of
those things you can’t tell me you’d just say so.  Brushing me off means you
could share you just haven’t.”  His voice softened as he turned away, speaking
over his shoulder as he prepared to walk off.  “I thought I was your best-
friend.  I thought we were passed…this.”
Draco waved a hand and moved slowly down the shadowed corridor where he’d
finally pinned Frey down.  The godling let his head fall back against the harsh
stone wall with a “thunk” and gave a sigh.  Calling after his friend, because
damn it to Hel if he wasn’t right, Frey said:
“Stop, Drey.”  He shoved off the wall was the blonde halted and half-turned
back towards him, cocking his head slightly to listen.  “Just stop.”
Frey ran one hand down his long braid, having gone with his more “warrior-
esque” – according to Draco – hairstyle that day.  Sighing he shrugged then
gave the other boy a half-grin.
“You’re right.”  He admitted.  “This is one of those things I could share and
haven’t.  I’m sorry for that.  But I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I’m already worried, Harry.”  Draco said softly as he spun and glided to his
side, resting one hand on the much-taller boy’s shoulder.  “How could I not be
with you acting so strangely?  Meetings with my father are one thing.  Acting
like a spaced-out bookworm on a mission is another.  Even if you’re a bookworm
most of the time anyway.”  The blonde smirked as he finished, giving the
shoulder under his hand a squeeze before letting go.
Rolling his eyes, Frey shoved Draco playfully before leading him over to an
alcove that he promptly warded for privacy, including against eavesdropping
spells.
“There’s a dangerous creature in the school.”  He began seriously only to be
interrupted.
“I know Granger’s rabid.”  Draco snarked.  “I’ve just been waiting for her to
snap your hand off at the wrist one of these days when you beat her marks
again.”
Tsking, Frey hushed him.
“I’m serious, Drey.”  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back
against the wall.  It wasn’t the roomiest alcove he could’ve picked, that was
for sure.
“So am I, Har.”  He held up a hand when it looked like his best-friend had
reached the end of his rope with his antics.  “I’ll stop, I’ll stop.”  He
promised.
“Not Granger.”  Frey huffed.  “I’m talking about an actual deadlymonster.”  As
in the kind that it was his duty to kill – or in this case put out of it’s
misery.  There was no cure for Selena’s madness.  The Elixir would work but it
would take more than the six human-sized doses he had and he didn’t want to
contemplate the bounty Thanatos would require to cough up more of it.
Death gods and War gods were the worst when it came to making bets and
bargaining deals.  For all he knew his Patron would require a thousand years of
service or a dozen virgin sacrifices.  Thanatos might be nice to him but that
didn’t make him a benevolent god by any means.
Impartial – mostly.
Benevolent?
Not even close.
Draco swallowed spastically.
“Like a Troll dangerous or like a Cerberus dangerous?”  Draco asked trying to
get a handle on his friend’s definition of dangerous.  He distinctly remembered
Harry brushing off the Cerberus as an inconvenience while the Troll was an
actual challenge for his companion.  As if any XXXX-rated dangerous creature
was a mere inconvenience.
But that was Harry for you.
Things like that made him think he didn’t have that hard of a time convincing
the Sorting Hat to put him in with the idiotically-courageous Gryffindors.
Harry often had more hair than sense when it came to things others might
consider foolhardy or even life-threatening.
“Worse than a Troll.”  Frey had to admit.  Honestly, when it came to dangerous
not much topped a Basilisk save an actual Drakon.  Even Dragons weren’t as
inherently deadly as a Basilisk was and the giant snakes could out-do a gorgon
or a minotaur any day of the week.
“What in Merlin’s name could be worse than a Troll?”  Draco asked
incredulously.  If Harry was being this circumspect then it was no wonder he’d
been devoting so much time to his research.  If the creature could make the
king-of-heroics cautious it must be at the top of the danger-scale for
monsters.
“A Basilisk.”  Frey all but whispered, flinching at the shriek that came from
his best-friend and cursing his enhanced-hearing.
Sensitive ears were not an inheritance you wanted to have when you had a pre-
pubescent Draco Malfoy shrieking in an enclosed space.  Frey was just glad that
he hadn’t ruptured an eardrum…  Honestly, there were probably dogs miles away
that heard that shriek.
“A bloody-Basilisk?!  You’re saying that there’s a Morgana-be-damned Basilisk
slithering around Hogwarts somehow?  And you’re trying to locate it?  What in
Merlin’s name is wrong with you Harry?”  Draco tossed up his hands dramatically
before charging off.  “I’m going to tell Uncle Sev.  Like you should’ve done
when you found out that the King of Serpents was making itself right at home in
a school full of children.”
“Draco!”  Frey ran up behind the lithe figure as he stormed off towards the
dungeons.  Draco had originally found him in a little-used corridor on the
first floor between the dungeons stairs and one of the exterior load-bearing
walls.
His thought was that he’d mostly likely find the out-spouts or openings into
the pipes that lead down to the bowels of the castle, the only place the
Chamber of Secrets could logically be located.
Especially with Salazar Slytherin claiming the dungeons for his House.
Cutting around his friend he stopped and threw up one hand.  “Wait!”
Propping his clenched fists on his hips, quicksilver eyes glared up at the
obstruction.  Harry was big enough now – and fast enough as he well knew from
their duels – that getting around him would be an exercise in futility.  If
there was one thing he’d learned from his father’s former servitude to the Dark
Lord it was to avoid wasting effort in an unchangeable situation.
With a sigh Frey lowered his hand and bowed his head, peeking at Draco through
his eyelashes.
“I think it’s time we have that talk.”
“You mean…?”  Draco perked up.  Harry had been all-but-silent on the subject of
his split-behavior when around the Lord Malfoy.  That he was finally opening up
to him was worth a slight delay in alerting his godfather about the deadly
creature in the basement.
“Yes.”  Frey sighed again before grabbing one of Draco’s smoothly elegant hands
in his own work-and-training roughened palm.
He tugged lightly as Draco resisted, mostly just to be perverse, before he gave
in with an eye roll and allowed the stronger boy to haul him willy-nilly
through the castle.  Draco didn’t know where they were going but he was more
than happy to follow.
As long as Harry held his hand.
…
Pacing thrice before the hidden door in the seventh floor corridor, Frey
silently debated with himself over just how much he was going to tell Draco. 
Hearing his friend gasp as the door was revealed Frey gave him a half-grin and
motioned him inside, feeling the little tingle in his mind that told him only
his Far was watching them.  Rarely does a day go by where the godling curses
the seeing-pool that kept his Far from coming down on his own.
Yes, Loki could watch him but so could every other person inside the Asgardian
royal palace.
Not exactly safe if he wanted to have a chat with his Far and still remain
breathing.  Odin didn’t have a great track record what with sentencing his
half-sister to being the goddess of the Grave and forcing her to live in
Helheim round-the-clock.
Frey would rather take his chances with the Greek part of his adopted heritage.
At least Zeus was an equal-opportunity smiter.
Odin is just a dick.
“Not that this room isn’t amazing,” it was and Draco was going to torture Harry
endlessly over keeping it a secret, but that was an evil plot for later.  “But
I believe you had something to tell me.”
The Slytherin had taken advantage of his companion’s distraction to make
himself comfortable in one of the arm chairs Frey had asked the room for. 
Currently looking like a simple but comfortable sitting room, it only had a
pair of chairs sitting before a fireplace, a low table, and a rug on the
floor.  Not exactly flaunting the room’s capabilities but they didn’t really
need anything else either.
“How good are your Occlumency shields, Dray?”  Frey asked point-blank.  His
friend’s answer would dictate just how much Frey could trust him with. 
Dumbledore couldn’t be allowed to know quite a bit of things surrounding Frey,
especially now that he was being seriously questioned over his part in throwing
Sirius away.
It was already a foregone conclusion that he would lose his place in the
Wizengamot which would cost him the Supreme Mugwump position on the ICW as
well.
By the end of the Summer Frey would bet galleons to knuts that the only
position of power that would remain with the Headmaster was his Headmastership.
He couldn’t be happier, the more he finds out about the old goat the less
forgiving he became over the future he tried to sacrifice him to.  Sacrifice
being the key phrase.
“Almost perfect.”  Draco shrugged.  “Most pureblooded Heir are taught to
Occlude as soon as they’re old enough to meditate.  Dumbledore’s a known
Legilimense and none of the Olde Houses are going to except such an information
leak as having an untrained-heir.  Neville’s probably trained as well even
though he’s only technically Heir while his father is still alive and is
nominally considered the Lord already.”
Interesting.  Frey thought surprised.  The little nuances of Wizarding society
never failed to either entertain or educate him.  While Nev and Dray were both
smart and getting more and more confident in themselves, he wouldn’t have
thought either had the discipline for Occlumency.
“What I’m going to tell you is strictly between us, Dray.”  Frey said deadly
serious.  “You can’t talk about it to anyone.  Not your Father, not your Uncle
Sev or Nev, or Theo, or Blaise.  Just us.”
“Understood.”  Draco nodded once, eyes sharp.  He’d have to be careful around
Uncle Sev though.  He was an even more accomplished Legilimense than
Dumbledore, perhaps the best there was.  He had to be to survive playing both
sides of the last war.
“Have you ever heard of a godling…?”
…
Weeks later Draco was still reeling.
Harry.  His best friend.  Was destined for divinity.
It was a shock to say the least.
Almost as shocking as hearing that no matter how much Harry, or Frey he
supposed, cared about him and their other friends or his newly-found and
almost-freed godfathers, that he would have to leave.
Someday, and no one knew when, Frey would both freeze into his immortality and
ascend into his divine domain.
And on that day he would have to leave his loved-ones on Earth and join his
pantheon…or whatever gods did.
Especially if he had children.
That was the part that was really jumbling Draco up inside.
Frey would be able to play around on Earth and have fun and whatever.
But the second he had children – which his Lordships and the agreement between
his parents both required – he would have to leave them.
Unless…
Draco shook the thought from his head.
Nothing good could come from that thought.
One thing Frey had made very clear was that he wasn’t nearly as young as he was
supposed to be.  That until Draco was older there wasn’t much point in pining
over him because he simply couldn’t see him as a possible partner.
Frey wanted him to be happy.
He also wanted to be able to date as some point without having to worry about
Draco poisoning his theoretical girlfriend or boyfriend as the case might be.
Coming to a decision, Draco stood up from the study table they were all
gathered around and hauled Frey from his chair and into one of the more hidden
alcoves in the Library.  Everyone watched the pair in unconcealed-amusement as
the haughty blonde towed the much-larger and patently-indulgent brunette away. 
Frey was glad that Draco had finally made up his mind.
The Malfoy heir had listened calmly, asking pertinent questions here-and-
there.  He only started to lose his cool when he read between the lines,
figuring out what Frey’s status actually meant.  When he realized that he was
going to lose his friend someday.
Pushing Frey into the alcove, Draco took a deep breath and looked up into
patient green eyes.
“Fifteen.”  He said resolutely.
Frey arched a brow.
“Malfoys hit a magical growth spurt early.”  He explained calmly.  “My powers
start to unlock at thirteen with everyone else but at fourteen I’ll get a
physical one where I’ll be close to my finished physical maturity.  All
firstborn Malfoy heirs go through it.  At fifteen I’ll look and seem old enough
for you to date.”
“Fifteen.”  Frey nodded solemnly.  “And what if you change your mind
beforehand?”
“Then no harm done.”  Draco shrugged his twelve-year-old shoulders.  “That
gives both of us three years to date,” and if Frey was right about what his
guardian had planned do other things, “other people.  To figure out if the
inevitable heartbreak that’ll come with loving you is worth it.”
The godling bit back a scathing reply to that, his Loki-given pride wounded a
bit over a mortal thinking he wasn’t worth loving.  He knew that wasn’t what
Draco was implying.  That wasn’t it at all.
But telling a twelve-year-old boy that’s been infatuated with you for the
better part of two years that no matter how much he wants to be with you that
someday you’ll leave no matter what wasn’t the easiest thing for Draco to come
to terms with.
Honestly, Frey was surprised he was being so calm about it.
“Fifteen.”  Frey nodded.  “And no judgement over me dating other people?  No
trying to poison Cedric’s pumpkin juice or making my fictional girlfriend break
out in hives if she wants to hold my hand?”
“Cedric’s pumpkin juice.”  Draco narrowed his eyes.
“Theoretical question.”  Frey quickly covered, mentally revising his plan to
openly date anyone from their circle of mutual friends.  Maybe he’d just stick
to people from Camp Half-Blood now that he knew Draco wouldn’t get his feelings
crushed or try to hex them long-distance.
“Then theoretically.”  Draco said with exquisite sarcasm.  “No.  And same
goes.”  He sighed after a long moment, conceding that he’d need to at least
pretend to date someone else if he wanted Frey to take him seriously when the
time came.
“Ok then.”  Frey said breathing out, relieved.  Eyeing his pretty blonde
companion for a moment he made a decision of his own.
Swooping down, he captured the sulky rosebud mouth in a gentle but commanding
kiss.  It was chaste, but still mind-blowing for Frey’s friend.
Releasing him, Frey stroked one hand down Draco’s silky hair and gave him
another kiss, this one no more than a peck before stepping away.
“Just because we have to be mature about this.”  Frey said with pure devilment
dancing in his Avada-green eyes.  “Doesn’t mean I was going to let someone else
steal your first kiss from me.  Or mine from you.”
And with that earth-shattering pronouncement, the godling left the bedazzled
blonde to recover in peace as he went and rejoined their friends, brushing off
their concern over the missing-Draco with aplomb.
…
With his worry over the Draco-situation alleviated by the other boy’s
surprising but heartening decision – and flying high over making his move and
gifting his first kiss to someone worthy of having it – Frey dove into the
Severus situation headfirst while he continued his search for the entrance to
the Chamber of Secrets.
Waiting until his next Friday potions class – ironically the 13th of March – as
Potions was the last class on Fridays being a double-period, Frey restrained
himself from showing his impatience as the combination of Slytherins and
Gryffindors filed out of the basement classroom.  Waving off Draco and the
others who made to wait for him, he approached the desk at the front of the
class as the door shut behind his friends.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?”  Severus’s voice was as dry as the Sahara, not even looking
up from marking the parchments that had been turned in at the beginning of
class on the differences between various preparations of Valerian Root.
As whisper brushed through Frey’s mind, one that he’d been hearing less and
less as he got older.
Ask him.  It breathed.  Ask him about your mother.
“What do you know about my mother?”  Frey followed the voice’s advice as it’d
never steered him wrong before.  “You did know her,” he own voice gentled as
shocked black eyes met his own steady gaze.  “Didn’t you?”
It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned to get the Potion Master’s attention but it
seemed to be effective none-the-less.
“Detention, Potter.”  Severus choked out.  This wasn’t a conversation he was
going to have where anyone could listen in.  “With me, tonight, eight-o’clock.”
Sighing, Frey nodded, turning to leave the classroom, knowing nothing he said
right now would make a difference.
“And Mr. Potter?”  The velvet tones reached him as he went to open the door. 
”One point to Gryffindor.  For bravery.”
A bright grin split his face as he glanced back over his shoulder at the still-
watching man before leaving him to his thoughts.
It was the first time he’d ever heard of Severus Snape giving points to
Gryffindor.
…
Frey peered cautiously around the edge of the door leading into the Professor’s
study, only to jump in shock when the stern man barked out one of his names.
“Get in here, Potter!”
“Sir?”  He asked tentatively when he spotted the tea service sitting on the
coffee table and his dreaded Professor already holding a cup with another cup
setting set out before the open side chair across from the lightly scowling
man.
“Sit.”  Severus motioned with one elegant hand.  With a flick of the elder
Wizard’s wand he set the tea service to fixing a cup for the boy, arching a
brow when the sugar tongs and cream hovered above the steaming beverage.
“Cream and a tablespoon of honey.”  Frey answered the silent question as he
gingerly sat and took the now-hovering cup.  “Thank you, Professor.”
“Hn.”  Severus hummed, his face blank.  “You asked me about your mother.”  He
took a long sip of tea as the boy visibly restrained himself from fidgeting.
“My guardian,” one of them anyway, Thanatos knowing quite a bit about Lily’s
relationship with his follower.  “Told me you were friends.”
Frey actually knew a lot about Lily.  Loki had regaled him with tales of both
his mother and his adoptive father and their friends.  However the silver-
tongued god hadn’t known Lily Evans before she started dating his acolyte so he
couldn’t fill in anything from before she was seventeen.  He simply didn’t
know.  And what the Lord of Death knew Thanatos was rarely inclined to share.
“Your guardian.”  Now that was a cause for some concern.  Petunia of course
knew Severus and of his friendship with her sister but as far as he’d been
informed, young Potter didn’t live with his Aunt.  Very few others would have
that information who also had contact with the boy outside of Lucius and the
Headmaster, neither of which were the boy’s guardians.
Questions within questions with the troublesome child.
“Yes,” Severus answered finally, setting down his empty cup and pouring himself
another.  “We were friends, Lily and I.”
Frey cocked his head.  He’d never heard the Professor’s voice like that,
quiet…almost reverent.
The man continued.
“We met when we were children, long before her letter came.  I lived down the
street from them for a while, your grandfather had taken a temporary position
in Cokeworth managing the shut-down of one of the mills.  Afterwards they all
moved back to Surrey and he returned to his position in the mill’s parent
company.”
“What were their names?”  Frey asked quietly.  Since his maternal grandparents
weren’t magical they weren’t included in any of his genealogy paperwork from
Gringotts or on the family tapestries.
“Francis Harrison Evans and Viola Marie Evans nee Rutherford.”  Severus gave
what was almost a smile.  “They were good, kind people.  Viola was a shirttail
relative to a Lord and had the grace and gentility to go with it.  I can’t even
fathom what went wrong with Petunia.”
Frey chuckled under his breath, eyes sparkling.  From what his Far told him
quite a bit went wrong with the now Mrs. Dursley.  And even more after she
treated her sister so poorly.
No one did vindictive like the God of Mischief.
“One day I saw a little girl, about my age, with bright red hair playing with
her blonde sister in the park.  She seemed to fly off the swings and then float
to the ground.  I knew at once she was magical.  Then she made a flower bloom
out of season in the palm of her hand.  Petunia yelled and told her to stop it
and ran away, making your mother have tears in her eyes.  She was the most
beautiful thing I ever saw.”  Severus pulled himself from his recollection,
paying attention to his enraptured audience.  He continued briskly.  “I told
her what she was, all I knew about the magical world.  We were best-friends
ever since.”
“What happened?”
Severus grimaced.  “I was foolish.  Your mother tried to defend me against the
bullying antics of your father and his pack of misfits in front of the entire
school.  She hurt my pride and I…”  He sighed, setting down the teacup and
pushing it away.  “I lashed out.  I tried to apologize later but Lily could
hold a grudge.  We were young and fools.  It wasn’t until you were born that
she ever sought me out again.”
Frey kept his voice low and gentle, almost awed by the amount of emotion the
indomitable Professor was allowing him to bear witness to.  “I never knew
that.  That you were able to make up before she…was gone.”
The barest ghost of a smile crossed the stern face and onyx eyes warmed.  “She
forgave me.  Despite all the poor choices I’d made in between, she still
forgave me.  Trusted me enough regardless to make me swear to protect you,
vowing on my Patron.”
Ebony eyebrows shot towards Frey’s hairline.  Now that was something Thanatos
had kept close to his chest.  The god hadn’t even made a peep about an oath
during all the times he and Chiron had debated about the various people he’d
come into contact with at Hogwarts.
“Thanatos.”  Frey breathed.
“Yes,” Severus smirked enjoying the irony.  “Your father’s family has long
honored the Lord of Death, even their words were in homage to Him.  My mother’s
family was sworn to Him at their founding.”
They sat in silence for several long moments before Severus made an
observation.
“You don’t strike me as needing or wanting a trip down memory lane, Mr.
Potter.  Why are you really here?”
“What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”
…
Hearing the story from the Slytherin Head of House gave Frey an interesting
perspective.  Lucius knew from being told by Voldemort that the Chamber existed
but other than him, most people as well as most of the books he’s toiled
through dismissed the Chamber as a myth.  A myth that had been alive and well
and deadly more than fifty years prior.
Having met the gentle giant who was the Hogwarts groundskeeper, Frey didn’t
find it unlikely that he’d had a dangerous animal as a pet.  What did strain
credulity for the godling was that he let it loose to “cleanse” the school. 
Hagrid set off his monster-dar though only in the slightest sense and was
clearly larger than normal, making Frey peg him as a half-breed of the giant
kind.
Not someone who would benefit from the “cleansing” the Heir of Slytherin
espoused in the forties.
What was interesting was that the Prefect who turned in Hagrid and pointed the
finger at his acromantula was none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle – as known as
the Dark Lord Voldemort.
He could’ve smacked himself when he found that tidbit in the school annals. 
His Far was going to have a field day with Frey having almost two years to
research Voldemort’s school days before actually doing it.  It’d simply slipped
his mind.
Thanatos told him years ago about Voldemort’s heritage and his background. 
Frey just never made the jump to researching Voldemort: The Early Years.  It
was a rookie hero mistake and one he was going to take massive ribbing over.
Frey had to wait until the next morning to talk to the gentle giant and confirm
what the massive man knew about Riddle – and found a previously untapped source
of information.
It was plainly biased considering the budding Dark Lord got Hagrid suspended
but the half-giant had a plethora of anecdotes and insights into the boy who
became a monster.
And speaking of monsters, he was highly disturbed over Hagrid releasing his
“friend” Aragog into the Forbidden Forest.  That there was now a veritable hive
of acromantula in a “forbidden” place so close to a school full of children who
routinely took turns daring each other to venture farther and farther in gave
him chills.  He would have to see about putting the fear of, well, him into the
bloodthirsty things before they started snacking on First Years.
But that was a problem for another day.
What was pertinent today was the location of the murdered girl – a second floor
bathroom now haunted by her ghost – one “Moaning” Myrtle.
Finally, finally Frey had a solid lead on the thrice-damned Chamber.
He was starting to think that the poor creature trapped within would have to
suffer her madness forever – or until he talked his Far into revealing where
the entrance was.  His stubborn father knew, he’d helped build the damned
castle.  He just wasn’t saying, no matter how much Frey complained when Loki
visited him in his dreams.
…
“Which sword should I take?”  Frey muttered to himself as he peered into his
weapons compartment of his trunk.  He was tucked away in the Room of
Requirement, trying to come up with a workable plan.
Chiron had drummed that thoroughly into his head at least after what Heidi is
still calling the “Hydra Catastrophe.”
The Harvestmaiden ripped several layers off of him with her sharp tongue when
he returned to Camp and told her of his first official slaying.
“None.”  A voice lashed out from behind him.  “As I distinctly told you that
you were not to even attempt slaying the Basilisk.”
Frey peeked ever-so-slowly over his shoulder, immediately spying one of his
Far’s doubles.  He could tell it wasn’t the god, Loki was excellent at
obscuring his aura signature but nothing could hide his Far from his own
progeny.  A tingle dinged at the corner of his mind, confirming his suspicion.
Loki was still watching him from Asgard, keeping an eye on him through the
Pool.
But he’d taken a calculated risk by sending his double down to talk to his
son.  The power it would cost his father to send one trans-dimensionally was
massive.  Loki would be recovering from this for months.
It was worth it to the god, the cost mattering little if he could dissuade his
sometimes-impetuous son from his current course.  Or at least convince him to
alter it if he won’t abandon it altogether.  Even taking one of his little
friends would be better than facing a bloody basilisk on his own.
Knowing how his Far’s doubles work, though he wasn’t powerful enough to
duplicate the magical feat, he faced it down.  Far could both hear and see
through his doubles, something that was very disorienting at first and one of
the major stumbling blocks preventing Frey from succeeding in making his own. 
What kept them from being true clones was that his Far didn’t feel any damage
done to his double images, they simply disappeared when injured.
“Yes, you told me not to search for it or engage it.”  Frey acknowledged with a
solemn nod.  “But I can no more do that than you could allow me to put myself
in danger without being prepared to the best of my ability.”
Loki – and his double – sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.
“Can you really tell me that you don’t believe I can face this poor creature –
and come out alive if not victorious?”  Frey asked seriously.  “If you can,
I’ll wait.  I’ll let Selena remain trapped and in pain until you think I can
handle freeing her from her pain.  Tell the truth, Far.”
Spring-green eyes clashed with their slightly-deeper twins.
“I cannot say that you my son are unprepared.”  Loki admitted after what seemed
like a lifetime to his anxious First Born Son and Heir.  Frey let out a
relieved breath and gave a smile as his Far continued.  “You are one of the
most well-prepared heroes Chiron has ever mentored.  While physically you still
have far to go, mentally you are of age and therefor I find myself unable to
prevent you from making your own decisions, no matter how much my father’s
heart cries out for me to do so.”
The double looked away, mirroring Loki’s sudden awareness as the sounds of
footsteps reached his sharp ears.  He’d have to finish his discussion with his
child and say goodbye.  Post haste.
“I must go.”  Loki blew out a breath and stroked his double’s hand down Frey’s
favored braid, tucking lightly at the leather band that held it in place and
gaining himself a mock-glare.  “Be careful my son.  And if you have any
sympathy for your poor father, take someone with you into the belly of the
beast.  Even your little blonde friend would be better than nothing.”
The Malfoy or Longbottom Heirs would be able to use their familial portkeys to
take themselves and a passenger to safety if nothing else.
One of the privileges of being pureblood Scions afforded to the two boys.
“Fare thee well, Far.”  Frey hugged the double lightly.  “I’ll take all
precautions.  This isn’t about glory, this isn’t a monster.  It’s a wounded
animal in need of mercy.  I’m not about to cause her more agony in the process
of releasing her than I absolutely have to.”
“That’s all I ask, my son.”  The double began to shimmer and dissipate.  “Be
well, and use one of your goblin-forged blades.”
Frey grinned at the now-smirking double and gave it a mocking salute before
turning back to the trunk and studying it with a canny eye.
Now what weapons did he have that wouldn’t cause too much curiosity in the
Potions Master.
After all, Professor Snape was sworn to his protection.
Who then, would be better to guard his flank?
Taking out a pair of goblin-forged gladiuses Frey grinned in anticipation of
what the dour man’s reaction would be to his plans.
If being witness to one of his adventures didn’t put a few gray hairs in that
inky mane of the “dungeon bat” nothing would.
…
It was approaching May before Frey was able to convince his Professor to join
him in his self-appointed quest.
What finally tipped the scales was the possibility of gathering rare potion
ingredients if Frey was successful.  Well, that and being able to see the
legendary Chamber of Secrets which rumor said hosted Slytherin’s own study. 
The wealth of knowledge such a place might contain was enough to make the
Potioneer salivate.
Over a month was spent with the young godling first proving to the elder man
that A) He wasn’t joking.  B) He was a Parselmouth (though whether that was
from his Far or from the temporary latching of Voldemort’s soul onto his own
they still weren’t sure).  And C) That the Chamber really did exist and yes, he
really was going down into it.
Severus would’ve preferred simply keeping the boy under lock and key until the
end of the term however lacking a reason to keep the infuriating child in
detention and then finding out that the Headmaster had given him his father’s
Cloak of all asinine things, he had to choose between following him down or
leaving him to his fate.
The latter of which being in direction contradiction of his vow, with the
insufferable little brat knew.
Bloody Potters.
Swooping along the halls – though in dragon-hide leather trousers and long-
sleeved shirt with a sword at his hip rather than his normal teaching robes –
Severus followed the young man towards the second-floor bathroom.  Dressed in
matching leather but with a curious cuff around his bicep and goblin-forged
bracers on his shins and lower arms, Potter led the way.  Their plan was
simple.  The boy would lead them down into the tunnels under the school where
Severus would through up a simple mirroring shield which would – hopefully –
protect them from the creature’s deadly gaze when they found it.  Then,
together, they would cast binding hexes and finally slay the creature when it
was immobilized.
Personally, Severus rather thought it wouldn’t be quite that easy but one never
knew.
Potter Senior after all was often accused of having bloody Felix Felicisrunning
through his veins, a property the younger might’ve inherited if his being taken
in by Severus’s own patron and away from Petunia after surviving the Killing
Curse was any measure of luck.
Frey turned to his Professor, plans already percolating in his mind for how to
keep the civilian – for to the godling that was what the man was – safe once
they found Selena.
For all that Professor Snape was known for being bloody intimidating and if his
mock-duel with Lockhart was any indicator a rather powerful Wizard, he wasn’t a
half-blood trained for war and the heroic trails.
Chiron wasn’t known for cutting corners.
The centaur and trainer of heroes wasn’t about to take it easy on Frey just
because he didn’t have to face the trails to win his immorality.
If anything the trainer was harder on him and expected more from him.  To some
it would seem unfair.  Frey didn’t see it that way.
He was more powerful, stronger, more durable, just, well, more than a normal
half-blood.  Even those from the most powerful of divine origins.  Only another
godling or an actual god could approach the same innate talents that Frey had
at his disposal.  Chiron correspondingly expected more from him.
A wise decision and an excellent precaution in case he was exposed before
freezing into his immortality.
If Odin or one of Loki’s enemies discovered him while he was still mortal and
therefor breakable he would need every iota of power, durability, and training
at his fingertips to survive.
Looking at it that way, a basilisk wasn’t that big of a deal when one of the
few things he feared was his own adoptive Grandfather.
Family dinners must be a riot when you have to constantly fear what the King of
Asgard might do to you or your children if you didn’t fall in line.
Finding the right sink, Frey gave the Professor a small smile before hissing
out:  “§Open§”
Rolling his eyes, Severus gestured the brat forward mockingly.
Frey was highly tempted to make the stoic man go down the massive slide but
decided against it.  He didn’t want to know how many pieces the Potions Master
would attempt to cut him into when on the way back he finds out that he
could’ve turned it into stairs.
§”Stairs”§
They took the long climb in silence, each lost in his own plans for when they
reach their destination.  Frey, using the time to expand on his plan to
sideline his shadow as much as possible without getting either the dark wizard
or his Far on his case while Severus was thinking over the opposite, highly
tempted to knock out his charge.  A viable plan if his instincts weren’t
screaming that it would be a mistake.
And any mistake when facing a basilisk was likely to be deadly.
Severus moved as if to push past his young guide only to be waved back as the
Potter Lord cast a spell that had several small orbs of soft light surrounding
them and circling above their heads.
“We still have a bit to go.”  He said, ignoring the accusing look that shot his
way when the older man realized he’d been down in the tunnels exploring without
him for safety.  “The Chamber is directly below the Slytherin Common Room,
we’re under the Dorms at the moment.”
That said, he began casting reinforcing and endurant charms at the walls and
the rough stone ceiling over their heads, the Slytherin Head quickly following
his example.  Ever since Frey found his way into the tunnels and noticed where
he was in relation to the school overhead he’d taken it upon himself to start
cleaning away the bones and muck and lend his magic to supporting the school. 
His Far and the Founders planned for the school to rely on the ambient magic of
the staff and students to maintain the spellwork but with less and less magical
children being born every year, any help Frey and others could supply allowed
Lady Hogwarts to focus on the more frequented parts of the school.  Since he’d
began his work in the warren of tunnels that made up the foundation, many of
the castle’s inhabitants had commented on the visibly brighter halls and warmer
rooms as the castle was able to focus more on the comfort of her guests and
less on simply keeping herself stable.
If Frey had his way – which with a Seat on the Board was actually possible –
he’d make it a requirement of the staff and students to actively donate magic
to the Lady’s upkeep.  Leeching the ambient magic was all well and good when
she housed several thousand students and a hundred staff but it didn’t cut it
when there were only a couple hundred students and about a dozen staff. 
Hogwarts needed help and she needed it badly if she was going to survive the
dearth of students caused by several wars.
His Far told him that somewhere in Slytherin’s Chamber laid a passageway that
would take him to the Heart Stone of the Castle.  The magical epicenter that
powered Hogwarts and also served to cleanse it of hexes, curses, and negative
energy.  According to Loki it needed cleaning and recharging between every ten
to fifty years depending on the damage done by the residents of the castle.
Something told Frey it hadn’t been done in much, much longer.  A thought his
Far agreed with based on what he’d felt the one time he actually came to the
school in person in the last century.  Which took place almost twenty years
before during the height of the Marauders’ reign of terror.
Reaching a large ornately carved marble section of the wall, Frey came to a
stop with Severus at his side as the consummate Slytherin took in the serpent
statues and the bright white marble with silver and emerald inlays.  Frowning
he noted the various squiggles and misshapen lines filling in the top section
of the archway.  Seeing where the man was focused Frey clued him in.
“Parselscript.”  He said simply.  “It reads: Enter Ye Slytherin, Greatest House
of the Hogwarts Four.  Cunning.  Power.  Ambition.”
“I didn’t know parselmouths had a written language.”  Severus admitted lowly,
taking in the script with news eyes and starting to see a pattern once his
companion narrated it for him.
“No one does.”  Frey noted with a shrug.  “Unless they’re parselmouths
themselves.  We’re known for being a secretive bunch, after all.”
Severus snorted derisively.  That was an understatement of epic portions.
Moving into position, Frey waited for the elder wizard to cast the mirroring
shield before giving the command for the archway to §Open§.  He hadn’t ventured
beyond the archway, knowing full well that he’d get skinned six ways to Sunday
if any one of the adults in his life who gave a damn (which had turned into
quite the list recently) found out about it.  And with that Seeing Pool his Far
was attached to like a conjoined twin there was no way for him to not get found
out.
“I haven’t been farther than this.”  He told his chaperone.  Sending the
orbiting lights into the room, he quickly spotted the torches.  Grabbing hold
of Severus by the back of his dragonhide shirt he stopped him.  “Let me try
something.”
Switching to parseltongue he ran through several commands.
“§On.  Wake.  Light.§” At the last the torches spread throughout the cavernous
area sprang to life, allowing Frey to cancel his orbs and showcasing the stark-
white underground Chamber in all its glory.  Moving inside the room with care,
neither so much as flinched when the massive archway closed behind them.  All
the better to contain the basilisk.
Frey let out an impressed whistle as his professor glanced around with
appraising eyes, grimacing at the rather ugly statue taking up a large corner
of the room.  Catching the look out of the corner of his eye, Frey studied the
statue carefully for several long moments before snorting.  Irritated at the
disrespect to one of the Founders – no matter how unattractive – Severus opened
his mouth to unleash a no-doubt scathing reprimand when his young protégé
rapidly explained himself.
“Salazar Slytherin didn’t look like that.”  He held up his hands in a peaceful
gesture.  “I have it on good authority that he was lean and aristocratic if a
little bit rawboned.  Not,” here he grimaced.  “Stunted and monkey-ish.  That
is more likely a representation of one of his heirs than the actual man.”
“Hn.”  His sense of propriety appeased, Severus continued his exacting exam of
the Chamber before blowing out a breath.  “There’s nothing here.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”  Frey answered back absently, his utter
focus on several places on the various walls and pillars as well as the
monstrous statue.
Seeing as his parselmouth guide – and ticket out of the Chamber – was
distracted, Severus focused on using various cleaning and reinforcement spells
on the floor, ceiling, pillars, and walls as his young companion paced between
various points, making complex patterns with his wand and hissing lowly under
his breath.
Nearly an hour passed as the two focused on their self-appointed tasks when
Frey motioned for the Professor to join him at the very center of the room.
“I’ve worked it out.”  He explained with a sigh.  “There’s no way to tell which
of the dozens of passageways that open off the Chamber contains the tunnel to
the basilisk’s nesting area.  There were two options.”
“Continue.”
“One, which I’ve already discarded.”  Frey waved off the Professor’s attempt to
protest.  “Was to open each archway, secret hatch, and hidden doorway one at a
time.  It would’ve taken hours we can’t afford to be missing.”  Severus
grudgingly agreed though he wasn’t pleased at best by the budding nuisance
taking the choice without discussing it first.
“And the other?”
“Opening them all at once.”  The godling nibbled his lips as he flinched from
the sudden glare directed at him.  “Some of them haven’t been open since they
were closed when the Founders died – or in the case of Slytherin left – so we
don’t have to worry about them.  From what I can tell the most likely points
are within that statue and the section of wall directly perpendicular to it. 
They’ve both been accessed much more recently.  I’ve rigged it so that once
they all open, once someone or in this case something passes through they’ll
all close again.  I can open them using the same spells after we’ve taken care
of Selena and have time to explore.”
“At least you’re not a total dunderhead.”
Frey grinned.  “I try.”
Unsheathing his sword, he cracked his neck as his Professor readied his wand. 
“Ready?”  He asked.
Severus gave a small flick of his wand in agreement as he took up a dueler’s
stance facing the area Potter indicated.
With a broad slash of his ironwood wand, Frey gave the override phrase that
he’d spent the last hour decoding – in parseltongue of course.
“§The last foe that shall be defeated is Death.§”
Apparently Slytherin was from one of the two elder brothers of his own ancestor
Ignotus.  Their Words were only two choices different but they made the
meanings as night and day.  It was amusing to Frey.  Especially considering
that Dumbledore habitually used the Words of the elder two brothers when
talking about death and the afterlife.
With a hiss of air and a groan from long-sealed compartments springing open,
Severus and Frey watched as the Chamber turned from a single large room of no
real function into the center of a hive of hidden secrets and forgotten
tunnels.
The first hiss of air was quickly followed by another, coming from the now-open
mouth of the statue.  A hiss that Severus recognized and Frey could translate.
“She’s coming.”  He said quietly.  “And she knows we’re not her master.”
“Of course it does.”  Severus snarked once again raising the mirrored shield. 
“Because otherwise this would be easy.”
Frey gave the sarcastic man a slightly manic grin, tossing him a pair of
mirrored aviator sunglasses as he put both wand and sword away with a flick. 
Before his chaperone could make a peep over him going off-script, he was
already changing into his animagus form that had been returned to him along
with the bulk of his powers when his Far undid Dumbledore’s bindings.  Now a
sleek-black predator of the highest caliber – and uncertain temperament – the
jaguar animagus bounded away after calling on that hint of power Thanatos
gifted him and thickening and elongating the shadows.
“What are you doing you idiot boy?”  Severus demanded only to be answered
inside his Occlumency barriers to his ever-lasting shock.
“Keeping up my end of the bargain.” Frey whispered, pushing his human voice
inside the man’s mind.  “You focus on keeping yourself alive and un-petrified. 
Leave the rest to me.”
Cursing foolhardy Gryffindors and glory-seeking idiots under his breath,
Severus snatched up the muggle sunglasses and forced them over his eyes,
crouching down under his shield and tucking it closer to his body.  Making the
shield smaller also made it stronger, hopefully strong enough to take several
hits from an ancient Queen Basilisk.  Thinking rapidly the Defense Master cast
several silencing and disillusionment spells – both towards himself and the
hidden form of the great cat in the shadows.
At least now the creature wouldn’t simply be able to see them and strike.  It
would have to rely solely on its sense of smell/taste that serpents have to
seek out its prey.  Them.
“§Invaders.  Intruders.  In Master’s sacred place.§” Frey let the disjointed
hissing slide through his mind, reminding him of when he first discovered this
“gift” when he faced the Hydra.  Being nine and having to hear how a monster
wants you for lunch wasn’t the most pleasant of ways to be initiated into
slaying.
No, not.  At.  All.
“§Rip them.  Pierce them bite themeatthem.  All.  Master’s Orders.  Must obey
Master’s Heir.§”
As the slithering grew closer and the hissing louder Frey didn’t feel any
adrenaline.  There was no rush of combat, no excitement over testing his
mettle.  No.  All there was, was grief.  Grief that it fell to him to free what
was no doubt a glorious familiar at one time from the bonds of madness her
original person subjected her to by forcing her to remain in the school and
serve his line – even after his own death.
For that alone he was glad that Salazar had been punished by Thanatos with time
in Tartarus.  The wizard deserved it for what his selfishness wrought over the
years.  For the lives lost because of his “orders.”
Frey didn’t even bother trying to speak to her.  He could already tell from her
aura as Selena began exiting the statue that she was too far gone.  There was
nothing left but her Master’s orders and the binding placed on her by Voldemort
anymore.
The beautiful creature she once was, was no more.
He hissed/growled in the odd way of a jaguar showing its displeasure.  He would
enjoy hunting down Tom for this.  It was just one more in a legion of sins the
madman had yet to pay for.
“§So hungry.§” Now the hiss was more like a whimper as the furious snake curled
around the pillar closest to the statue, still blind to the predator that was
above her crouching just above the exit from the statue’s mouth.  “§Alone
ssssoo long.§”
Heart breaking but resolute, Frey leapt down onto the massive head of the
snake, digging in with the large retractable claws on his forepaws.  The big
cat, known as the largest feline in the Americas as well as one of the fiercest
and most dangerous hunters in the world, hit its mark: dead center on the
Queen’s deadly gaze.
Selena made a hissing cry of pain as her eyes, her lovely yellow eyes, were
ripped and torn by the mangy pest of a cat she can now smell-taste.
Her main weapon gone, she was by no means harmless.
Rather the Queen was that much more dangerous and enraged by being so
perfunctorily blinded.
“She’s blinded, Professor!”  Frey shouted in Severus’s mind.  “Bind her!  Now!”
Flinging off the glasses and the mirror shield, the expert dueler stared in
mute awe at the sight of the black cat being flung from the head of the
basilisk as the Queen gave a violent lashing shake.  Shouting out every
binding, freezing, and immobilizing hex, curse, and charm he knew Severus
cursed as most simply bounced off of her magically resistant hide or missed
altogether as she darted and struck at the agile cat that was bounding from
shadow to shadow, barely ahead of her venomous strike.
Eyeing the ceiling high above him, Severus went with a last-ditch effort as he
watched in horror as the foot-long fangs snapped mere inches from his charge’s
hind-quarters.
“Levicorpus!”
Neither a Light nor Dark spell of his own invention, it latched onto the sixty
foot snake and pinned her tail to a stationary point in the center of the
ceiling and truncated the amount of movement she could use in her attempts to
catch her animagus prey.
However, at sixty feet long – and a snake – Selena wasn’t even close to
immobilized simply using her long heavily muscled body to dart this way and
that after the Potter Lord.
Severus cursed.  The damned child kept moving too much.  He knew that
sectumsempra would pierce that hide.  Nothing seemed to be able to stop it
outside of an actual barrier of metal or stone.  But he couldn’t take the
chance of injuring the brat in the process.
While Severus was busy bemoaning his ineffectiveness, Frey was hunkering down
for a final strike when it happened.
Like train-wreck in slow motion, Frey made his leap for the bleeding claw-marks
on Selena’s face.  At the last possible moment the ancient Queen jerked her
head, having learned the cat’s predictable pattern of movement from their
minutes of chase.  With a resounding snap! Her jaws closed heavily over the
black cat, sealing their fates.
“No!”  Severus cried out in despair.  Lily’s son.  Lily’s son, was all he could
think.  He stood there helpless as Lily’s son was savaged by the sigil of his
own House.
Sinking to his knees, head buried in his hands as his wand fell uselessly to
the ground, Severus mourned the child that had only begun to reach his true
potential.
That the dour man had just started to care for in his own right.
Lost in his grief, the Professor could be forgiven for failing to notice that
the great snake had started go limp and melt bonelessly to the cold stone
ground.
Muffled hissing reached his ears and his head jerked up, his hand instantly
finding the wand at his feet.  For a long moment, he’d forgotten about the
threat to his life altogether, too absorbed in his failure to think of his own
survival.  Onyx eyes blinked in confusion as the great snake simply laid on the
ground at his feet.
Except for the head which seemed to move with a life of it’s own.
Desperately hoping that it wasn’t an illusion, Severus gave a wordless flick of
his wand and two ropes sprang out, each circling one half of the Queen’s jaw
and prying them apart, anchoring around separate pillars.
There, surrounded on all sides by foot-long fangs and with a shield protecting
him from the venom dripping down from the sword that pierced the Queen’s mouth,
was Potter.  Alive and seemingly unharmed.
Smiling wearily, Frey released his grip on the Potter Sword.  A replica of the
Sword of Gryffindor and with many of the same enchantments, it only came to a
true Lord or Heir of the House was in need.  And about to be eaten by a
basilisk apparently qualified.
Tugging the idiotic child out of his precarious position, Severus looked him
over before locking him into a breath-stealing embrace.
“You stupid Gryffindor fool!”  His voice was too choked to really be considered
shouting.  “Trying to best a basilisk with fang and claw.  Of all the
ridiculous plots!  Do you have any idea what Lily would’ve done to me when I
died if I let you get eaten by a basilisk!  Not to mention our Patron…”
Severus having a full head of steam continued to babble out recriminations as
he smothered the life from his charge before switching to inspecting every inch
of him for so much as a scratch.  Basilisk venom was one of the most corrosive
fluids on the planet and even a drop would mean death.  The child had certainly
been exposed to enough of it.
After letting his Professor expel his bile over his stunt, Frey smoothly broke
into his tirade.
“You should collect your venom, Professor.”  He reminded him innocently. 
Between all his guardians and his Far he’d be hearing about this for centuries
as it was.  There was no reason for him to have to listen to anymore of his
Professor’s recriminations.  After all, he’s still alive and the poor creature
was out of her misery.  In the end that’s all that mattered.  “I think I
pierced her main gland.”
Severus harrumphed over the clear redirection but conceded, conjuring several
crystal jars that would hold against the venom until he could move it into the
specially prepared containers he had up in his rooms.  With a complex wave of
his wand he siphoned up all of the expelled venom that had gushed from the
wound around the sword into one jar and then summoned the untainted venom into
several others, moving exactingly from spot to spot inside the massive mouth
where he knew the glands and reservoirs were located.  While he worked, the
Potter Lord moved over the snake as a whole.
Frey cast several spells taught to him by the Potions Master specifically for
this purpose.  Some removed about-to-be-shed scales from her body, another
siphoned up the blood split when he pierced her eyes.  One to collect the
remaining ocular tissues, eyelids – both sets – and ocular fluid.  More to
remove the tender – and vulnerable – tissues in her mouth.  And a last that
removed her fangs, roots and all.
When both were finished that had millions in basilisk parts – and that was only
the easily harvested pieces.
Having already agreed regarding the rest of the creature, Severus turned away
as Frey discretely cast a silencing charm around the man as he sent the crates
of parts up to his now tightly-warded private stores in his home in Price
Manor.  He wasn’t taking any chances with something going “missing”. 
Especially with the Gryffindor Demons making liberal use of the school’s potion
supply closets.
Speaking in Old Norse – just in case his professor decided to eavesdrop, the
man was a spy after all – Frey dedicated the rest of the remains to his Far,
though he called him Loki for the benefit of his audience and referenced him as
“His father’s Patron”.  A necessary though irritating precaution.
Apparently the betting picked up again surrounding him once Frandal, one of the
Warriors Three, figured out what he was searching for in the ancient castle. 
Faced with his brother and a group of their fellow Asgardians, Loki had no
choice but to confirm the suspicions of the basilisk in the basement.  It was
known that the God of Magic had had a hand in helping the Midgardian Seidrs
found the school.
It chafed at Frey that he would once again have to hide his nature from the
watching immortals.  And that another birthday would have to be celebrated
without his Far.  Nosy, bored bastards costing him time with his father.
The corpse disappeared in a cloud of gold, silver, and green dust as Loki made
a show of it for the Professor’s sake, leaving in its wake a small package in
His colors.
Frey crouched down, picking it up then looked up towards where he felt the rift
between words and bowed in wordless thanks over the spoil.
Unwrapping it as his professor watched with his ever-calculating gaze, Frey
revealed a pair of engraved basilisk-bone daggers with matching sheaths made of
the Queen’s hide.
“A godly gift.”  Severus commented lowly, clasping one long-fingered hand on a
still-growing shoulder.  “Come, too much longer and we’ll both be missed. 
Exploring the catacombs can wait for another day.”
Nodding silently, Frey buckled the sheaths in place at the small of his back
and then caught up to the lean form waiting before the closed-door.  Shaking
his head, he tugged his Professor over to one of the now-hidden doorways that
had remained closed for centuries.  Speaking the simple pass phrase that had
been revealed thanks to the override, it opened showing a winding stairway.
Severus arched a brow as torches sprang to life in the formerly-hidden
corridor.
“It should lead to an alcove in the Slytherin Head of House suite.”  Frey
explained with a shrug.  “According to the writing on the door.  The hidden
entries up in the school will still be hidden but down here…”
“They have instructions.”  Severus rolled his eyes with a sigh.  “You will make
a map in English of where these corridors lead, Potter.”
“Yes, Professor.”  Frey answered with mock-meekness, his brain busy with a new
plot.
A map…
He remembered a story his Far told him about the Marauders and a Map.
A devilish smirk crossed his face as he took one last look around the Chamber
before following the Professor up into the school.
He wondered where that Map had gotten too…
 
***** Eleven - Edited *****
                                    Lokison
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, it was the longest yet!  This
will cover finishing up the end of Year 2 as well as Sirius’s trial…possibly
more.  This story is about to get darker and more adult soon, as a result there
will be censored chapters uploaded to FF with uncensored chapters on AO3. 
Chapters that have been censored this way will have a note when it gets to
censored parts.  Originally this chapter was censored on FF.net but really
there’s only a little bit at the end that’s different after I cut a huge chunk
from the end because of a mix-up with the update and the template I tried to
use for the threesome.  I just can’t write het to save my damned life so this
is what I ended up with.
                                Chapter Eleven
“That’s done it.”  Frey collapsed back into one of the Potion’s Master’s
armchairs in the Slytherin Head of House Suite.  “Between the two of us
powering the Heart Stones, Hogwarts should be able to finish cleansing the
castle of extraneous spells, hexes, and curses and maybe have some power left
to work on repairs to the castle, grounds, and wards.”
“Hn.”  Severus nodded shortly, nearly magically exhausted from the last several
weeks he had spent splitting his time between end-of-year exams, classes,
grading, patrols, brewing, planning experiments with his new wealth of basilisk
parts, and assisting Potter in both mapping the Chamber and empowering the
Heart Stones.
The dour man had been originally shocked beyond measure when the Potter Heir
had come to him seeking information about his late best-friend – and the boy’s
mother – Lily.  Shock merely compounded in the weeks that followed whereby the
irritating spawn of his best-friend and her infinitely-more-irritating husband
had informed him of the monster in the basement.  Let alone the toll the
child’s fool-hardy tackling of the beast had caused.
Severus’s word however was his bond.
He followed the stubborn creature into the bowels of the castle and helped him
dispatch the mad Queen Basilisk, netting himself quite a cache of spoils in
turn.
Then the other shoe dropped.
He’d been boggled originally when Potter turned extremely-closed-mouthed over
where one of the passages led.  Confusion that quickly trebled when he linked
the Gryffindor’s continued cleaning and maintenance charms in the dungeons with
the renewal the rest of the castle seemed to be undergoing – a renewal that had
come up time after time in staff meetings with little knowledge being given or
gained as to the cause of it.
Even Dumbledore was confounded.
But a simple questioning of the child as to when he started his vendetta
against dust and decay within the very foundations of the school led the quick-
silver mind of a Potions Master towards the right supposition.
The simple (or not-so-simple in a few cases) spells of a Second-Year were
enough to empower the castle.
How much more could be done if Severus once more lent Potter his aid and wand?
That was when the secretive twelve-year-old told him exactly where the
mysterious corridor led.
The Heart Stones of Hogwarts.
A Ward Chamber without compare containing the ancient gemstone monoliths that
gave the castle her power and near-sentience.
Sentience that Potter was convinced would grow if aided by the ritual cleansing
of the Stones.
A cleansing that they spent the last weeks slowly feeding more and more of
their personal magic stores.
Severus sighed and reached for the firewhiskey.
He was getting too old for this.
Between the Weasley demons and Harry himself, the Potions Master swore he saw a
grey hair in the mirror the other morning.
At this rate he’d have a snowy head to match Lucius’s platinum locks by the
time his charge graduated.
The menace.
“Are you going to be attending the trial, sir?”  Frey asked politely.  He knew
the Malfoy’s would be for political reasons if nothing else.  Narcissa is
Sirius’s first-cousin after all.  It would look highly suspicious between their
relationship with Frey and the connections between Frey, the Malfoys, and
Sirius if they failed to attend.
Everyone at this point knows that “Harry Potter’s” best-friends are Draco
Malfoy and Neville Longbottom – a fact which baffles as many as while the
Potters had a history of being neutral, the Longbottoms were very much a Light
family – as Light as the Malfoys were Dark.
Despite this, Neville and Draco somehow managed to forge a friendship of their
own apart from their shared friendship with Frey.
Severus scoffed at the question.
“And watch the mutt leave the Wizengamot a free man?”  He sneered.  “I’d rather
be used for Potions ingredients. Nonetheless, I am a Lord and as such required
to be present on the council of Lords' Justice.”
Frey laughed.  He’d expect nothing else from the severe wizard.  He might have
made peace with having a congenial relationship with “Potter’s spawn” as he
still sometimes referred to Frey but he highly doubted Severus and Sirius would
ever be friends.  Especially considering what Severus had told him about the
rather lethal nature of Sirius’s final prank on the Professor when they were
young wizards at Hogwarts.
Nothing like being nearly fed to a werewolf to give someone a lasting disdain
of Sirius Black.
“In that case.”  Frey stood and offered the man his hand in parting.  “This
will likely be the last time I see you in private before next school year.” 
The train left the following morn.  “Have a grand summer, Professor.”
Severus shook hands with the son of his former rival, a small but genuine smile
brightening his taciturn face.
“And yourself, Mr. Potter.”  Severus murmured.  “Do try and keep out of trouble
won’t you?”  He asked with more than a hint of exasperation.  “My heart isn’t
the best and I fear too many more of your antics and it will give up the ghost
entirely.”
“No promises.”  Frey tossed back over his shoulder with a cheeky grin.  “But
I’ll try.”
“Be gone, bratling.”
…
Frey had one last task to complete – well tworeally but since the second wasn’t
until he was on the train he wasn’t counting it – before he left the school in
the morning.
He’d finally had enough.
It was time for that damned ghost to go.
Cuthbert Binns had been a boring – but thorough – teacher when he was alive.
However it was apparent to anyone who was paying attention that his meticulous
nature that had led to his thoroughness in teaching History of Magic had
disappeared along with his mortal coil.
Frey had better things to do with his time three periods each week than listen
to a dead professor drone on and on and on about the Goblin Wars.  A topic that
he’d been lecturing on – according to his source Thanatos – when he died at his
desk.  Rather than move on the then-deceased Professor had simply risen from
his corpse and continued to lecture – much to the disbelief and utter horror of
his students.
The mind-healers required after that little incident in the fifties had to have
been astronomical.
To Frey’s mind the truly horrifying part of the story was where the Headmaster
– one Albus Dumbledore – kept the damned spirit on rather than hiring an actual
living Professor.
A situation that had led to nearly half-a-century’s worth of students failing
to gain any real appreciation of magical history – a state of affairs neither
Frey nor his Far Loki were happy with.  Thanatos didn’t really care one way or
another as Binns was destined for the Fields of Asphodel in the first place. 
Remaining behind rather than moving on in this case wasn’t an attempt to flee
from punishment so the Lord of Death didn’t have much to say about the
situation – though he found Frey’s whining in turns entertaining or annoying.
The young godling had partially solved his problem by setting a quill to record
Binns’ lectures while he read his History text or working on the lessons his
Far had set him – or working ahead in his various Hogwarts classes.
But that no longer was a satisfactory state of affairs.
Which led to the reason he was now entering the History classroom under the
cover of his Cloak.
Thanatos had given him a hint as to where to look for the ghost’s spirit anchor
– an object somewhat similar to a horcrux though miles different in actual
usage.
A spirit anchor was simply whatever kept a ghost from moving on from the
earthly plane.  There was no sacrifices or ritual murder required.  And most
importantly it didn’t make it possible for the soul to be reborn in a new body.
Spirit anchors could be anything.
Most were the bodies themselves – a main reason the wizarding world tended to
favor cremation over internment.
What a mess that would be if every witch or wizard with a modicum of power
remained as a ghost.
They might as well kiss the Secrecy Act goodbye.
Binns was the same – cremated and then his ashes interred and protected by his
family’s funeral rites.  Leading Thanatos to point Frey in the direction of the
man’s – now ghost’s – classroom.  Considering how the late professor was
spending his afterlife it was a simple matter to conclude whatever his anchor
was it was in his classroom – somewhere.
And his desk was a likely place to start searching for the thrice-damned-thing.
If Frey could find Moldy-Voldy’s Horcruxes – as shown by his destruction of the
diary – then a simple spirit anchor should be a snap.
In theory.
A theory helped along in leaps and bounds by his ever-growing powers.
As with all half-bloods and godlings of some power, Frey had continued to
experience power surges and spikes since the onset of the first one had him
shooting up to five-foot-eight in a matter of days.  None were quite as extreme
as the first – yet, his thirteenth birthday was supposed to be a doozy – but
his control and grasp of the powers he’d inherited from his adoptive sire had
grown exponentially with every surge and spike.  Thanatos certainly hadn’t held
back when he’d handed out blessings on Frey’s Naming Day.
Closing his eyes, Frey took a deep breath and centered himself, reaching out
with tendrils of the Death magics Thanatos had given him.
They glanced over the desk itself and the chair that remained pushed in from
when the examiners had left with Binns’ body.  None of the papers or books in
haphazard stacks warranted more than a brush of his powers.
Then he felt it just there.
Opening eyes still glowing the eerie green of the killing curse – a side effect
of using his Death powers – Frey reached out a plucked up an innocuous ink
bottle in darkest black.
“Found you.”  He chuckled to himself, darkly.
It looked like the Headmaster was going to have to hire two professors for next
year, Lockhart having finally been run off by the unrelenting harassment of
Frey and the Weasley twins the week before exams.
A state of affairs that might succeed in keeping the aging puppet-master from
looking too deeply into Frey’s residence and behavior over the summer holidays.
But somehow Frey doubted it.
Hope, however, springs eternal.
…
After a bit of skullduggery on the train – and the successful completion of his
last task before summer – Frey met up with a nearly-teary Heidi on the
platform.
The Harvestmaiden was in quite the state after not seeing him for another year
and seeing for herself the growth – both magical and physical – her young
charge had experienced during the school year.
Her little lordling was almost grown.
He would be a man by the standards of his true sire’s people by the end of
summer if the plan’s she’d been made aware of were carried out.
Part of her was happy, her service on this plan for her Lord was nearly
finished and she could then return to the Halls of her Lord.
The rest of her mourned.
A Harvestmaiden rarely interacted with the world of the living.  Her charge of
the little lordling and the charge her Sister and Brother Harvestmaiden and
Harvestman had been given aside.  The only time they interacted with the living
was when they “harvested” their souls for preparation of the final battle. 
Ragnarok.  The End of All things, etc.
Barring a fatal accident before he “froze” into his immortality…Heidi would
never again have cause to be around her little lordling once he left for school
in the coming fall.
It was a time of sadness.  Her surrogate child was soon to leave her care.
But also, a time of rejoicing.  She’d completed her task.  Frey was everything
a young Lord and Prince could be.  She was as proud of him as she would be a
child of her own blood.
She would miss him.
For the moment, however, he was yet hers to watch over, and watch him she
would.  She knew that look in his eyes.  Her little Lord was planning
devilment.
“Whatever it is the answer is no.”  Heidi cut off the coming question as they
walked into their suite at the London Hilton.
She wasn’t about to stay in what passed for lodging in the Wizarding World and
returning to the Camp only to come right back for her charge’s godfather’s
trial made no sense at all.
“But Heidi…”  His voice was pleading.  “You didn’t even hear what I was going
to ask.”
“No need.”  She replied drily, casting him a knowing glance.  “I know my charge
quite well, thank you.  Whatever mischief you’ve planned can wait.  Unleash it
on the Hermes campers.  The little blighters probably have it coming.  Not on
the goblins or wizards or whoever you’ve targeted.  They might just fight back
and I’ve no desire to explain to my Lord why his charge is missing a limb or
has suddenly started spouting limericks.”
“Fine.”  Frey crossed him arms, nearly pouting.  It was only a hair-color-
changing charm…on the entry to Gringotts…
“Fine.”  She mocked back, rolling her eyes.  “Now tell me all about your year. 
How did things go with your Professors…?”
…
The Trial of Sirius Orion Black
Remus was antsy.  He’d arrived at St. Mungo’s and had sat faithfully beside his
mate and lover, helping clear away the worst of the damage caused by Siri’s
incarceration.
And lost to rot amongst the Dementors.
The wolf in him was pissed to say the least.  Moony had never believed that his
mate would betray their pack like everyone claimed.  And was furious over what
had happened to their cub in his absence.
He’d begged Dumbledore to let him take Harry away.  Pleaded.  Even pointed out
his legal guardianship according to James’s Will.
Nothing worked and all his persistence gained him was vaguely-worded threats.
With his mate locked away, his pack dead, and his cub taken, Moony and Remus
gave up.  The only thing that kept them from going feral was an offer out of
the blue to travel and search out a way to help center himself at a monestary
of all things in the Himalayas.
Remus was jostled out of his reverie when the doors of Courtroom Ten opened,
allowing the aptly-named Lords Justice to file in.  Outraged over the
Wizengamot’s treatment of one of their own, the Lords pulled rank in the matter
of Sirius’s trial.  Rather than having to face a trail by the Wizengamot or a
Tribunal made of members of the same, Sirius – though no longer an Heir – was
going to face the Lords themselves.
At least the ones who weren’t locked in Azkaban like Nott and LeStrange.
An occurrence one could lay on the shoulders of Voldemort.  Without his Marked
both inside Azkaban and free, and the deaths of several Lords and Ladies during
the war, the nobility was at an all-time low.  Something that was sure to whip
the pureblood-supremacists into a frenzy.
Remus gave a feral grin when he spotted who was presiding.
Dowager Longbottom was sure to give the Ministry hell after they fumbled the
safety of her son and his wife and child.
Bang, bang, bang.  Went the gavel as the Dowager called the session to order.
“Bring in the accused.”  Augusta called after reading off the charges.
The doors creaked open and the ravaged form of Sirius Black shambled into the
Courtroom and almost collapsed into the hard Accused’s Chair.
“Sirius Orion Black.”  Augusta said.  “You stand accused of murder, betrayal,
and terrorism.”  She summed up the charges.  “How do you plead?”
“Not.”  Sirius cleared his scratchy throat, lifting his head and glaring up at
the gathered Lords – and Ladies – from burning grey eyes.  “Guilty.”
Chatter filled the courtroom as the press and witnesses shifted and muttered,
cameras flashing to try and capture the moment.
“Very well.”  The Dowager nodded her head once, sharply.  “According to the
records – or lack thereof-“ Her tone was scathing.  “You have never been made
to answer the charges levied against you.  To that end this assemblage requires
you to either submit to Veritaserum or levy a guilty plea.”
“Not.  Guilty.  I’ll take the Serum.”
Augusta nodded to the waiting Potioneer – not Lord Prince.  No one wanted to
strain that man by asking him to help free the bane of his existence.  Nor did
they entirely trust him not to take the opportunity granted him and poison the
poor bastard.
The Courtroom was nearly silent as the three drops were administered and the
test questions asked.  The Potioneer nodded at Augusta to continue her
questioning.
“Sirius Black, did you or did you not, reveal the Fidelis-protected location of
Lord James Potter and his family?”
“I Did Not.”
Gasps sounded through the Courtroom, quills scribbling furiously as they tried
to record every second of the trial.
“Were you their Secret Keeper?”
“No.”
“Who was, if you know?”
“Peter Pettigrew.”
A new round of muttering picked up in the room and the assemblage before the
Dowager held up one imperious hand to silence them.
“Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?”
“No.  Wanted to.”  Sirius grated out.
“Why?”
With that open-ended question Sirius was finally able to tell his tale under
the influence of the Serum.
“Dumbledore told James and Lily Harry was in danger.  Offered his home in
Godric’s Hollow for a safehouse.  We trusted him, why wouldn’t we?  James
wanted me for the Secret Keeper.  Too easy, I said.  Everyone knew we were
cousins – close as brothers – closer even.  I was too obvious.  Decided on
Peter instead.  Mousy git.  None would suspect.  Dumbledore cast the Fidelis,
forgot where I was…until Peter told me.”
If the previous gasps were loud the ones after Sirius stated under Veritaserum
that Dumbledore – the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - knew that Sirius Black
didn’t betray the Potters were deafening.  Undeterred Sirius carried on.
“Knew something was wrong.  Felt it.  Family blood, family bond.  James was in
trouble.  Then nothing.  Harry was in trouble, danger, afraid.  Apparated to
the Hollow, found the wreckage of the house.  Found James dead.  Lily dead. 
Blood magic.  Could sense it, smellit.  Harry alive.  Harry crying.  Picked him
up.”  Sirius was almost in a trace as the Serum forced the story from him. 
“Don’t cry Harry-pup.  Don’t cry.  Padfoot’s here.  Roar of my old motorcycle,
let Hagrid borrow it.  Giant.  Bloody massive.  Took Harry from me. 
Dumbledore’s orders.”  Sirius echoed the words from the fateful night.  “Took
my pup away.  Brother dead.  Lily dead.  Pup taken.  Find Peter.  Kill the
little worm.  Days, tracking hunting.  Found him, muggle place.  Screaming at
me.  Accusing me.  Aurors arrived, shot spells at me.  Blasting hex from
Wormy’s wand.  Escaped, escaped, escaped!”
By the time he stopped there wasn’t a noise to be heard in the courtroom
besides his panting breath.
“Administer the antidote.”  Dowager Longbottom ordered harshly.  “Auror Sirius
Orion Black, you are hereby cleared of all charges and freed from Azkaban with
your record expunged.  You are awarded one million galleons for each of the
eleven and half years you spent in Azkaban Prison and will be reinstated to
active duty upon your request and approval from both a Healer and a Mind
Healer.  Auror Moody?”
The war-scarred Master Auror stomped forward, blue eye whirling wildly in its
socket.
“Bring me Albus Dumbledore.”  She snarled.
In the wake of the uproar caused by Dowager Longbottom’s words, Remus and
Sirius – after sharing a long embrace and ignoring the flashing of lights from
magical cameras recording them – walked calmly over to where Frey stood with
his guardian Heidi.
They’d corresponded – well, it was mostly Remus – with the blonde woman and her
employers Chiron Trainter and a Thanatos Grimm ever since Sirius had been moved
from Azkaban to St. Mungo’s and Remus returned from his sojourn to his mate’s
side – and the forgiveness of his arms.
Like it – or most definitely not – their pup/cub’s guardianship had been turned
over to Trainter and Grimm though that wasn’t knowledge most possessed.  In
fact Remus would wager that he and Siri were the only people in the Wizarding
World who knew exactly who had gained guardianship over their godson.  There
was nothing to be done about it – especially as Harry was clearly well-taken-
care-of.
Now if someone like Petunia had gotten custody of their youngest packmate Moony
and Pads wouldn’t have hesitated to carry him off somewhere and fight tooth-
and-claw for guardianship of him.
Thankfully both Heidi and her employers had been more than wonderful in filling
them in on Harry’s education and what he’d been like as a child, even going so
far as to send along some pictures and home videos – fascinating bit of muggle
technology that – for them to get to know him better before they met him for
the first time.
Sirius had pressed for Harry to come and visit them while he was at the
hospital before his trial but Dumbledore had insisted that he didn’t need the
distraction right before exams.  Nevermind that they’d both been staying at the
hospital – or their newly reopened apartment in the case of Remus – since
January.  There had been plenty of time for Harry to come and visit – even
during the Eostera break when he’d once more been at a friend’s house this time
Longbottom Grange.
Dumbledore had squashed them all.
But, oh now now.  Sirius was a free man – and according to the solicitor
Harry’d hired on his behalf Lord Black of all things.  And Albus was in hot
water with the Wizengamot and soon the public at large.
There wasn’t a damned thing he could do to keep them away from the only child
of their pack.
Not anymore.
“Harry-pup.”  Sirius’s eyes sparkled suspiciously as they came to a stop before
the tall pair waiting on them.  Heidi was every-inch the determined lady they’d
expected but Harry?  Oh, he was so tall.  Taller than Prongs had been at his
age, that was for sure.  Strong too.  Very much the young Lord.
Not the junior Marauder Sirius would have raise him as but…
Still their Harry nonetheless.
At least his nose wasn’t up in the air like Cousin Narcissa’s spawn.
“Hello Padfoot.”  Frey smiled gently at the stress-and-grief worn wizard who
was starting to regain his strength from his long imprisonment.  “You’ve been
missed.”  He commented flicking his eyes at the amber-eyed were on Siri’s
left.  “Very much so.”
With a gasping sob, Sirius reached out and pulled his wayward pup into a strong
hug, nearly sobbing into his silk-and-leather clad shoulder.
“Missed you too, Bambi.”  The Black lord finally said after a long moment,
lifting his head without an inch of shame for his very-public outburst.  “Gods
above, did I miss you too.”
…
Frey and Heidi spent another week in London before returning to Camp, evenly
split between meetings with his solicitor, the goblins, and his newly-returned
“uncles”.  There was a lot of work to be done still on his estate and while
Sirius would have happily coopted his godson for the whole of the summer break,
he understood that his Harry-pup had things to do elsewhere.  A slight twinge
that was assuaged by reassurances that his godson would be more-than-happy to
spend most of August with his dog-father rather than at Malfoy Manor with Draco
– as long as Sirius allowed him to visit his friends.
The animagus quickly agreed and a time and place for picking up his pup was
set.
Chiron was not happy with Frey’s version of the basilisk hunt, a fact he had no
problem showing through the truly massive amount of work and lessons he dumped
onto Frey’s head upon his return to Camp.
For his part Frey sucked it up and dealt with it knowing it could always be
worse – his Far could have the opportunity to come down and punish him himself
rather than having to make due with scoldings during Frey’s dreams and
punishment-via-proxy.
Times like this Loki being so damned creative was damned inconvenient for his
son and Heir.
While for the most part his heavy workload was due to his recklessness in the
Chamber it also had another aim – distraction.
Distraction from a very-real rite-of-passage Frey was rapidly approaching.
Modern societies would frown upon it but that made no difference to the –
honestly – antique guardians the godling possessed.  And Asgard had an
important one for Heirs to the Throne.
A form of…training.
Not of magics or weapons or diplomatic skill – though depending on the Prince
it could also be those – but of carnality.
Specifically…training Princes not to be controlled by their more…base impulses.
A training that even some of the Olde Houses in the Wizarding World practiced
though none would ever admit to it.
Sex – and everything surrounded it – could be as dangerous a weapon as a bared
blade and as deadly an enticement as Amortentia.  It was unthinkable therefore
for Odin to allow his sons – by blood or adoption – to ever be controlled by
it.  Hence the tradition of having them trained in it by a trusted person or
person(s) depending on the Prince’s proclivities.
In other words…
Frey was going to lose his v-card…and to what amounted to as a pair of
professional seducers.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled when Thanatos had told him of the plans during his
Yule visit.
Most young men got a bicycle or something equally innocuous for their
thirteenth birthdays.  Frey was getting a month (via his time manipulation gift
Chiron employed for his training) with a pair of selected seducers.  If his
guardians have their way he wasn’t even going to have a say in who he laid with
for the first time.
A situation that chafed mightily at the independent godling.
And which led to his current situation – bitching to his best-friends at Camp
Half-Blood.
Luke was looking at him like he was crazy while Silena was being silently
supportive.  Pretty much par for the course for the pair of half-bloods.
“Let me get this straight.”  Luke said with heavy sarcasm.  “Your dad – and
we’ll be revisiting that at another time – is basically giving you the green
light to screw around with a pair of potentially-gorgeous courtesans – male and
female – and learn all you can about sex from them.  And you have a problem
with this why?”
“Luke.”  Silena hissed, frowning.  “The person you trust with your first time
is a big deal.  I certainly wouldn’t want my mother,” Aphrodite, “picking them
for me.  I don’t blame you at all for being, well, out-of-sorts about it,
Frey.”  She smiled at the younger half-blood.  “I would throw a massive fit if
anyone tried to do that to me.”
“Thanks, Silena.”  Frey heaved a sigh.  “And Luke it’s not that I have a
problemwith the tradition.  I just wish I was able to choose who.  You know?”
“Yeah.”  Luke had to admit the losing-it-to-a-stranger-thing sucked.  “That’s
just sucky.”
…
Two nights before his birthday found Frey wandering near the Sound, his feet
leaving shallow prints in the sand.
The day he was to start his training was near at hand, it being slated for the
first of August.  He – and whoever his trainers were – would enter the time-
displacement field on his cabin then.  And after a month in the field they
would leave it – and the last bits of his bodily innocence – behind.
Even though he mentally and emotionally was much older than thirteen – he
estimated more around his late teens at this point – and even physically he
didn’t look his real age anymore, at times he still was just a kid.
And the kid in him wasn’t sure he was ready for this very definite step into
adulthood.
Loki and Thanatos had already set in motion plans for his birthday, including
his Rites that would mark him firmly as a mature Asgardian.
This was just another part of that.
Why then was he having so much trouble accepting this instead of say, the
tattoo he’d get to Mark him as an adult in his father’s culture?
He wasn’t sure but it sure was fucking with his sleep-schedule.
The young godling was so wrapped up in his thoughts and worries over his coming
rites of passage that he didn’t notice the approaching pair.
“Frey.”  Silena called out to him softly, making the tall boy whip around and
face the frankly-beautiful young woman.
Silena and Luke were both fifteen, between two years and a year-and-a-half
older than their younger friend.  And they’d made a decision between them.  One
that they hoped would ease his mind.
They both held out a hand in a wordless gesture.
“Don’t worry,” Luke smiled gently as understanding washed over his sparring-
partner’s handsome face.  “We’ve both done this before.”
“Though not together.”  Silena laughed lightly.
Luke rolled his eyes at her.
“We’ll take care of you.”  The daughter of Aphrodite promised.  “On my mother,
I swear it.”
Frey blushed bright red before tentatively taking the offered hands, the older
teens tucking him between them, Silena resting her golden head against his
strong shoulder and Luke wrapping an arm around his lean waist.
“Are you sure?”  Frey asked one last time, glancing at each of their beautiful
faces as they stood in the shadows of his cabin.  “I mean…”
“You’re hot, Frey.”  Luke said bluntly, tugging the younger man inside and over
towards where he knew his bed was.  “Trust me.  This isn’t going to be a
hardship.”
Silena said nothing choosing instead to simply tug his head down to hers in a
passionate kiss, releasing him only when it was needed for air.
“We want this.”  She reassured him.  “We want you.”
“We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”  Luke smirked.  “Well Iwouldn’t be anyway. 
Who knows about Silena…”
“Hey,” she protested only to be silenced when Luke’s nimble hands – more used
to stealing and mischief than stripping someone of their clothes – quickly
stole Frey’s t-shirt, pulling him down onto the bed and into a heated kiss in
the process.
Frey was a little unsure – it was only his second ever kiss after all – but he
caught on with the same aptitude he tended to show most things.  It was hot and
messy and wonderful.  Wonderful enough that the two boys only remembered their
third when she made a needy moan at the panty-soaking sight before her.
Luke gave one of his quicksilver grins, darting over to give her a tongue-
twining kiss of her own while the two trouble-makers, of a similar mind as they
usually were, set to removing clothes both their own and their female
companion’s.
With a flick of his fingers and a smirk, Frey had them naked and a
contraceptive charm cast.  It wouldn’t due for there to be a Mini-Frey running
around for Hermes or Aphrodite to have his head over.
Or for Odin to smite down for merely existing.
“Handy.”  Was all Luke had to say as he bore Frey back onto the sheets beside
Silena, making a study of their contrasting forms against the gleaming silk.
Beautiful.
And quite the prizes for a son of Hermes to capture – if only for one night.
…
Later after many many spells had been used by Frey and his companions lay
beside him cuddling up next to him in the large bed, he smiled idly in the
dark.
Now that it was over he wasn’t nearly so concerned with his coming training.
Rather, he was looking forward to it.
After all…Frey is his father’s son.
***** Twelve: Rites of Passage Uncensored *****
Chapter Summary
     Uncensored Version of Chapter Twelve: Rites of Passage
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: Reminder – for all that Frey is technically turning thirteen
with the time-displacement he’s been subjected to he’s really more like late
teens.  This chapter also contains several censored portions for the chapter
posted on fanfiction.net.
                                Chapter Twelve:
                                Rite of Passage
Two days after spending a rather excellent night with Silena and Luke, Frey
stood warily in the center of a concealed and cloaked – by Thanatos nonetheless
– ritual ring of old growth trees hidden deep within the forest surrounding
Camp Half-Blood.  Technically they were half-inside and half-outside the Camp’s
wards, giving Frey the needed freedom to go through his rites of passage. 
Stepping towards the alter set up for this very reason he lit the ritual
bonfire with a flick of his wrist and bowed his head, waiting.
…
In Asgard, the group surrounding the viewing pool groaned in dismay.
As soon as the young Seidr had lit the ritual fire their view into the ritual
space had fogged over before blacking out completely.  One particular blonde
head searched for an inky-black mane, finally spotting his target striding
away, Thor called out.
“Brother!”  The god of Thunder bellowed.  “What mischief is this?”
The other gathered gods murmured in agreement.  If any of them had an answer
for their sight being blocked it would be Loki – better him than the
Enchantress anyway.  Loki was simply mischievous.  Amora was foul and reveled
in enslaving men of all races.
“No mischief of mine, I assure you brother.”  Loki called back with a smirk. 
“Lord Thanatos is simply safeguarding his charge’s privacy.  As I warned you
all might happen on this day.  Rites of Passage are an auspicious event.”
“Aye.”  Thor agreed ruefully.  The Trickster had warned them.  “Will you spar
with me then as the young earthen mage is unavailable for entertainment at the
moment?”
Loki restrained his desire to sneer.  As if his son and Heir was merely good
for entertainment – no matter how genial the comment was it still rankled
mightily.  He declined gracefully, stating a desire to visit the Libraries – a
guarantee that neither his brother nor his cronies would come seeking him out –
before slipping down through the hidden paths of the BiFrost.
He had a son to visit and support on this most auspicious day.
…
Frey lifted his head at last when he felt the familiar, comforting, presence of
his father wrap around him.  Loki had managed to slip away from the palace
after all.  His Far had promised to try but couldn’t vouchsafe his presence due
to the nature of his fellow Asgardians.
His brother Thor in particular could be rather dogged in his seeking out of his
brother for company.
Striding over to his son with pride shining clearly in his green eyes, Loki
swept him up in a warm embrace.
“My little prince.”  Loki murmured into ebony locks woven into an intricate
warrior’s braid.  “Nearly a man.”
His son wrapped his leanly muscled arms around his wiry frame, returning the
hug measure for measure.  It had been far too long since they’d been able to
see one another in the flesh rather than using dreams or one of Loki’s doubles.
“I’m still your son, Far.”  Frey responded, holding back his own emotions.  He
couldn’t afford to loosen his grasp on them, not with the ritual to come.  It
was meant to tax a young man’s control, strength, and resolve.  A true test of
whether a child was ready to become a man and warrior of Asgard.  “I always
will be.  Nothing could ever change that.”  And nothing ever would.
Loki gave his son one last squeeze before holding him out at arms’ length and
taking in the changes in Frey for himself.  His canny eye noted the increased
height and muscle mass, an increase that would likely grow following the
ceremony and the influx of power to come with it.  Frey was already one of, if
not the, tallest boy in his age group both at Camp Half-Blood where such growth
was common and at Hogwarts were is was not.  Not until closer to magical
maturity at age sixteen anyway.
It was another “tell” of his child’s less-than-standard heritage.
But his skin was clear and a golden-cream with none of the unfortunate spots
mortal teenagers dealt with and his gaze was bright with strength and health.
Frey was as ready as he ever would be for the challenge of his Rite of Passage.
With a nod, Loki turned and waited for his son to take up his position before
the alter with its candles, herbs, and crystals, hands braced on the edge and
back strong and straight.
Thanatos melted out from within the shadows, having completed the necessary
cloaking spells to keep both Asgard and anyone else from peeking.
Neither god was in the mood for the inevitable backlash if the wrong deity or
simply curious creature spied on Frey’s Rites.
The gods exchanged nods and set to work, picking up the specially-prepared
needles and inks, already imbued with their magical blessing and mixed by
Frey’s own hands.  It was a simple Rite but a profoundly painful one: tattooing
the Marks of Frey’s Patrons and lineage upon him as they called up his magics. 
Frey’s innate and gifted magics then mixed and churned within him, preparing to
break free from the natural block his core had at birth until his body was
capable of containing it naturally.
It burned, hot and sharp beneath the surface of his skin, making each prick of
the needles upon his broad back and muscled arms feeling like liquid fire
pouring through his veins.  And through it all Frey remained silent and stoic,
undergoing the Rites with the strength demanded of a warrior of his Father’s
people.
To the timeless gods it was a mere matter of moments before their work was
finished and the intricate designs – Loki’s of the World Tree from shoulder to
hip and Thanatos’s runic arm bands around his bicep and the cap of his
shoulders – standing stark against his pale skin.
For their living canvass it seemed to last forever.
Then, just as Loki was going to command his son and Heir to stand as a man and
warrior of Asgard, a bolt of black light struck the strong figure throwing both
gods back onto the ground and surrounding the form of their charge.
…
Loki was the first to regain his feet, fear for his beloved child taking
precedence over the daze caused by the power flux.
Part of him absently thought that it was a good thing his brother didn’t have
that level of power behind his strikes or else he would walk around in a
permanent fog for hours whenever Thor convinced him to spar.
“Frey!”  He called out, seeing his son’s tall form hunched over the alter which
had only a fine layer of ash to show where the candles, herbs, and crystals
once stood.
For his part Frey pushed himself upright onto wobbly feet, shaking his head.
He’d never in his life taken a blast like that, not even when he was helping
Zeus save his daughter Thalia in the form of a tree.  It made the hits he’s
taken from monsters over the last several years feel as if they were nothing
more than little love taps.  What in the name of Frigga was that?
A moment later he had his answer as he turned to face his Far only to have the
Silver-Tongued god gasp and point.
There, just over his heart in icy blue, was the royal sigil of Laufey, King of
Jotunheim.
Looking down at his Marked chest he glanced up at his still-stunned father and
sucked in a deep breath.
“Far.”  He said, walking over and hesitantly placing one hand on a lean
shoulder.  “I have something I need to tell you…”
…
Thanatos watched in concern as his young charge conjured a pair of high-backed
chairs and tankards of mead for himself and his father.  The Greek Avatar of
Death would take his leave but it was only his presence and his power that was
blocking them from being seen by the many inquisitive creatures of the realms. 
Nonetheless he was happy to be present for this particular conversation between
god and godling.
Loki’s temper was rather infamous, even among their elder brethren of the Greek
pantheon.
No one, not even the most vindictive of deities, would want that temper to
overflow onto the Silvertongue’s son and Heir.
So Thanatos made himself a seat of shadows and settled back to wait and see if
his intervention was needed with the patience only a god of Death possessed.
…
Frey drained his mead and gave a sigh, holding in an internal wince at the look
he was getting from his Far.
He knew Loki would never take it well.
However, he had hoped for a smoother introduction into his Far’s thus-far
undiscovered – by Loki – heritage.
Learning you were half-Frost Giant because your birth father decided to Mark
and Claim your child wasn’t the best revelation of that well-kept Asgardian
secret Loki could’ve had.  And to be honest…Frey had been putting off this
conversation.  A fact that isn’t going to make Loki accept the truth any
easier.
Especially when his son has been “putting it off” for a solid year.
Oh yeah, his Far was going to be pissed.
At the moment he was merely calm and somewhat confused.
A state of affairs that was most definitely not going to survive the night.
After a long moment of watching his father sip calmly and with a parent’s
irritating patience Frey decided to go with the “bandage method” of acquainting
the god with their rather – even for a god – unconventional heritage.
“I’m a quarter-Jotun.”  Was what actually came out of his mouth instead of the
well-rehearsed speech he’d come up with over the last year.
“Hmm.”  Loki replied, skepticism clear in his tone as he eyed his child. 
Well.  Frey is rather large for his age.  Even for an Asgardian.  “I don’t
remember Lily having any creature blood beyond Seidr.  Is it a remnant from
James’s blood adoption?”
Frey cleared his throat, quite determined to look anywhere but at Loki.
“I had to do an Inheritance test with the goblins last summer.”  He finally
admitted, warily locking gazes with his Far.  “It’s not my adoption that’s the
issue, Far.  It’s yours.”
The God of Mischief’s eyes widened visibly, an unconscious tell of his shock
and surprise as he vanished the tankards both in his son’s hand and his own as
he leaned forward.
“Tell me.”  He demanded regally.
His son proceeded to do just that.
“According to my Inheritance test I am a Prince and Heir of Asgard but by
adoption.”  Frey kept his tone dry and matter-of-fact, his own emotions locked
away for the time being.  His father was likely to get emotional enough for a
dozen gods, no need to add his own issues with the situation to the mix.  “What
was clear however was that I was also a Prince and Heir of Jotunheim by
Birthright.  The information was concealed from everyone but myself and the
goblins.  Everyone I tried to show the results of the testing showed the same
confusion.  They couldn’t read anything about either Asgard or Jotunheim.  All
they could see was my earthly heritage, nothing else.”
Frey wandlessly and wordlessly apparated the scroll he’d kept well-hidden in
own of his trunks in his cabin and gave it over to his father.
Green eyes hazed with a morass of thoughts and confusion tracked over the words
on the scroll.  Frey could tell just from how active they were and how far down
the scroll they were able to read that whatever magic of Odin’s or Frigga’s or
the Norn’s that had worked to conceal the truth from Loki for so long wasn’t
working.  In this at least the combination of goblin magic, blood magic, and
the massive amount of pure power Loki had as an Avatar of Magic and god of
Chaos overcame the fog cast around Loki’s beginnings.
“Laufey.”  Loki set aside everything else – including his own newly
rediscovered issues with his adoptive father – to focus on the problem at
hand.  His words were nearly breathless, as if they’d been pulled from him by
force.  “Laufey knows.”
“He does.”  Frey agreed with a small nod, a thumb brushing over the Mark on his
pectoral.  “He must have known this whole time.”
“Then the question becomes.”  Loki locked eyes with his precious child.  “Am I
truly the beloved younger son – adopted or not – of Odin?  Or am I surety of
good behavior?”  He sneered the last few words.  “And either way what does
Laufey want with my son?”
…
After an hour or so spent discussing the situation, Thanatos had no choice but
to interrupt, sending the currently tempestuous god back to Asgard.  Even his
power couldn’t block the Sight of the Norns and Fates much longer.  And those
meddling wenches were the last deities anyone wanted mixing into Frey’s
affairs.  Especially as far as his birth father was concerned.
When Frey turned to step into the shadows and return to the relative safety of
his cabin – his Rite of Passage well completed – Thanatos spoke.
“Your presents will be on your bed when you arrive, little princeling.” 
Thanatos said then smirked.  “And I will arrive tomorrow night with your
new…tutors.”
Frey restrained the desire to groan at that.
In the tumultuous events following his Rite, his training had slipped his mind
completely.
Muttering under his breath, Frey stepped into the shadows and disappeared,
allowing Thanatos to finally tear down the wards he’d placed to keep wandering
eyes from seeing what came of Frey’s Rite.
…
The godling smiled as he looked down at the pile of unwrapped presents on his
bed, having banished the wrapping paper to the low-burning fire in the brazier
that laid near to the ground in the main common area of the cabin.
Draco had sent him a thick tome that dripped age and power.  Frey could clearly
see both his friend and his father Lucius’s handy-work in the present.  Draco
would’ve wanted to give him something special – which the tome clearly was –
while Lucius would have insisted on honoring Frey’s heritage.  Important since
his father was also the Malfoy Patron.
Blaise and Theo together with a couple of the not-too-annoying Slytherin girls
in their study group had sent him a joint gift of the newest Defense texts by
one R.J. Lupin.  Frey smiled to himself.  He wasn’t going to enlighten them
that they’d given him a set of books by his godfather.  It was the thought that
counted after all.  They had no way of knowing that he had access to the writer
himself – as well as unabridged versions of these very texts.
Speaking of, Remus had also sent him a book but one much more personal – his
adoptive father James’s personal Transfiguration and Defense journal.
Sirius broke the trend – as Frey had thought he might – with the newest and
fastest broom on the market called a Firebolt.  Frey was in turns excited and
wary of the gift.  He still wasn’t quite certain whether Zeus or Thor would
smite him for flying.  It wasn’t likely at this point with his adoptive-uncle
being so heavily involved in watching him – and winning bets over the outcomes
of his fights – and Zeus owing him.  But it was still better to be safe than
sorry.
His friends from Camp Half-Blood had stacked up their gifts on the empty table
beside his doorway – the farthest anyone could venture inside without him. 
Heidi the treasure had moved them onto the bed with the others.
Annabeth gave him a woven bracelet she’d clearly made herself while Luke and
Silena went in together on a cellphone.  Apparently they were tired of not
being able to actually talk to him during the school year.  He’d have to see if
he could harden it against the circuits and battery overloading at the magic-
rich Hogwarts.  There was an assortment of candy and tokens from others who
knew him but not as well as his closest friends.
Neville had somehow managed to send him a potted magical lily for his rooms. 
How that boy was able to make hybrids of mundane and magical plants he would
never know.  According to the letter sent along with the glowing-white flower
it served as a dreamcatcher of sorts.
Amazing what he could do with flora, honestly.
Thantaos’s gift was two of his sworn to conduct Frey’s training.  The less said
about that the better.
The last package he opened was also his favorite.
Loki had sent him a full-set of basilisk-hide armor, charmed with everything
the god could think of that wouldn’t hinder his son in battle.  A last-minute
note was attached to the tunic:
I made these before your Rite.  The resizing charms will only work once before
locking the leather into place.  You might want to wait until you stop growing,
my son.
It gave Frey a little chuckle.  Loki had made them for the size he was before
his Rite, not expecting him to grow that much during it.  Which would have
allowed him to wear the leathers for years before truly needing to replace them
or activate the resizing charms.
Now they wouldn’t hit at all without the charms.
An excellent gift…that he wouldn’t be able to use until he was closer to his
finished physique.
Stupid Jotun heritage.  He glared down at the feet that had seemingly double in
size over the last couple hours.  Frey had always felt comfortable being bigger
than the rest of his contemporaries but with his grandfather’s marking he
felt…gangly.
Not okay.
Sending all the gifts to sort themselves out in his room and on the shelves and
walls with a wave of his hand, Frey rubbed the spot over his heart where the
Mark felt distinctly cool to the touch.
He wasn’t sure what Laufey wanted or planned to gain by marking him but he was
extremely wary.
Little good came from having the favor of the Frost King.
Groaning, Frey scrubbed his hands over his eyes and threw himself face-down on
his bed.  He needed to get some sleep.
Tomorrow was the start of a very long day.
…
The next night after sending off thank-yous and spending the day hanging out
with his friends enjoying the massive cake Heidi and the harpies had made, Frey
found himself pacing anxiously in his cabin in what for him was very plain
attire: a soft cotton sleeveless tunic and drawstring pants, not unlike the
clothes he’d worn several nights before when Luke and Silena came to him.
This night was different from that night in just about every way possible.
Only his Far’s assurance that he fogs the Seeing Pools whenever something
intimate was afoot kept Frey from being a complete nervous wreck.  It was
pretty much the only time Loki was able to get away with blocking the Pool –
with Frigga’s blessing.  The Asgardian Queen had very stern rules about what
was appropriate to look in on – and what was not.
So at least he wouldn’t have an audience for what he was certain was destined
to be an awkward encounter – to say the least.
While is nerves have subsided due to his experiences with Luke and Silena they
were in no way vanquished entirely.  And in some ways having those experiences
in the first place had created a whole new set of worries.  There were simply
some parts of that night he’d enjoyed much, much more than others.
And he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Before he could work himself up into a frenzy, Thanatos melted from the shadows
and gave him a searching look before turning towards where he sensed the Pool
intersecting with the earthen plane, nodding once.  He waited for several
seconds until he felt the watching eyes dissipate then turned towards his
charge.  It was times like this where he distinctly remembers that for all the
meddling, time-twisting, and early maturation of his mind and powers the
godling has gone through at the end of the day he was still a very young being
compared to himself or even his young (in god terms) Father.
“I believe you have something you wish to tell me, my young one.”  Thanatos’s
soothing rumble of a voice instantly eased some of the tension Frey was
carrying in the set of his shoulders.
The godling ran one hand through his long black hair, glancing nervously at the
shadowy figure waiting patiently.  Turning to face him fully he took a breath. 
He’d had his suspicions before he lost his virginity to Luke and Silena but now
it was confirmed.  And he needed to tell someone – even if that someone is an
ageless Avatar of Death.
“I don’t think I – well – like females.”  He said slowly in fits and starts. 
“Not, not like most guys do.  I mean,” he started to pick up steam shrugging
helplessly with a lost look on his face.  “When I was with Silena I enjoyed
it.  But she’s a daughter of Aphrodite, a dead man would’ve enjoyed it. 
But…she’s like a one-in-a-thousand girl…”  He slumped.  “I don’t think I’m
explaining this right.”
“I think you’ve explained it very well actually.”  Thanatos said drily,
concealing his desire to roll his eyes.  Teenagers.  “You like females – well
enough.  And maybe one percent of the time you’ll actively desire one.  But you
like males better and would prefer to be with one – intimately.”
“Yeah.”  Frey sighed as he felt another weight lift off his shoulders,
relaxing.  “That’s pretty much it.  Silena was great, and understanding, and it
felt good.  But Luke…”  He trailed off, unable to describe how awesome it was
with his male best-friend.
Although that might just be a “Luke” thing if the dazed expression he’s seen on
some of the other campers’ faces after a “walk” with the mischievous half-blood
mean anything.
He smirked to himself.  He’d have to…test…his theory.
Thoroughly.
Somehow he didn’t think Luke would mind a little more…experimentation.
“Then the changes I’ve made in the last few days to your trainers were
appropriate after all.”  Thanatos could barely hold in a smirk as his charge
squeaked at the implication.  His private time while hidden from Asgard by his
father hadn’t been as intimate as he knew Frey would have preferred.  But it
was with reason and not simply prurient.  Mainly to ensure Thanatos had
selected the right people from the volunteers among his Harvestmen and Maidens
to educate his charge.
A prudent bit of voyeurism as it’d turned out.  Frey’s preference for his male
friend’s attentions had been painfully obvious to anyone who knew what they
were looking for.  Or to a daughter of Aphrodite who could sense such things
and was extremely understanding of the situation.
Silena was quickly becoming one half-blood he wasn’t looking forward to Reaping
when the time came.
A trio of shadows broke off from behind the Harvest Lord and stepped forward,
revealing who Thanatos had brought along.
“While you do not crave attentions of the female persuasion.”  Thanatos offered
a hand to the dainty and elegant Harvestmaiden who rather than Heidi’s leather
armor was wrapped in a silken kimono and pulled her forward to meet Frey. 
“Aniki will help you understand women.  And as a former geisha, she’s trained
in all the arts you may need in your life.”
The newly-introduced Aniki gave him an elegant nod of her head as she studied
him from head to toe with discerning brown eyes.
“He will do well.”  Her accented English chimed in her bell-like voice.  “One
such as him would have made a fortune in my former House.”
One of the other shadows chuckled at that, gaining a fierce look from the
formerly harmless-appearing woman.
“Hector.”  Thanatos gave the larger of the two remaining shadows a chiding
glance, the shadow parted giving way to a dark-haired man with classical
handsomeness and a warrior’s body standing beside a leaner – and shorter –
blonde with a sunny smile to match his bright hair and blue eyes.  “And Alexios
will be your other trainers.”
Frey stared at the larger of the two men, a knowing tingle in the back of his
mind.  He knew that face…somehow.  He shrugged it off.  It would come to him.
Thanatos eyed the grouping.  This had the potential to go extremely well or
epically bad.  Though only time would tell.
What with leaving a Trojan and a Greek with only a teenaged godling and a
Japanese geisha-cum-assassin for supervision.
Nah.
It would be fine.
And with that in mind, Thanatos took his leave, departing as abruptly as he’d
arrived.
…
The quartet remaining in Frey’s cabin exchanged glances for several moments
before their steadily-increasing aura of awkwardness was given a timely
interrupted.
“Bah.”  Heidi took in the situation at a glance as she stepped into the cabin
and rolled her eyes.  With a flick of her hand she had a low table and floor
mats set with a traditional tea setting Aniki would be most familiar with
arrayed in the center of the room.  “Sit and talk.  I’m leaving for the Big
House and Chiron will be here to set up the time-displacement field around the
cabin.”
“Yes, Heidi.”  Came the chorus of responses from her charge and fellow members
of the Harvest Lord’s court.
Waving her hand she strode elegantly from the cabin, leaving them in relative
peace.
Initial tension broken, Frey as the host waved Alexios and Hector towards the
low table, giving Aniki a gentlemanly hand – as had been drummed into him by
his tuition with Heidi and the daughters of Aphrodite.
“First.”  Aniki spoke in her charming lilt once she’d served the tea with all
the grace she possessed as a former geisha.  “I believe it would suit this
rather unique situation to etch out something of a schedule.  While large parts
of the next weeks will be mostly pleasure.”  She cast an arch look at the three
men.  “There is also skills to be taught and gained in turn.”
“Quite.”  Frey agreed with a fiercely-controlled voice, studiously refusing to
turn his head and so much as glance at the two stunning specimens of maleness
his guardian had selected.  They were both just so damned distracting each in
their own way.  “The purpose of this tradition is to make certain that no
matter what circumstances I find myself in over my long life, that I am never
placed at a disadvantage.  Even one due to my own personal proclivities.”
Aniki flicked that last phase away with a dove-white hand.
“You’ll not be the first man I’ve…encountered…to prefer his own gender.”  She
said with uncharacteristic bluntness.  “Whether the men in question knew it
themselves or not at the time.”  Alexios had to swallow a snort at that, nearly
choking on his tea.  “Someone such as myself simply knows where her partner’s
true desires lie.  A trait I’m going to do my best to teach you, young lord.”
“I thank you, my lady.”  Frey nodded regally, hands resting lightly on his
thighs.  “For all you will teach me.”
She smiled obliquely.  “Mmm.”  Was all the acknowledgement of this thanks she
gave.  It wasn’t exactly a hardship to teach a semblance of her arts to a young
godling as handsome and eager as her Lord’s charge.  “You’ll do well, I’m
sure.  I’ll monopolize your mornings and afternoons.”  She decided with a sip
of her tea.  “With Alexios and Hector assisting me as needed.  Most of what
you’ll learn from me are things I learned during my lifetime: grace, elegance,
even seduction.  There are those who used to say that a geisha’s most dangerous
weapon wasn’t her body or face but her ability to entice with no more than a
glance.  That is what I believe you will benefit the most from learning with
me.  I will mostly leave your other training to the evenings and nights with
Alexios and Hector.”
Hector gave the young godling a dangerous smile.
“It will be our pleasure.”  He purred in his silken voice.
“Not justyours.”  Frey flicked back with a kitten-eyed glance from under his
lashes.  “I’m sure.”
Alexios laughed out loud at the rejoinder as Hector’s eyes all but burned at
the lithe Lord.  Aniki smiled to herself, murmuring:
“Oh, yes.”  She chuckled.  “I don’t think he’ll have any troubles learning what
I have to teach, though Hector and Alexios are particularly skilled in the ways
warriors can seduce one another through strength of arms – a specialty of our
Greek friend, I believe.”
Alexios merely smirked in response to the arch look the Harvestmaiden cast him
as they all felt the time-displacement wards snap into place.
“The nights,” Hector purred, fire glinting in his dark eyes as they rose, the
massive Trojan prowling around Frey’s leanly muscled form like a hungry jungle
cat circling prey.  “Belong to me.”
With that the most aggressive of Frey’s tutors fisted one hand in in his long
black and yanked him up onto his toes and into a searing claiming of a kiss.
Aniki arched a brow at the display and swallowed a chuckle, making herself
scarce by entering one of the new guest rooms Thanatos had provided and
slapping a hand on the sigil that would raise the silencing charms.  She could
do without becoming a voyeur this evening, thank you very much.
…
Releasing his grip on Frey, Hector traded a glance with Alexios, motioning his
long-time lover over towards the silk-and-fur draped bed.  Giving the young man
in his arms a wicked smirk, the ancient warrior scooped him up into his arms
and bore him over as his partner quickly shucked his garments.  Wordlessly he
passed their charge over, trusting Alexios to keep the now visibly-nervous
youngling calm while Hector stripped himself.
Frey watched with wide eyes as Hector revealed what seemed like acres of
gleaming golden skin.  As servants of the Harvest Lord, both Hector and Alexios
– as well as Aniki and even Heidi – were frozen in the same physical state as
they were when they died in battle.  The only difference being that their often
vicious wounds were now silvery scars on otherwise – in their case – flawless
bodies.  Hector.  Now there was a name with serious age.  The Crown Prince of
Troy who was killed by Achilles after accidently killing the Myrmidon warrior’s
cousin.
Who was incidentally now going by the name Alexios according to Heidi’s gossip
sessions about her “siblings” or fellow servants of the Harvest Lord.
Hector was bloody gorgeous in an all-male way: miles and miles of rippling
muscles from long days learning to fight and later fighting with sword and
spear and shield.  Dark chocolatey hair, a nice sprinkling of body hair without
having an icky heavy-pelt.  And those dark eyes…he shivered.
Rich brown eyes that burned when they lit upon Frey.
Alexios was beautiful.  All golden skin, lean muscles, and golden hair.  Even
his eyes were a lighter brown than Hector’s.  He could see where the rumors
about his relationship with Achilles – false according to Heidi – came from.
He could also see how all that rage between the two opposing warriors had
turned into another kind of heat after Thanatos had stolen both into his
service.
A body moved to the side of him as a mouth attached itself to his neck and
suckled, Frey let out a small whimper into the mouth that was attacking his
own, a strong tongue mapping out the inside of his mouth.
His mouth was released as Alexios moved to nibble along his neck, making him
moan lightly at the new sensation, a moan stolen by Hector his mouth was taken
once more by the Trojan who had quickly shed himself of his garments and joined
his lover and charge upon the bed.
Alexios tore his mouth from Frey’s neck and let out a deep growling moan as
Frey squirmed as he was pinned between the two larger bodies.  One day the
youngling would likely even outstrip Hector for size but at the moment he was
still lithe enough to capture, a fact that inflamed both of the ancients.
Frey’s mouth was claimed with Alexios’s tongue and he rocked more firmly on the
blonde’s lap as a coiling pressure built up in his gut, aroused at being
dressed while his soon-to-be-lovers were naked.
Hector grinned lecherously at him, noticing the reaction, and moved to take
over the inside of his mouth again as he gave Alexios a wordless signal and two
sets of hands moved in unison.  Hector taking the top and Alexios the bottom as
they touched, stroked, and teased every inch of their “captive” before moving
with ruthless efficacy to strip him bare.
Alexios gave Hector a look as Frey’s next gasp was more anxious than aroused. 
The larger warrior backed off for a moment, allowing his lover to gently clasp
Frey’s soft cheeks in this hands, stroking lightly.
“How much experience do you have, lovely?”  The Greek asked in a gentle purr.
Frey restrained the need to blush and looked up into golden-whisky eyes, soft
with understanding.  Alexios’s arousal – as fierce as his counterpart’s – was
banked…for the moment.
“Not a lot.”  He admitted, nibbling at his bottom lip.
The older men held in growls at the innocently-inviting gesture.
“Just a little.”  He continued.  “With Luke and Silena a couple nights ago.”
“A little?”  Alexios arched a brow in a wordless demand before sighing and
vocalizing what he meant.  He had a feeling that on some occasions getting
information from his charge was going to be like pulling teeth.  “How little?” 
He clarified his question.
“Kissing and petting.”  Frey’s face was bright red, his willpower not enough
against his embarrassment.  He knew he was going to have to talk about this
kind of thing, especially with them, but doing it while all three of them were
naked and hard was a different story altogether.
“Penetration?”  Alexios pried.
Frey blew out a breath and nodded.  “With Silena and then Luke with me.”  He
finally bit the bullet and explained.
“But not you with Luke?”  Hector stroked one hand down Frey’s quivering back in
a gentle, calming gesture.
The young man shook his head, eyes wide.
“And oral?”
Frey shook his head again.  “Not with Luke, either way.”  He admitted.  “Luke
wasn’t sure about that.  Silena,” he blushed harder.  “Helped keep my mind off
the pain when Luke first, um, penetrated me.”
“Mmm.”  The older men shared a wordless conversation as they kept stroking him,
gentling him not unlike they would a nervous filly.
“How far do you want to go tonight, Frey?” Alexios asked against his lips,
ducking down to give him a soft kiss.  “We have plenty of time.  We’ll take it
at your pace.”
“All the way.” Frey replied breathlessly, arms coming up to twine around his
broad shoulders as Hector pressed against his back, the bigger man’s arousal
like a heated iron bar against the taught curve of his buttocks.
Alexios didn’t ask him if he was sure, didn’t advise him that maybe waiting
would be better, instead he just nodded his head and went right back to
pleasuring Frey, questions answered satisfactorily – for the moment.
Kisses and small nips to his belly as Alexios pushed him back onto the now-
reclining Hector had Frey writhing and wriggling on the Trojan’s lap, making
small noises that were devoured by Alexios.
Frey was hauled upwards and his neck whiplashed with the unexpected movement,
but Alexios’s hands quickly cradled the back of his head as Hector pulled him
to lean against his front.
Alexios nipped and suckled his way down Frey’s lean chest and cut abs while
Hector alternated between deep, tongue-dueling kisses and nipping and suckling
on the golden-ivory curve of the young man’s neck and collarbone, hands
stroking and searching out sensitive points all along the long line of Frey’s
body.
“Ah!”  Frey nearly choked, eyes rolling back as a hot, wet, suction covered his
burning-hot cock, hands finding and burying themselves in long golden hair as
Alexios gave him a refresher on just how amazing a hot mouth on hotter length
felt.
Hector nipped once more at his neck before growling something out in a language
Frey was familiar with but for the life of him couldn’t understand while he had
a beautiful blonde trying to suck his brain out through his cock.  A large,
broad hand palmed one downy cheek of his arse, squeezing lightly as he heard
the sound of a lid being removed from a jar.
Frey jerked and was about to ask what the hell was going on when a smooth,
lubricated finger pressed into his body. His head fell back with a breathy
moan, he tried to move on that finger as it caressed his inner walls, but
Hector’s arm wouldn’t move.
This.  This was new.
And wonderful.
They’d all been in such a heated, hormonal rush that he hadn’t really enjoyed
much of the prep last time.  But this.  Oh. Yeah.  With Hector’s arm pinning
him in place and one of his fingers working his inner walls while Alexios
showed him what deep-throating was, Frey was getting a whole new appreciation
for his sexual orientation.
Frey moved restlessly as one finger became two and he moved insistently to get
those fingers deeper.
“Please.” He begged.  Damn it to Hades but that felt good especially when he
found that little walnut-sized gland.
“You need to be properly prepared.” Hector told him stiffly, his voice
strained.
Another finger joined its brethren and Hector scissored them inside of him,
stretching him as much as he could.  Neither of them were small men.  With a
signal from Hector, Alexios lifted his head from pleasuring Frey, releasing his
aching prick with a lewd “pop”.  Crawling back up the bed, he gently lifted
Frey off of Hector, fisting his hands in the now-tangled black locks and
stealing his breath with a kiss.
Hector rose back to his knees and pressed up behind his lovers, sharing a kiss
with Alexios as Frey watched with passion glazed eyes, not pausing for even a
moment as he prepared the young body held with care between himself and his
long-time lover.
Frey was jolted as his hips were gripped and he was pulled down on top of
Hector’s hard shaft, the cock slipping inside of him slowly as his insides
gripped at it tightly.
Hector clenched his teeth and cursed in his native language as he lowered Frey
down until there wasn’t enough space between them to fit a wisp of silk. Frey
turned and twisted, trying to get used to having Hector within him, but those
swordsman’s hands wouldn’t leave his hips.
Alexios lightly bit at the hollow of his throat and Frey gasped, rocking in
Hector’s lap, which caused Hector to let out a muffled shout of pleasure.
Hector lifted him slowly and carefully from his lap, before letting him slip
back down, Frey cried out at the blissful sensation and placed his hands on
Hector’s shoulders and experimentally moved himself down onto the large shaft. 
With Luke they’d stuck to having Frey kneel in front of him, also Luke had been
too afraid of hurting his friend to let him move too much.  Hector’s hands on
his hips still controlled the majority of his movements, but Frey didn’t care
as Hector finally found his prostate and stroked over it.
“Hector!” Frey moaned as he shifted his knees deeper into the mattress, arching
up into Alexios’s body, finding the hot length of the Greek’s aroused cock with
his own, making him buck up again at the duel sensations.
They set a fast and furious pace ready to bring their release as quickly as
possible, unable to stand the gut clenching coiling much longer.
Frey released first helped on by Alexios, who was fisting his hard cock between
his and Hector’s bodies. The alternating speed of Hector thrusting into him
hard and fast and Alexios using firm, slow movements had Frey screaming his
pleasure to the ceiling.
Hot seed flooded into his body and Frey let out a soft moan as Hector slowed
down his movements before stopping completely holding Frey to him with gentle
pressure.
Before he could relax in Hector’s strong arms, he was passed off to another
warm, muscled body, one that was still needing attention.
Alexios kissed him with wanton desire, Frey kissing him back, arching his body
as a hand slid between his legs palmed his renewing erection.  Two fingers were
pressed into his stretched and leaking entrance and Frey gasped in pleasure and
shock.
His body quivered as Alexios moved him to lay back, legs wrapped around the
Greek’s trim hips as Alexios sank into his slicked passage.  Frey had no
control at all in this position as Hector held his hands down on the mattress
and stole his breath with his kisses while Alexios pumped into him in a rapid
pace, grazing his prostate almost constantly.  The weight of Alexios’s body
kept his lower half pinned while Hector occupied his hands and mouth.
He let out a keening moan as he wrapped his arms around Alexios’s shoulders and
let himself be moved, there wasn’t much else he could do in this position
except to feel and feel he did.
Frey couldn’t help but compare the feeling of Alexios being inside of him to
Hector. Hector was thick and long but Alexios was longer, reaching new places
inside of him, it made his blood thick and sultry as Alexios wrapped muscled
arms around him to keep him in place as he started rolling his hips to move
that cock inside of him.
Alexios’s thrusts started getting harder and deeper, rushed, and Frey knew now,
after being with both Luke and Hector plus from his time with Silena, that the
blonde was getting close to orgasm.  Frey had a hazy thought tingle through him
and clenched, bearing down on the prick moving inside him, earning him a primal
growl.  A callused hand wrapped around his cock and Frey looked into deep, lust
filled dark eyes before a mouth claiming his had his full attention drawn back
to Alexios.
Frey quivered and arched as the tightening sensation in his gut coiled tighter
and tighter, he felt his body tense as he locked eyes with whisky-gold before
his orgasm took him over.
“Alexios!” Frey managed to scream before his mouth was seized once again by the
blonde, who gave out a muffled groan and emptied himself into Frey, his release
joining Hector’s.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed before the feel of his bedmates stirring
pulled him from his euphoric daze.
“Goin’ somewhere?”  He asked groggily as he felt both of the bodies surrounding
him start to shift out of the wide bed.
“Find our room.”  Alexios rasped, rubbing one hand over mouth as he stared down
at the debauched picture Frey made.
“Okay.”  The godling decided after a long moment of debate.  He wasn’t quite
comfortable with the idea of actually sleeping with either warrior in his bed. 
Sex was one thing.  Letting them sleep with him was a whole different issue. 
One he was glad neither of them seemed to want to push.
Groaning Frey started to move into a more comfortable position, but as pain
speared through his lower body, he decided against it and lay back down in the
soft warm bed
Yawning Frey snuggled into a fur and absently cleaned himself and the bed up
with a wordless wave of his hand and flex of his power.  All-in-all (and
intimacy issues aside) it hadn’t been the worst introduction to a threesome he
could’ve asked for.
...
The next morning after a long shower and a pair of potions – a Muscle-Relaxer
and a Pain-Reliever – Frey found himself once more sitting on a low cushion at
the Japanese-style table in his sitting room.  Alexios was still sleeping while
Hector had taken himself off to the training arena attached to the back of his
home that had been included in the time-displacement field.  Frey may have to
spend a month inside a day enjoying training of a certain kind but he wasn’t
allowed to let his other skills slack while he was incommunicado with the
greater Camp.
Frey watched with avid eyes as Aniki began the intricate ceremony of preparing
her tea.
“Everything a geisha does,” her melodic voice whispered across the table. 
“Carries with it an innate grace and sensuality.  Those like myself are
selected and trained from early childhood in this.  The greatest tool a geisha
possesses isn’t her body but her mind – despite what our detractors might
insist.”  Aniki flicked her audience an amused glance from deep brown eyes as
she poured steaming water into delicate porcelain.  “Being able to seduce
anyone means knowing what anyone might want – and then being able to both
recognize the illusive signs they display and then be able to adjust yourself
in an instant to their desires – spoken and unspoken.”
“How?”  It was a breath of a question, Frey’s eyes wide.
Aniki chuckled.
“That is what I’m here to teach you – partly at least.”  She offered him his
cup.  “Now…”
…
Alexios purred as he felt his charge climb between silken sheets and lay a
gentle kiss on his shoulder blade.
“Enjoy your lessons?”  His voice was gravelly and rough from the previous
night’s activities.
“They were interesting.”  Frey admitted.  “But it’s a lot of information, teeny
tiny things I’ve never noticed or paid attention to before.  Aniki would make
the most persnickety of people happy in her ability to spot a flaw or correct
the angle of a wrist.”
The Greek chuckled and turned onto his back, hand flashing out lightning-quick
to haul his young lover over and across his chest, locking him in place with a
deep, tongue-twining kiss.
“And where’s our Trojan friend?”  He murmured as he moved, covering Frey’s
arching neck in nipping kisses as he waited for an answer.
“Sparring.”  Frey finally gathered his wits to gasp out.  “He’s sparring with a
couple of my enchanted dummies.”
A white-toothed grin flashed in the low afternoon light.
“Excellent.”
 
…
Frey and Aniki watched from the sidelines as steel flashed in the training
arena.  Frey’s gaze was both fascinated and hungry as Hector and Alexios dueled
in what he had to admit Aniki had aptly described a couple weeks before as a
“warrior’s seduction.”
“It’s like a dance.”  He leaned down and wrapped his arms around the petite
former-geisha, whispering in her ears.  “I saw my fath…er…someone,” he
corrected himself.  Mentally he cursed.  No matter how close he gets to his
tutors, none of them know the truth of him.  They can’t ever know.  No one can
not until the time was right.  He was already on thin ice with Malfoy Junior
and Senior.  The tirade Loki had given him over trusting Draco with his secret
still made his ears bleed when he thinks of it.  “Dance a tango once with
Heidi.  This really reminds me of that.”
“Mmm.”  Aniki hummed under her breath, relaxing her back against her pupil’s
chest.  They’d yet to spend any intimate time together but she’d found him to
be rather affectionate nonetheless.  And he’d taken to her lessons of simple
touch to ensnare the senses of his target like a duck to water.  “There’s
parallels for certain.  In the Western World, it was often considered a
requirement for trained warriors of high station to be able to move with grace
and touch a woman with respect on the dance floor.  It was a matter of control:
only an uncouth lout wouldn’t be able to control his strength and lead a dance
with dignity and grace.  Many of the ‘newer’ dances,” she flicked him a smile. 
“Like the tango take from that.  They are very like a swordsman’s duello.”
“Only a duel between lovers or would-be lovers rather than armed combat.” 
Frey’s eyes glinted when he saw Alexios – who most would consider outmatched
against Hector’s greater strength and reach – slither around the massive
warrior, brushing his body with his own in a rapid-fire movement, bringing his
sword to rest gently against his oppenent’s throat as he pressed himself full-
bodied against the larger man’s back.
“Surrender.”  The Greek purred.
Hector turned his head and gave Alexios a burning kiss then made a formal swipe
of his lowered sword in an appeasing salute.
“One of these days…”  The thickly-accented voice of the former Crown-Prince of
Troy threatened lightly.  “I’m going to discover all your tricks.”
Alexios grinned back, winking at Frey as he released his partner and motioned
for their charge to take his place.  Alexios had spent the last week tutoring
Frey in his rather unique method of seduction, it was time to see how much he’d
learned.
“Well,” his voice was nearly perky.  “You haven’t managed it in the last two
thousand years, so I supposed I’ve got plenty of time to continue to spank you
in dueling.  Ready?  Begin.”
…
Frey was dead nervous.  This was the first night he was spending with Aniki
instead of with some combination of Hector and/or Alexios.  Since he was mostly
attracted to guys – at least as far as he could discern – Aniki had mostly
focused on what she’d laid out at the beginning: teaching him how seduce and
‘use his wiles’ as Alexios had jokingly put it.
But one thing had been made clear: mostly gay or not, he was going to have to
learn how to pleasure a woman.
Hence the nervousness.
He didn’t think he’d done that bad with Silena but he wouldn’t call himself a
stud either.  Good times were had by all but there was definitely room for
improvement.
"Would you mind if we started with a kiss?"
They were sitting on the edge of his bed, both wearing silk robes at Aniki’s
assistance.  Frey's head was spinning.   She leaned towards him allowing her
robe to open, and he could see the natural curve of those breasts, which he
felt he already knew to some extent just from well, noticing in her normal
kimono or silk tunic.  But he managed to reply, "That would be good."
She moved close and his lips reached for hers. It was a moist kiss, a more than
friendly kiss, but she had no difficulty in finding a pathway for her tongue,
and within seconds their tongues were gently dueling, his arms coming up to
wrap around her petite frame.
Frey was warmed from the kiss, but not overwhelmed like he was with his male
partners.  Cautiously he had placed his hands on Aniki's shoulders. Even with
the cover of her robe, he could appreciate and thrill at the delicate curve of
them.
The kiss, and those hands on her shoulders, had aroused further urges in Aniki.
Maybe there was going to be something in this pursuit. Her body was already
demanding more intimate touches from him. She really had waited too long, and
Frey was simply too handsome.  Young, inexperienced, it didn't matter.
“Touch me, Frey.”
Frey's trembling finger tips traced the elegant slope from nipple to the base
of her throat. If the kiss had made him warm, then the sensation of her smooth
rounded breast was burning.  His erection heaved inside the robe. Emboldened he
allowed his fingers to play their way around the whole curving surface. His
whole being was slowly firing up.
Aniki was also simmering. She'd heard women say that they had little feeling
when their breasts were touched.  She’s never had such a problem.  "The nipple,
Frey. With that same touch. You have a wonderful touch."
Enjoying the thrill of it all, yet still uncertain, Frey reached out and
tentatively ran his fingers over the hard small nipple. She gave a sharp intake
of breath. "Sorry," he mumbled, jerking his hand away.
"No, no. That was perfect, Frey. Don't stop. Use your whole hand."
Allowing his whole hand to settle over her breast, he stroked over and around
it, letting each finger trace over the nipple, which, he was sure, was
hardening and growing.
"This can't be the first time you've touched a woman there," Aniki sighed
huskily, knowing exactly what she wanted next. "Kiss it, Frey."
How would that feel? Blood pounded in Frey's head, doubly so in his cock. But
her instruction was clear. "Take the nipple in your mouth, tongue it"
Frey lowered his head nervously, "Like this?" he asked, before putting his lips
around the enlarged nipple.  He’d played with Silena’s and his male partner’s
nipples before but for some reason it was different with Aniki for all that it
was more a learning experience than an act of passion.  Perhaps because not
only was she so very experienced but also he cared about her as a mentor beyond
liking the way she looked.
"Tongue, Frey. Use your tongue."
Only too willing, Frey did just that, and couldn't believe the pleasure it gave
him, but just as satisfying was realizing the pleasure it was giving her. He
could sense the tremors running through her body. He found that he was sucking
at that nipple without even thinking about it.
From time to time he heard her utter a little moan, of pleasure, he hoped.
It was indeed a moan of some considerable pleasure. Aniki was so engrossed in
the erotic arousal of Frey's hands and mouth on her breasts, that she almost
forgot that she should be instructing. And there was more to be gained, for
both of them. She wondered what it might be like just to lie back and let him
romp around her body. If he'd had more experience perhaps, but for now he
needed guidance. "Don't stop what you're doing," she whispered, "but let one
hand run the curve through breast waist and hip. Then back again."
Frey was eager enough to learn, but wondered whether this could be any more
exciting than what he was doing.
Aniki could have allowed him to carry on in that fashion for a good while, but
some things won't wait. "Down onto my thigh with that hand, onto the inside of
my thigh.  Oh, yes, like that. Back and forwards. Not too high."
Frey sucked in a desperate gulp of air. If he had enjoyed the smoothness of her
skin before, what he was finding along her inner thigh was a silkiness that was
beyond belief. His hand played along, back, along, back with deliberate
gentility. Once the upward stroke went too far and there was that momentary
thrill of her downy fuzz.
Aniki, in a lovely haze of warm delight, was very aware that her body jerked
involuntarily when his fingers briefly, accidentally, touched her nether parts.
It was time to move things on, "Now put that hand on my belly. Yes, with
fingers spread, just strokes in a circle. Ooh, yes."
Frey knew that with his hand on her belly he would not be far from the ultimate
touch. He knew too that his own body had responded with remarkable promptness.
His erection was at least half mast, and rising. Without being told he allowed
his circling hand to trace the edge of her tawny bush.
"Yes, yes, good, Frey. Go further, fingers play through the hair, but just
there.  This is a good way to tease your partner. Makes her think-" She gave a
gasping pause, "- oh, that you're never going to reach your goal.  The groove,
Frey, down lower to where it starts."
Frey had been feeling that, as well as teasing the woman, this action was
teasing him. But the groove? Yes, he had a vague notion of where she meant.
Hadn't he briefly viewed it when she first lay back? Still licking at her
breasts, his eyes gazed down across her flat belly, to watch his own fingers
search. A very short search. Almost immediately he was touching what felt like
closed lips, and just as quickly they weren't closed. He was able to move a
finger, gingerly into a moistness, that was a pleasure in itself. His urge was
to go on moving deeper.
His fingers were so nearly right, but she quickly advised him, "Keep your
fingers there, Frey. Just rub between the lips gently, feel for the little
pip—my clit." She was so aware of his fingers probing as instructed. And he
found it! Fire rods seemed to stem out through her lower body. Gods, the thrill
of it.
Frey rubbed, and his finger tip found what did feel like a pip, and Aniki's
reaction told him he was on the mark. The so familiar ache in his scrotum as he
realized he was at full pressure warned him to be careful. Then her wavering
voice told him to move his mouth down there. Oh, oh, this was taking him
towards a new stage.  He’d pleasured Alexios and Hector this way – often as
he’d found he enjoyed the act.  But how different would it be with Aniki?  His
mouth moving over her belly, stopped to allow his tongue to tickle at her tiny
navel. On down. And the next tickling was her pubic hairs on his mouth. 
Tentatively he touched her spot with his tongue.
"Oooh-yes, -do it-give it -lick it-lick it hard." His tongue began working as
though it had a life of its own. Lapping at her little secret button. Her clit.
It was no longer a pip, more like a smaller nipple. Back and forward with the
tongue. Round and round. No taste, yet it was like supping on cream. All he was
aware of was a scented musky aroma, and the ready moistness. Her creaminess
increased, as her legs spread and Frey found himself licking and probing until
his tongue was guzzling into that mysterious hole without him even wondering
about what he was doing.
"Oh, yes, we're there, Frey." Care now, Aniki was telling herself.  He’d only
ever done this once before.  "Roll your body between my thighs."
Between her raised thighs, he edged his body upwards, showered kisses on her
breasts, and up to her lips where their tongues meshed briefly. Then she moved
to reach down towards his hard cock.  Her hand reached its target and instead
of stroking, she gripped it firmly right at the hilt. She raised her hips to
meet and welcome the purple head of what she was guiding to her vaginal
opening.
Frey was tense as Aniki reached down for him, but somehow her grip was so
purposeful that he had felt secure, and eager as she brought his purple end to
the warm wetness of her. "Push gently, Frey.”  He did that, and he was in.
"Stop." She said, without anxiety and she released her hold.
As her whole being screamed for the thrust of him, she was advising him to be
still. "Just relax yourself there for—for—oh, a moment." Her need now was
almost a pain, yet she had to instruct him so they would gain satisfaction.
"Just try to breathe easy, Frey.  Stay calm.”
Breathe easy? When his loaded penis was already at the portals of that
smoldering orifice that he had just finished licking out? When he could feel
the delicious moisture of her, and the pulsing of her vaginal walls? The hungry
pounding in his scrotum worried him.
This was night-and-day from being with Hector and Alexios.  He had to be much
more in control of himself for once thing.  And he was afraid to actually hurt
Aniki for another.
"You're doing well, Frey." But she knew she could wait no longer.
Just ahead of her instruction, Frey, sure that any threat of an early rush had
gone, had slid his eager erection easily, through all her natural lubrication,
right up to the hilt. So far that he was sure that he could feel the head push
against some part of her deep inside. He didn't dare ask, what to do now. He
was inside, deep, deep into that warm wetness and it was an amazing feeling.
But now? He didn't need telling. His body knew by instinct way beyond any
sexual knowledge. So he drew back and thrust again.
At his first long thrust Aniki had thought she would explode. Deep inside her
that magnificent weapon was filling her, immense. When he withdrew and thrust a
second time, waves of electricity fused through her body. Her vaginal walls
pulsed with her every move. She was fast approaching that ecstatic moment that
she had experienced on so few occasions as a geisha, focused more on the
pleasure of her partner than herself.
Frey raised his face to kiss her but her head was rolling back and forwards as
though out of control. So he concentrated on sucking and nibbling at her
breasts. Doing that seemed to help his control. He had eased his hips back
feeling his cock being adulated by her vibrating walls. Now he pushed it back
as far as it would go.
"Now-again-back-faster-” Her voice was strained, breathless almost desperate. 
Accordingly he swung his hips back and forward, and his rod worked like a
piston inside her. He was doing it, actually doing it. It was better than he
would have thought – being with a woman.  The hotness of it, the wetness, the
smells of perfume and feminine musk, almost overwhelmed him.
Aniki knew she was all but out of control, her breathing harsher, and her head
tossing from side to side, her long hair flared across her face. "Ooh, it's
there. Oh, yes, Frey." Her voice became a screech of near desperation.
A dam burst deep inside Frey's scrotum and the flood poured into his cock, as
with one final plunge he heard his own voice yell something wild. And he was
trying to push the head of his swollen member up into the depths of her belly.
At last they lay calmly nestled together. Much pleasure still lay in being
against her flat, sweated belly as his cock slowly shrank out of her.
"It was good for you?"
"Good? Frey, for just a second time with a female you were quite remarkable."
Frey sighed in relief then again in hazy pleasure.  He’d certainly enjoyed
himself.  Though it was a warm sort of enjoyment not the rushing inferno of
heat and ecstasy he experienced with his male partners.
It was still fun.
And Aniki apparently had quite a few more things to teach him before the night
was over.
…
Frey reclined against the headboard of his bed and sighed, their time under the
displacement field was drawing to a close and there was still one thing he
hadn’t tried yet – mostly due to his own insecurities and his partners’
preferences.
He’d yet to take either Alexios or Hector.
“Is there a question in that sigh or…”  Alexios asked, propping himself up on
one arm.  He and Hector had been talking quietly in the afterglow of a vigorous
session when Frey had sighed.
“Can I have you?”  Frey blurted out.
Alexios tossed back his golden mane with a laugh.  He’d wondered how long it
would take his charge to make an overture.  If he’d waited much longer he would
have had to push him into it.  Part of their duty here was to acclimate Frey to
all kinds of pleasure.
Besides, the youngling definitely had the makings of a fantastic top if his
reactions to getting head were any indications.
“I don’t know?”  Alexios arched a brow.  “Can you?”
Frey grinned and pulled Alexios into a passionate kiss, spurred on by hot dark
eyes watching them as Hector took in the scene but made no move to join them.
Frey maneuvered Alexios onto his knees, he wanted to take the larger man in
what had quickly become his own favorite position.
“Show me what you’ve learned from us, Frey.” Hector rumbled as he watched the
lithe form hover over his lover.
Alexios turned his head and pulled Frey down into a kiss as they both went to
their knees, then Alexios stretched out his arms and lowered his chest to the
silken sheets, raising his hips up into Frey’s hot length as he went.
Frey pulled himself back and slicked his not-inconsiderable cock up with his
now-favored lubricant that smelt of vanilla and citrus then slipped himself
carefully into Alexios.
“You’re sweet sometimes.” Alexios told him slightly breathlessly. “Hector just
shoved himself in like I was nothing more than a hole to fuck while you take
care when you don’t need to. I’m not going to be hurt Frey.”
“Hey.”  Hector grumbled, lowering his brows.  “You like it when I fucked you
raw.”
“I know, lover.”  Alexios blew him a kiss.  “That’s what I’m trying to teach,
Frey.”
Frey smiled and regained Alexios’s focus on himself with a biting kiss. “I’m
not afraid.”  He stated thrusting slowly.  “I just want to remember this.  And
I want you to remember it too.”
“Frey, I’d remember this if you took me like a jackhammer.  I think you’ll find
you’re a hard one to forget.”
Alexios lowered his head back down into the cradle of his arms.  Frey bit his
lower lip and started a pattern of varying longer and deeper thrusts, watching
as Alexios’s eyes closed.
“You’re right on my prostate.” He moaned, pushing his arse back up into Frey’s
stroking cock.
Frey gained confidence and moved faster within Alexios, thrusting and gaining a
firm rhythm, but a smack to his arse had him pushing in much harder than he had
intended and Alexios let out a small yelp of shock mixed with a groan of
pleasure.
Hector pushed into him and Frey groaned at the stretch, his body having closed
up somewhat since their last round, even as Alexios clenched tightly around him
as Frey was pushed further into his body.
“Hector!” Frey cried out, even as Alexios – in Hector’s words being a bossy
bottom – fucked back onto Frey’s cock, sending Frey himself crashing back
against Hector.
Hector let Alexios do most of the work for them.  Frey by fighting against
Alexios and trying to set his own rhythm ended up making everything hotter as
Alexios tried to fuck himself on Frey, to his own pace, but Hector behind them
was speeding and when Alexios bucked his hips up hard, Frey was pulling back
out and it drove Alexios wild.
Alexios lifted and turned his head, biting lightly at the lean bicep bulging
beside his head as Frey gave into Hector’s thrusts and lowered himself down
further onto Alexios’s golden body.
Frey took that to mean he was doing something right and moved his other hand
from Alexios’s hip to stroke him firmly, palming his balls and rolling them
with deft fingers.  Alexios’s hips bucked harshly with a growl slipping from
Alexios’s throat as Hector picked up the pace behind Frey slamming the younger
man’s cock into his lover’s prostate and making Alexios moan in the back of his
throat.
Frey’s orgasm hit him first and Hector only seconds after, Alexios went when
Frey tugged on his balls a couple more times and squeezed them gently in his
palm.
“Best first-time, ever.”  Frey announced to chuckled from his bedmates before
cleaning them all off with a spell and burrowing down into the fluffy furs of
the bed.
…
It was the last day of their enforced confinement with one another and Frey was
laying in his grand silk-covered bed with Aniki at his side.  They hadn’t spent
much time intimate with each other, given Frey’s leanings, but she had taught
him a thing or two about how to lay with a woman.  But there was something
picking, picking, picking at his mind and he couldn’t enjoy the warm afterglow
of knowing he’d pleased his partner – no matter their gender.
“What is it, Frey?”  Aniki looked up from where she was resting at his side,
sensing with her well-developed skills that her bed partner wasn’t at rest. 
Normally she would almost take that as an affront to her skills but she knew
that her charge wasn’t really one to enjoy the fairer sex.  Though he was
certainly capable of pleasing them.
“It’s…odd.”  He finally decided, choosing each word with great care as he tried
to give voice to the thoughts that have been plaguing him since before his
tutors had even arrived; perhaps since he’d gifted his first kiss to Draco.
“Yes?”  Aniki’s voice was as gentle and undemanding as ever.  She’d quickly
become more of a confidant and mentor than either of her male counterparts. 
Not that Hector and Alexios weren’t capable of taking on such a role, it was
more that their interactions had almost all been based in carnality whereas her
own with Frey were predicated on a teaching basis than a sexual one.
Though from what Alexios and Hector had told her during their conferences when
their charge was working on his various other studies, he’d certainly taken to
that purpose of his training with the same ease as he’d shown in her own of
seduction and grace.
Frey turned to face her, wanting to watch her expressions carefully.  One thing
she’s helped refine in him was his ability to get a sense of what someone was
thinking by reading the silent tells they give off.  Draco fussed when he did
it to him, Occlumency was no use after all when one wasn’t actually invading
your mind.
“The reasoning behind this,” Frey waved his hand in an abstract motion. 
“Tradition, is to shore up weaknesses in an Heir that being untutored in carnal
pursuits can cause.”  And no King or Lord wanted their son to be considered
less of a man for not having conquests under their belt.
“My Lord Thanatos explained as such.”  Aniki nodded.  “Some men of my original
culture were known to send their sons to a certain geisha house for much the
same reason.  Even today I’ve heard tell of fathers paying a woman to,” she
wrinkled her nose over the next phrase.  “Break-in their sons.  It is not much
of a thing.”
And much more enjoyable than she’d expected it to be.  Her charge had been a
most apt and eager student.  Not what she thought he’d be at all.
“Well…”
“Yes?”
“Why is it so different?”  Frey frowned in consternation.  “I expected it would
be – the only others I’d been with weren’t that experienced either.  But it’s
more than that.”
“Try and describe it for me.”  Aniki sat up, thinking.  She had an inkling
where this might be going – and honestly she hopes she’s right.  If so then she
can leave and return to her duties knowing that a message she’d been trying to
covertly convey had been a success.
She truly hoped it had been.
Young Frey might find himself in a world of heartache otherwise.
In her opinion even if he’d taken nothing else away from these weeks but that
it was time well-spent.
“With you,” he restrained a blush.  “It’s – sex – it’s…nice.  It feels good. 
It’s…”  He was visibly searching for the right word.
“Pleasurable.”  Aniki supplied after several long moments.
Frey gave her a quicksilver smile and a nod.
“Pleasurable.  Warm and almost comforting.  And with Silena it was more so. 
But with Hector and Alexios it’s…”  He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes. 
“Like comparing a light bulb to the surface of the sun.  And again with Luke,
for all that I was a virgin and he’s hardly the experience of my tutors, it was
even more intense.”
“Is there a question somewhere in there…?”  Aniki asked indulgently, hiding a
grin of success.  He’d figured it out.  At his relatively young years, her
charge had discovered something that often takes years of exploration to
conclude – some never do at all.
“Well, why?”  His green eyes were clouded with puzzlement.  “I can get why it’s
different between when I’m with a guy or a girl.  Not too hard to figure out
that as much as I like female company it’s as different as being content versus
truly happy.  As far as my body goes, one just does it for me better than the
other.  But you versus Silena or Hector versus Luke…that one has me stumped.”
“Emotional connection.”  She smiled.  “That’s what’s throwing you off.  You
have a tentative one with me, much stronger bonds to your young friends, and
almost none whatsoever to my male counterparts.  Think of it this way: being
intimate is the day to being sexual’s night.  And it’ll affect your overall
satisfaction from any one encounter.”
“So…”  Frey leaned up against the headboard, sheets crinkled and pooling around
his bare hips.  “It’s like having a one-night-stand with a friend versus
someone you picked up in a bar versus making love to your lover.  Hector and
Alexios get me hot and get me off,” he blushed at her knowing glance.  “But we
don’t exactly have in-depth discussions about anything…” Or any kind of
discussion at all…  “And while Silena is a great friend and companion and I had
fun with her and Luke, I probably wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfied
afterwards if it had been just her and not Luke too.”
Aniki nodded.  “That’s a fair assessment I would say.  From what I’ve gathered
you’re only attracted to individual females – myself and your friend Silena
being two among a very few you’ve noticed in that manner – and are mostly
homosexual.  But when it comes to romanticism and intimacy, you’re much more
geared towards being equally drawn to both sexes.”
“Mind over matter?”  Frey cracked a grin.  “I can have sex with a woman if I
really want to as part of a romantic relationship but it will never be as,
well, hot as sex with a male – even a male I’ve no kind of connection to at
all.”
“Mmm.”  She nodded.  “You’d make any female an excellent lover, Frey.”  She
smiled gently.  “I’ve made sure of that.  And a wonderful companion and
considerate suitor.  But in the long run you’d have a more fulfilling
relationship with a male.”
Frey grinned at that.  He knew that Aniki was only trying to keep him from
wasting his time being content when he could be happy – he’s picked that up
well enough during their lessons.  But there was something about him she didn’t
know.  Aniki – and his other tutors – had no idea that he would be immortal and
ageless most likely within a decade from what Lord Thanatos could tell from his
power levels.  Thankfully while within the time field he hasn’t had any spikes
– that would’ve been hard to explain.  Half-bloods didn’t do that, not like he
does anyway.
So to him spending a decade or two – when he’s older anyway – paying court to a
female that catches his eye wouldn’t be wasting time at all.
The beauties of immortality.
…
***** Chapter 13 - Painted Black *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: Well here we are chapter thirteen.  And as 13 is my favorite
number I’ve worked hard on making third year pass as painlessly as possible.
This chapter starts the day after Frey’s thirteenth birthday and the end of his
“training”.  I hoped you enjoyed his tutors, they might pop up again but they
might not.  This chapterdoes notcontain any censored material.
                        Chapter Thirteen: Painted Black
“Frey!”  Silena hurried over to her friend’s side, searching his face with her
crystal blue eyes.  Luke had been right.  His “training” as Frey called it had
aged him.  He carried himself with a confidence reinforcing his natural grace. 
But now there was a…sensuality that called out to her blood.  The blood of a
Love goddess.  “How are you?”
Frey smiled down and wrapped her up in his arms, lifting her up off the ground
in a strong hug.  Setting her back down and giving her a smacking kiss on the
cheek, Frey watched as Luke came over to their position beside the low-burning
bonfire.  Exchanging nods with his best friend, the godling looked down at an
impatiently waiting Silena and answered her.
“I’m…good.”  There really wasn’t much else to say.
“And your guests?”  Luke teased arching a brow.  Silena rolled her eyes and
smacked him on the arm for the remark.  Luke had been insatiably curious over
who the mysterious “tutors” were that Frey’s Patron had selected for him were.
“Gone.”  Frey gave a genial smile and wave as his name was called out by
Annabeth and some others at the arena.  “I’m wanted, guys.  Talk later.”
Luke and Silena watched him walk away silently waiting for him to get out of
range before turning and huddling together, whispering furiously.
“Do you think he’s okay?”  Silena worried her bottom lip with her teeth, blue
eyes concerned.
“Hey.”  Luke lifted one callused hand and gently removed her lip from between
pearly white teeth.  “Don’t hurt yourself.”  He lifted his head and studied
Frey’s back for a long moment before turning back towards his companion.  “You
know,” he mused.  “I really think he is.  Okay that is.  Good even.  Whatever
he did,” or was done to him.  “During this training, I don’t think it harmed
him in anyway.  I think it helped him, as it was meant to.”
Silena was unsurprised by the other teen’s assessment.  Luke had always been
more supportive of the whole situation than she was.  Likely because of her
mother’s blood.  It rankled her as a daughter of Aphrodite that someone had
their choice of partners taken away from them – even for a little while and for
an ostensibly good purpose.
Luke watched her with knowing eyes.
“Leave it be, ‘Lena.”  He cautioned her.  “You know how he is about his
heritage.  And since he says it went fine and he’s “good” he won’t take kindly
to any kind of post-training-intervention or attempts at a therapy session.”
That was…true.  She sighed to herself.  Many half-bloods tended to be prickly
over their heritage, especially those that were unclaimed or from a lesser god
or goddess who didn’t have their own cabin at Camp.
Frey was a different matter, hanging in a sort of limbo as far as his peers
here were concerned.  He had a Patron – and a Styx-damned scary one at that. 
But no divine parent or grandparent to explain his blood.  He’d been raised at
Camp – by a Harvestmaiden of all things – since he was a toddler.  But now he
went away to some secret boarding school only a handful of people at Camp
actually knew of.
To the general population of Camp Half-Blood, Frey Haraldr – no known last name
– was a question wrapped in a mystery and boxed in an enigma.
He was strong – stronger than any member of Hephaestus or Ares cabins.
Intelligent to shame the wisest Athena.
Mischievous to mock the Hermes and as beautiful as any of her own siblings.
He was a Camp staple, training many of the newer half-bloods even those older
than himself.
Silena sighed as Luke gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked away to join the
teen in question in sword practice with the Athena and Ares campers.
More than anyone, Silena worried for her friend.
She still remembered some of the things the more insightful of the Apollo
campers used to say when he would come around – before Chiron and Thanatos had
a talk with them anyway.
Frey was fate-touched.
She only hoped he could survive it.
And if she – and Luke – could give him some joy in the meantime, so be it.
…
It was a solemn day, two days later on August Third when Heidi stood watching
as her charge packed his trunk and prepared to return to England to spend the
rest of his summer with his godfathers and friends.  She knew he was planning
to do some more searching and researching for the quest her Lord had given him
and it worried her.  Voldemort might only be a spectre now but he was a vicious
wizard when he was alive and she fretted over what traps he might have laid
down over whatever it was her Lord had Frey looking for.
This was the last few moments her little lordling would be her charge.
He was a man as far as his people and her Lord were concerned.
He’d passed through the pain and hurt of his Rites and was marked as grown.
Her little lordling didn’t need her anymore.
Frey looked over with a bright smile – one that had always been reserved for
her alone – and saw her discretely knuckling away a tear.
Setting the last of his clothes away neatly in their compartment he set the
locks and rose gracefully to his feet, dusting his hands off on his linen
trousers as he stood.
New York was miserable and locked in a heat wave as August had rolled in and
even the wards surrounding Camp weren’t helping much beyond protecting the
strawberry fields.
He moved to her side and cupped her face in his long-fingered hands, smoothing
her now free-flowing silent tears away with his thumbs.  For the first time in
his memory, he was looking down at a woman and warrior who had always seemed
bigger than life to him.
Frey gave her his special smile, not telling her not to cry or other
platitudes, and wrapped her up in loving arms burgeoning with young muscles.
Laying his cheek on top of her golden head, he sang lightly in his smooth tenor
that was in the midst of lowering – though wasn’t cracking at the moment.
It was the lullaby – the same his mother had sang to him – that Thanatos had
told Heidi of and that she’d used every night for years until he stopped having
nightmares.
“La la lu, La la lu
Oh, my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you
La la lu, La la lu
Little soft fluffy sleeper
Here comes a pink cloud for you
La la lu, La la lu
Little wandering angel
Fold up your wings close your eyes
La la lu, La la lu
And may love be your keeper
La la lu, La la lu, La la lu”
Heidi sniffled and stared up at him, resting her chin on his chest, wiping away
her tears on her palm.
“You’ll always be my little lordling.”  She gasped with her tear-roughened
voice.  “Taking care of you has been my honor – and my blessing.”
“I love you too, Heidi.”  Frey kissed her hair as she tucked her face back into
his tunic.  “I love you, too.”
…
In an unconscious echo of the previous summer, Frey stepped out of the shadows
of Heathrow Airport in London and made his way over to the magical departures
and waiting area where he spied a pair of figures that stood out from the
crowd: one sitting quietly with his paper and the other pacing anxiously and
occasionally shooting comments towards his companion who would answer calmly
and take another sip of his tea.
The godling broke into a wide grin as Sirius gave a barking laugh and bounded
over with his dauntless enthusiasm when he caught sight of his audience.
“Pup!”  Sirius crowed and swept him up into a whirling hug – or tried to
anyway.  The newly-minted Lord Black might have several inches on his godson
but he didn’t have his mass – his body still recovering from his ten year stint
in Azkaban.  He settled for a rib-cracking bear hug and tousling the impeccably
pulled-back ebony hair.  “I thought you’d never get here.”
“It’s true.”  Remus confirmed with a light chuckle as he followed after his
mate and gave his cub a much more restrained but no-less heartfelt embrace of
his own.  “He’s been worrying himself sick all summer over getting the
apartment in order.”
Sirius grimaced.  Dumbledore had tried to convince them to allow him to place
their penthouse loft under the Fidelissince it was in a magical apartment
building in a magical sector of the wealthy Kensington area of London.  They’d
refused citing his less-than-stellar record with that particular charm and also
held off suggestions of living – at least temporarily – in Sirius’s mother’s
townhouse which she’d inherited after marrying his father and joining the two
main branches of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black together.
His father Orion was the veritable stereotype of a henpecked husband, though
when it came to the line of succession he put his foot down and apparently
refused to completely disavow his oldest son and Heir.
If he had better feelings for the House of Black at all, Remus’s mate might
have considered relocating to Black Manor in Wiltshire, however due to the
proximity to his cousin Narcissa and her husband that was out of the question
as well.
Though his errant mate had agreed to stay congenial with dealing with the
Malfoys due to the littlest Malfoy’s strong friendship with their cub.
Even if it had taken some…persuasion on Remus’s part to effect that particular
change.
Sirius was better from the decade of damage Azkaban had done but he still
wasn’t mature – as most would use the word – by any means.
“We’d better go.”  Remus mentioned, his enhanced senses picking up the myriad
of glances and whispers they were getting now that they were joined by the Boy-
Who-Lived.  Nothing like being with a pair of famous and infamous wizards to
draw attention, the werewolf sighed mentally.
Remus held out the port-key, Harry having reassured them he was comfortable
with their use in one of their letters they’d exchanged with plans for the
visit.  This one was rather innocuous – for once – muggle ballpoint pen.  The
three of them all held on and took a breath as Remus gave the password, feeling
the fish-hook set behind their navels and whisk them away from the hustle and
bustle of the magical departures area of the airport.
Each of them easily found their footing on the other side as they set down on
gleaming marble.
Sirius had made the portkey himself, allowing it to arrive inside the apartment
wards.
Frey’s first sight of his new temporary lodgings was of a painted black door
set in a glistening silver arch.
“Welcome to the Den.”  Sirius said with a jaunty grin as he opened the black
door wide with a tap of his wand.  “We hope you’ll enjoy it here, pup.”
“I’m sure I will.”  Frey gave them each a wide smile, allowing them to tow him
inside and show off their home.
It was a grand place, though clearly furnished by a pair of men that couldn’t
be arse to care too much.  All of the furnishings were comfortable but in the
same black leather with red rugs tossed hither and yon.  There was the
occasional framed photos – both wizarding and mundane – on the walls with a
loud Gryffindor banner hanging in a place of pride in the living room.
Remus made sure to warn him away from the warded, locked, and silenced room in
the far corner of the loft – it was Moony’s territory and he didn’t want to
risk any accidents.
Frey was tempted – highly tempted – to let them in on the secret of his
animagus form still being accessible from when he was a child despite the
blocks that had once controlled that ability of his but decided in the end
against it.
He just didn’t know them yet, for all that they were wound so deeply into his
history – both personal and familial.
His room had a desk, bookshelf, and a queen-sized bed with space for his trunk
at the end.  It’d been done in creams and light golds with only a Gyrffindor
comforter which he appreciated.  With his being sorted into their own school
house he was afraid they were going to try and make his room a copy of the
dorms with its screaming red-and-gold.  Not the best colors for a restful
room.  Remus had waved it off, saying it hadn’t been hard to convince Sirius to
keep the red-and-gold down to a dull roar after spending so much time around
grey.
Sirius could do with some restful rooms of his own.
The kitchen had a neglected air – they were clearly wizards who survived on
take-away and tea-and-toast.
Thankfully part of his own education growing up was cooking lessons with Heidi
so that he could always throw something together.  She’d been very insistent
that no charge of hers was going to starve.
“Who cleans this place?”  He asked after they’d sat down to a platter of take-
away scones and Remus’s excellent tea.  “A service?”  Frey just could see Siri
running a vacuum or gods-forbid dusting.
“Mmm.”  Remus shook his head in a negative.
“House elf.”  Sirius elaborated.  “Not my family one, the vile creature, but a
bonded one that takes care of the cleaning in the two penthouses.  There’s
three or four altogether that take care of the building.”
Frey just nodded thoughtfully and went back to his blueberry scone.  Remus had
almost snatched all of the chocolate ones off of the plate while Sirius favored
a cheddar-and-rosemary one.  It was one thing he missed when he was at Camp. 
The harpies simply didn’t have the same flair for tea and scones as he’d become
accustomed to when he was away at school or visiting friends from there.
“Third year in less than a month.”  Remus smiled proudly but somewhat sadly at
his cub.  He was such a bright, growing boy.  Prongs and Lilyflower would be so
chuffed over him.  “How were your results?”
Frey’s end-of-year marks had come via mundane mail on the first of the month
after he’d left his confinement with Aniki and his other trainers – though his
godfathers didn’t know about the last.  Thank the gods the scent of his recent
activities didn’t stand up against weapons training, running a fire-gauntlet
the Hephaestus campers had created, and several long soaks.  Eventually he’d
have to come clean about his de-virginized state…but hopefully they wouldn’t
try and give him “the Talk” any time soon if ever.
“Top of my year.”  He said without boasting, stating it matter-of-factly. 
“Same as last year.”
Sirius and Remus beamed at him proudly.
“You definitely got that from Lilyflower.”  Sirius barked a laugh after he
thought for a long moment.  “The only subject Prongs got top marks in was
Transfiguration.”
“Really?”  Frey cocked his head.  “What about the rest of your class?  I know
Professor Snape was tops in Potions.”
His godfathers almost chocked at the polite – even warm – way he mentioned
their former nemesis but didn’t say a word.  They’d figured the relationship
was at least cordial from the tones of Harry’s letters but it was a different
thing to hear it for themselves.  Remus was actually rather proud of Severus
for not taking out his animosity on Harry.  Merlin knows the wizard could hold
a grudge to the grave-and-back.
“Remy was tops in History and Herbology.”  Sirius finally answered. 
“Lilyflower in Charms and Runes.  I took tops in Astronomy and tied with Sni-
Snape,” he stuttered over the name.  “For Defense.  The other couple classes
went to a Ravenclaw bloke I can’t remember the name of.”
“Hutchings.”  Remus supplied after thinking a moment.  “Alek Hutchings.”
“Yeah.”  Sirius snapped his fingers as the name hit home.  “Him.”
“What electives did you decide on, cub?”
“Arithmancy and Runes.”  Frey smiled.  He wasn’t about to waste his time with
Divination or Muggle Studies – if he wanted to pad his OWLs and NEWTs later he
could always self-study for the test.  Frigga knew that his Far had him working
on magical theory beyond Hogwarts levels, studying for an exam on information
he mostly knew already wouldn’t be hard.  “I dithered over Care but decided
against it.  I can always do an independent-study course later if I really want
to take the OWL for it.”
“Strong classes.”  Remus agreed.  “What do you think about…”
And from there followed a very pleasant evening of chatter sprinkled with jokes
and mixed with Indian take-away.
…
Frey had been staying with his newly-coined “dogfathers” for a week, enjoying
games of wizard’s chess with Remus, exploding snap or gobstones with both of
them, and tag with Siri – as Padfoot of course.  There were many talks about
what Frey’s childhood was like, what his parents (will his mother and James
anyway) were like both at Hogwarts and beyond, and random wizarding and magical
topics that Frey had never had an audience for before.
His Far was great with magical theory - he is an Avatar of Magic after all –
but how Loki uses magic and how a wizard or Seidr uses magic were very, very
different.  And his other guardians had all done a great job with raising him
to be a well-rounded warrior.  But none of them were Lords of an Ancient and
Noble House like Sirius or raised by a Light-oriented pureblood family like the
Lupins.  There were things about wizarding society that Frey just wasn’t raised
knowing that his friends took for granted.
Draco and then his father Lucius had helped fill the gaps but they were
hindered in that they were decidedly Dark.  Dark magical families followed
different traditions and ritual than Light magical families.  And while the
Potters were more Grey than Light, it was still information he needed to know
to keep playing “Harry James Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World”
convincingly.  He was of an age to have been dedicated to a god if his
guardians had followed Wizarding tradition.  There were faux pas he wasn’t
going to get away with as a thirteen year old third year that he did as an
eleven year old firstyear.
He also learned that in some cases Wizarding children who followed the Olde
Ways could choose a secondary Patron in addition to the one they were sworn to
in infancy.
A ritual both of his dogfathers and his adoptive father James had gone through.
Frey had always wondered once he discovered Olde families gave over their
children to their Patron so young how Loki had come to be the Patron of the
Marauders.  The answer was in the ritual.  James as a Potter and Peverell was
given over to Thanatos, Sirius as a Black to Hades, and Remus as a Lupin to the
Roman goddess of War Bellona.  Apparently the Pettigrews were a “new” pureblood
wizarding family and didn’t hold with such “heathen” notions.
Which explained a lot.
Snape was the one who had explained the tradition to his mother Lily, his own
mother a pureblood from the Prince line who were in service to – shock of
shocks – Thanatos as well.
His mother had liked the Norse deities much more than the Greek or Roman – to
Loki’s whole-hearted approval – and was sworn to Frey’s now-adoptive-
grandmother Frigg or Frigga.
However this morning Sirius was in a truly foul mood in anticipation of an
onerous errand – today was the day a cursebreaker Siri had hired through
Gringotts was going to be doing a sweep through the Black townhouse on
Grimmauld Place.  The wizard in question – who it turns out was the idiot Ron’s
eldest brother – had hopped his family’s portkey back to Britain after his
superiors had delivered the request while his family were visiting him in the
curse-laden tombs of Egypt.  William – or Bill as he preferred – had already
completed his sweep of Black Manor, it being a family home it only had a minor
curse or two to deal with.
Now they had to meet him at the gloomy Grimmauld Place to let the wizard into
the wards.
Sirius was in a right-snit, he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to go there again until
after his godson’s visit.
Which is what brought them on a lovely August day in London to the darkened
doorway of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black – or so Sirius said his
mother had always called the townhouse.
His dogfather preferred to dub it a manky old pit and be done with it.
And once more, the door was painted black, though no door handle seemed to be
attached to the smooth surface, only disturbed by a snake’s head knocker.
Bill – a tall and lankily-muscled redhead worth more than a second look from
Frey’s appreciative gaze – apparated in to just outside the ward line of the
property and assessed them with a canny look in his delft blue eyes.
“Right then.”  Sirius heaved a sigh and visibly girded himself before walking
up the steps and planting his feet on the stoop.  With a stab of his wand at
the palm of his hand he drew blood without so much as a wince and put the now
reddened tip against the center of the ebony door.  “I am Sirius Orion Black
the Third, son of Orion and Walburga, the Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble
House of Black.  You will give me entry.”
With an audible snapthe offensive wards retreated, leaving only the still
rather impressive defensive wards in place as the door appeared to melt away,
revealing a long dark hall.
Wands out, Frey, Remus, and Bill followed Sirius into the depths of the House
of Black.
…
While the adults traversed the Black townhouse, Sirius pointing out problems
that he definitely wanted sorted and showing Bill the hidden cupboard that held
the heartstone of the wards, Frey kept himself occupied on the first floor.
He’d already made it very, very clear that his dogfather wasn’t allowed to
throw out any books or artifacts, no matter how hacked-off at his dead mum he
was.  They may be nastily cursed in many cases but they were still parts of
history.  And besides dealing with curses was what Bill was for.
They had a bit of a contretemps with the house elf, Kreacher, before Sirius
gave the foul thing a glove and ordered it forever away from those of Black
blood.
Walburga had heard the commotion and started shrieking from her portrait,
berating her only living son.
Frey walked over to the now-closed curtains that Siri and Remy had both
struggled to close, only succeeding in the end with help from Bill and himself,
cocking his head as he looked beyond the surface of the thing with his gift
from Thanatos.
Hmm.
That was interesting.
He’d never given Wizarding portraits too much attention, brushing them off as a
sort of oddity of magical culture and leaving it at that.  But if his sight was
right – and it tended to be – then this portrait at least was some kind of
strange mixture of a ghost’s soul anchor and Moldy-Voldy’s soul leeches.  Odd,
odd, odd.
Though it made his next action much simpler.
Pushing tendrils of his Death magic out from his aura he enveloped the painting
of the late Lady Black with his power and squeezed.
The curtains flew open as the painted Black choked out a gasp, eyes wild and
whirling in her frame.
“What…”  She gasped.  “What are you doing you foul little cretin?”
“Ending you.”  Frey said nonchalantly as if he was talking about making tea. 
“Now do me a favor and shut up.”
Mouth closing with a click at his command, the painted eyes of Walburga Black
seemed to bulge out from the frame as she made muffled sounds of protest.
To no avail.
With a final flex of his will he cut the ties of the portrait to the living
world, making the scene inanimate and causing the frame to break loose from the
wall and crash to the ground.
“What happened?”  Sirius demanded as he came crashing around the corner at a
dead run.
Frey smirked at the adult wizards as they all switched from staring at the
remains of the unlamented portrait to watching him in worry – and no small bit
of awe at his answer.
“I guess she really didn’t like what I had to say.”
…
The portrait no longer an issue and Kreacher dismissed, the adults went back to
their tedious trip through the house as they discussed the enormity of the job
ahead of Bill.
Now bored after his dealing with Walburga, Frey began inspecting the various
rooms on the main floor, making certain not to touch anything lest he die an
ignoble death.
Or at least, he did.
Up until he came across a display case in the dining room and lost his breath
with a gasp as his powers went wild.
There, laying innocently enough beside an ominous looking orb and a seemingly
innocuous music box, was a mithril locket with a snake curved in the shape of
an ‘S’ picked out in emeralds and diamonds.  More importantly it all but
screamed of dark, black, soul magics.  A horcrux.  One of Riddle’s Horcruxes
was just sitting in his dogfather’s dining room.
Rocking back on his heels he shook his head, for the first time giving Snape’s
insistence that Potters have liquid luck flowing through their veins credence. 
This was the second summer in a row that he’d just happened upon one of
Voldemort’s soul leeches.  Somehow it made him extremely wary.
This one felt…nastier, if such a thing was possible.
The diary was made when Riddle was still a teenager – a right foul little
cockroach but still a teen.  This one was older, quite a bit older if the vile
taint he could almost taste coating his mouth from just being near it was any
indicator.  Ick.  Eau du Moldy-Voldy was going to be hell to get out of his
system.
Though if he blocked it off from his magical senses, the locket itself was
rather nice.  It screamed of something his Far would appreciate.  Loki did like
snakes and was friends with Salazar after all.
Decided, Frey reached through the ether and pulled forcing a raw, untreated
silk cloth to pop into existence from its hidden spot inside his trunk, along
with the supplies he would need to take care of it.  There was no way he was
going to risk either leaving and having it disappear or trying to take it with
him.  He doesn’t want the thing’s taint near him any longer than absolutely
required.
Eyeing the room he spotted a wide, squat stone bowl that would serve admirably
as a brazier and tossed in the yew, cypress, nightshade, and sage that he’d
been given to use to cleanse a Horcrux and offer the soul leech up to
Thanatos.  Snapping his fingers he set them alight, glowing low, as he gingerly
wrapped the locket with the raw silk, taking great care not to touch the damned
thing.  Speaking in a bare whisper in Ancient Greek he offered up the soul
leech to the Harvest Lord, wincing when it gave off a high-pitched shriek. 
Remy and Siri would be storming in any second.
Reaching out he tossed in Loki’s favored herbs before giving the locket itself
to his Far.
And just in time.
The mystic fire had barely been snuffed and the bowl shown empty when he heard
feet pounding down the stairs.
Popping quickly from one end of the house to the other through the shadows,
Frey arranged himself nonchalantly sitting on the marble floor with his back
against the front door, a book he’d brought in with him open on his lap.
“What?”  He asked guilelessly.
…
“It is a handsome piece.”  Loki commented as he toyed with the locket now
hanging around his neck that night as he visited his son’s dreams.  “Thank you,
little prince.”
“My pleasure, Far.”  Frey smiled over at Loki’s lean form as they walked
together along the shores of the Black Lake.  This time his Far had popped in
on him while he was having a rather bland dream of skipping stones with Neville
and Draco with him, the two apparitions evaporating as the god took the scene
over.
“Two down.”  Loki noted, stroking one thumb down the emeralds on the front of
the necklace.  “How many more?”
“Three,” he said absently with a frown marring his handsome face.  “But there’s
something…”  He trailed off not being able to put it into words.  “I don’t
know.  Just something tells me it’s not going to be as easy as it has been or
as simple as finding three more trinkets.”
“You think the shade has noticed?”  Loki asked in concern.
Frey waved that off.  Thanatos had assured him that Voldemort’s soul was so
fractured that he’d never know unless he physically checked on each object that
he’d lost some.  He relayed as much to his father.
“Then what?”  Loki arched a brow.  He was a believer in instincts, especially
those that have been finely honed in both battle and studies.  Frey’s were
exceptional, a trait he’d gained from Lily.
“Something…else.”  Frey groaned, unable to verbalize it.  “There’s something
coming…I just don’t know when or what.  Destroying Voldemort might not be the
only reason I’m fate-touched.”
Loki growled at that reminder.  If it wasn’t for Thanatos’s strange attachment
to the Peverell line his son would even know be being beaten and down-trod in
the pursuit of the Greater Good because of one of Fate’s favored.  Knowing one
of those bints had played around with his son’s life string before Thanatos
blocked them was enough to make him want to unleash a whole new version of
damnation on the bitches.
“Meditate on it when you do your Occlumency exercises.”  Loki gave him what
advise he could.  “Perhaps as your powers grow you’ll gain a better
understanding of what is making your senses come on-point.”
Frey simply nodded and stared out into the night, bidding his Far adieu when
the god reached the end of the time he felt it wise to stay.
Something was coming.
All he could do was train, and watch, and lay in wait for whatever it might be.
…
In secret one day towards the end of summer as he was visiting Malfoy Manor and
Draco, Frey whispered in Dray’s ear and snuck off to the Malfoy’s sacred grove
to gather a piece of wood from their ash tree.  Ash was considered the living
representation of the World Tree, and considering the new art he had to keep
glamored at all times on his body, Frey thought it very fitting to use it to
fashion this year’s wand.
He shaped it with care, sanding it smooth and binding the core – basilisk
heartstring from his conquest – with the reverence to do such a mighty foe. 
When it was finished and ready, it was a richly gleaming ten-and-a-half inches,
pleasantly firm, and more powerful by far than its two predecessors.  He was
growing, settling into who he might be.
With a flick of his will he had an overpowered notice-me-not charm on the wand,
the same as he’d done the year before to keep both friend, foe, and strangers
from realizing his wand had changed once more.
Frey gave a fierce grin.
He was ready for Hogwarts.
And…
To hunt some monstrous spiders.
…
Draco snuggled up to his tall form on the train on September First.
Siri and Remy had sprung a surprise on him when he’d been getting ready that
morning.  Remus had accepted the job as DADA professor for that year with a
provision that he move to History of Magic teacher the year following. 
Hopefully by that time Sirius will have recovered enough to take over DADA.
So they were meeting him at the castle and were going to show him to their
quarters after the feast just in case he ever wanted to visit.  Frey was
pleased, he’d really enjoyed getting to know his dogfathers over the last few
weeks and was glad he wouldn’t have to rely on letters alone for the next nine
months.
Plus both Chiron and Sirius had signed his Hogsmeade slip so there was no way
he wasn’t going to be able to go.
No matter what fuss Dumbledore tries to raise over his guardianship this year.
Frey wound one arm around Draco’s smaller frame and sighed, looking down at his
best-friend with an arched brow.
“You know you’re going to give people the wrong idea about us.”  He chided
gently, words levied by the soft squeeze he gave slim shoulders.
“Don’t care.”  Draco muttered peeking up at him out of one silver eye, the
other firmly shut.  “Tired.  Napping.  And you make a grand pillow when you
shut it.”
Frey simply chuckled and let the silver-haired blonde rest his head back on his
chest.  One of their friends laughed at him from their spot on the opposite
bench.
“You had to know that was what he was going to say.”  Blaise got out between
guffaws.
Theo only nodded, not able to speak due to his own laughter.
“I know.”  Frey said softly so as not to wake his cling-on.  “But I had to try
anyway.”
“I thought you two came to an agreement about all of…”  Blaise waved his hand
between them.  “This.”
“They did.”  Theo supplied helpfully.  “But that’s not really going to stop
Draco from treating Harry like his own personal teddy bear.  He is a Malfoy
after all.  They invented the spoiled brat.”
“Shut it.”  Draco growled without opening his eyes.  “Sleeping you prats.”
See?  Theo mouthed, with a grand gesture of his arms.
The two of them devolved into silent giggles as Frey thunked his head back
against the compartment wall with a rueful grin.
It was good to be back.
Clingy Draco and all.
…
Third year was passing quickly by in a blur.
With the addition of two new classes – but no real need to hunt anything
besides a general dislike of massive spiders and a desire to keep his skills
sharp – Frey actually found his time pleasantly full.
Every weekend but Hogsmeade weekends he found himself venturing into the
Forbidden Forest and pruning back the acromantula colony – and a good thing he
did since it seemed they’d gotten dangerously close to the boundary of the
forest.  Slaying spiders was good for his reflexes – especially as he found
they tended to travel in fucking packs.  And offering them up to his Far and
Thanatos was good PR for him with the peeping-tom Asgardians.  Apparently quite
a few were jealous of his Far’s tributes he’d been gaining from it but couldn’t
do anything but seethe since it was assumed Frey like James had chosen Loki as
his personal Patron in addition to Thanatos as his family Patron.
It made things just a tad bit easier.
Though his Far did suggest gifting something to Frigga eventually to help
reinforce that parental connection with his tributes.
And Frey was amassing quite the collection of undyed acromantula silk from his
Far keeping half of the silk in tribute and giving the other half back as a
token.
Heidi would’ve had a field day with all that silk.
And time rolled on, bringing with it the end-of-year exams and the one mark of
supernatural intervention he’d faced all blissful, peaceful, year.
Fucking Seers.
…
IT WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT.
THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS
SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE
SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL
RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS.
TONIGHT... BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT... WILL SET OUT... TO REJOIN... HIS
MASTER...
Frey stared down at the transcript Neville had written for him of his exam
final – specifically the fit she went into as his quiet friend had risen to
leave.
Though why Neville had insisted on taking ruddy Divination was beyond him.
“What do you think, Harry?”  Nev asked after several long moments.  It was just
the two of them and Draco hanging out at their usual summer spot next to the
willow tree.
“Tralawney’s a fake.”  Draco brushed it off with a roll of his silver eyes. 
“Everyone knows that.”
“No,” Frey mused almost to himself as he studied the writing.  “She’s not.”
Both of his friends turned to face him so fast they almost got whiplash.
“What do you mean, Tralawney’s not a fraud?”  Draco said in his most snotty
voice.  “She’s a batty old witch who gets hopped up on sherry and incense night
after night.  Mother says she’s a disgrace to all true Seers.”
“A disgrace, perhaps.”  That one Frey could definitely see.  “But she’s no fake
even if she’s constantly pulling visions and prophecies out of her ass.  She’s
made at least one genuine prediction before in her life and this,” he held up
the parchment.  “Sounds like a second.”
“Well…”  Nev trailed off exchanging worried looks with Draco.  “Then what do we
do?”
Frey just shrugged and rose to his feet, dusting off his backside of grass
while he was at it.
“Nothing to do.”  He said bluntly.  “If it’s real, it’ll come true whether we
try and stop it or not.  If it’s fake there’s nothing to worry about.  But just
the same…”  He stared over at his silvery-blonde friend.  “You’d best give your
father a copy of this.  If Moldy-Voldy is going to try and rise again, your dad
needs to be ready for the backlash he’s going to face.”
Draco set his jaw as he felt the color melt away from his skin.  His father… 
His father had all but abandoned the Dark Lord, especially in light of his
friendship with Harry.  If Voldemort does rise again he’s going to be at the
top of maniac’s assassination list.
“Hey, hey.”  Frey enfolded his friend in a warm hug.  “It’ll be okay.  It’s not
like Riddle is going to find a new body tomorrow or anything.  We still have
time to make sure your family is safe, alright?”
“Right.”  Draco felt his hands spasm where they were clinging onto Harry’s
robes.  “We have time.  We’re smart.  We can make a plan.”
“That’s right.”  Frey’s green eyes were dark as he stared off into the distance
over Draco’s soft blonde hair.  “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.  Not
even a manky Dark Lord long past his expiration date.  That’s a promise.”
…
 
***** Fourteen: Cursed Apples Uncensored *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: This chapter contains censored portions on fanfiction and an
uncensored version available on Archive of Our Own.  It also covers a part of
the Percy Jackson canon that is referenced but never explained: Luke’s quest
for the golden apples.  I’ve always been of the opinion that this was where
Kronus got his hooks into Luke, or at the least contributed to his being open
to Kronus’s poisoned promises.  I hope you enjoy both this chapter after a
couple-month-wait and also my personal spin on more of Luke’s backstory.
Also if anyone is interested in a visual of Frey and Luke’s epic road-trip,
I’ve loaded a screenshot of the trip I traced out using Google Maps and its
handy-dandy distance measurement tool.  It came out to around 6700 miles round-
trip…yikes.  Good thing they’re besties or they would’ve ended upkillingeach
other by the time they were done…
                       Chapter Fourteen – Cursed Apples
Frey scritched Hedwig the way she liked when she shot him a betrayed glance
after he used his gift from Draco several years ago, a Golden Eagle named Ajax,
to carry his letters from New York to England.  This time it was a batch of
letters to his honorary Uncles as well as Draco.  Plans were in motion for him
to come and spend August in England splitting his time between going to the
World Cup matches with the Malfoys and his uncles and touring his properties he
hasn’t been to yet with Sev and Remus.  Siri wanted to come but wasn’t able to
promise good behavior around his other honorary uncle and had agreed with the
suggestion that he spend that time working on the Black estate and accounts
instead.
They were still a mess after all the time Siri has spent sorting them out.
The Black Estate was one of the largest single estates in the Wizarding World. 
Sirius had lost much of his power when he was sent to Azkaban including voting
abilities on the Lords Council and Wizengamot having to post proxies instead
regardless of his eventual clearing of his name.  The Black Lord held the title
in reserve now until he either had a blood heir or turned over the estate to
another of the Black Blood.
His godson would rather he have a child of his own blood, knowing full well
that the only person Siri would consider turning the estate over to was himself
and he had enough on his plate as far as the Wizarding World was concerned with
his own interests without adding the Black issue onto his shoulders.
“Go on, girl.”  He lifts his arm walking to the cabin doors and letting her
free to fly.  “I’ll be gone at least a week.  Annabeth and the other Athena
kids are really looking forward to taking care of you while I’m away.”
Hedwig shot him a superior look and gave a knowing hoot.  Of course they were
looking forward to taking care of her.  No one preened her feathers quite as
well as the Athenas though her boy came in close second.  She could go with him
but she was a wise enough owl to know that her boy and his friend wouldn’t
welcome a nosy familiar tagging along.
Younglings.
Fluttering her wings, Hedwig nipped his ear lightly then with a few powerful
thrusts of her snowy feathers she was off to hunt and then return to her
favorite roost in the Athena cabin.
With a flex of will, Frey summoned his enchanted bag that had everything he
could possibly think of to bring on the cross-country trip with Luke.
His best friend and sometimes-lover had been given a quest from his father
Hermes to sneak into the Garden of the Hesperides and steal one or more of the
legendary Golden Apples.  It was a common quest for male half-bloods not
because it was easy but because of the contrary: the only one to ever succeed
was Heracles.  Ever since Hermes had been giving the most promising of his
children the same task, trying to one-up his snotty younger now-immortal half-
brother.
Hermes was rather tolerant of his father’s affairs, he wasn’t one to be
hypocritical and as Hermes was only matched in decadence by the gods of love
and lust and his other brother Apollo, he didn’t judge his father Zeus by any
means for continually siring half-bloods married or not.
It’s when the old bastard rubs it in his mother’s face like with Heracles that
he takes issue with the randy idiot.
Hence his ongoing desire to have one of his own half-blood sons match
Heracles’s legend, at least in some regards – he didn’t want them to ever turn
into self-righteous ponces like Heracles did once he finally attained
immortality.
Luke wasn’t exactly rolling in funds and the Camp had a standard pack of a few
drachmas, some nectar and ambrosia that it sends with all questers – and
California was a long way away from New York when you were talking about a
sixteen and a nearly-fourteen-year-old pair.  And since it was Luke’s quest
Frey couldn’t just shadow-step them across the country.  They had to get there
the hard way.
Frey wasn’t exactly inconspicuous either with his latest growth spurt putting
him at a solid six-feet-tall and muscled.  He officially looked of-age with all
the time-bending he’d down over the years with Chiron, Thanatos, and his far
Loki.  In addition, being marked and claimed by his paternal grandfather had
activated at least some of his previously recessive Jotun traits.  Loki had
looked him up and down the day before after sneaking down to speak with him
while the other Asgardians were asleep since his painful magical growth spurt
had knocked him out and they weren’t expecting him to wake up anytime soon to
continue “entertaining” them.  His Far was convinced that the Apollo’s half-
blooded daughter Regina had been a little conservative in her prediction for
his eventual size.
There had been so many predictions made by the Apollo campers and then the
Norns when he fit the Asgardian radar that Frey had cajoled Loki into teaching
him Divining.
Not to be mistaken with Divination, Divining was often referred to as “throwing
bones” or “dicing with fate” as well as many, many other variations on that
theme.  It worked by infusing a set of Divining tools, be they stones, bones,
glazed tiles, carved wooden runes, etc., asking a question, rolling or tossing
the Divining tools onto a flat prepared surface, and then interpreting how they
fell in various ways.  It could be very simple or extremely complicated
depending on the practitioner, their power, and honestly, how good they are at
reading the “bones.”
Frey happened to be very, very good at it.
Regardless, he might not grow to be a genuine mass of a man-mountain like his
adoptive-uncle Thor, but Frey was going to be closer to the blonde thunder
god’s own near seven feet rather than Loki’s own six-two.  As a part-Jotun he
would be leaner and lither than the pure-Asgardian warrior but Loki was sure
Frey would be nearly a match for him.
Lucky for Frey because he and Luke were counting on his artificial maturity to
convince a car-rental agency to let them rent a convertible for their trip
cross-country – Frey contributing for the quest in a monetary fashion since his
magical abilities would be considered a “cheat” by the gods.
He could assist in all other ways…but using his powers either godling or
magical would be like sending up a massive red-flag of both his wizarding and
godling status – a warning he couldn’t afford while still vulnerable to harm.
There was still anywhere from a year to several years before he “froze” into
his peak physical condition and gained the ability to ascend.
Frey personally had no intention of ascending anytime soon.
Once he gained his immortality there really wasn’t a point unless he wanted to
upset the Asgardian apple-cart.
An upset he didn’t need while he still had Voldemort’s soul pieces to worry
about as well as the Dark Lord himself and Dumbledore’s machinations.
The second his Far got an inkling that Asgard was close to discovering his
heritage – and parentage – Loki was going to insist he ascend and accept his
place in the pantheon as well as his godly powers.  Something Frey wanted to
put off as long as possible.  There was still too much he wanted to do and
experience before becoming…whoever he would be as a fully-empowered god.
It scared him sometimes.  Thinking about how ascending might change him.  It
was an unspoken part of being a children of gods that no one ever talked
about.  Like a dirty little secret.
Half-bloods fought and died all for the possibility of gaining immortality.
Once upon a time Asgard even had a series of “tests” that a mortal could go
through in order to have some of the immortal apples Odin guarded.
None of them ever even thought about what that meant.
Gods were not the same as mortal men and women – even half-bloods or Wizarding
kind.
Maybe it was his close association with his Far that most half-bloods never got
due to the strict non-fraternization laws of Olympus.  Maybe it was that
Thanatos never pulled punches nor had he ever talked down or pandered to him
when he was younger.  Whatever the cause, Frey had a view of what awaited him
in the future that no half-blood hero ever received.
Mortals weren’t made to live forever.
They simply weren’t.
Their souls were but their minds and hearts and bodies were not.
And making an immortal from a mortal always had consequences to those minds and
hearts and bodies.
In some cases they gained a little more physical prowess or a wider perception.
Those were the lucky ones.
Others were not so lucky.
Heracles was an excellent example, his personality turning bitter and spiteful
upon finally gaining what he’d spent all his life seeking.
It was a truth that haunted his dreams and nightmares.  Frey feared what he
might become once he ascends to his godhead.  And he was determined to remain
separate from his godhead for as long as possible – mortality or immortality
aside.
One thing he did have going for him was that he was on Midgard which was
governed by the Greeks and Roman deities rather than Midgardr which was the
province of his Asgardian kin.
They could peek on him and even act – somewhat – but their powers were
curtailed so long as he remained within the domain of the Titan-born.
All these thoughts tumbled to a halt as Frey blinked, finding himself standing
beside the bonfire, his feet having guided him while his mind hurled itself
around and around.
“Lady Hestia.”  He bowed, acknowledging the goddess in her girl-child guise
that she often used at Camp Half-Blood.  A virgin goddess and once a member of
the Olympian Council, Hestia was the eldest daughter and first-born child of
the Titan Rhea – and was massively powerful because of it.  Few at Camp Half-
Blood ever spied her in her mortal trappings tending the fires, fewer still
recognizing her for a goddess, let alone one as powerful as a First-Born of a
First-Born.
He’d always thought Zeus was kinda an idiot for letting someone so powerful
leave the Council.
To some it might be seen as a way to curtail a portion of the goddess’s power.
Frey saw it differently.
By cutting Hestia loose from the Council, Zeus also lost a huge portion of the
oversight he had over one of his most powerful siblings – a dangerous situation
that Frey would never have allowed in his place.
“Young Frey.”  Hestia gave him a warm smile that wrapped around him like one of
Heidi’s hugs during his childhood.  Being in the presence of Hestia was always
like coming home.  “You are prepared for you quest?”
“Yes, Lady.”  Frey nodded, bowing once more as he backed away, turning for
Luke’s cabin.  “All is prepared.
“Beware, young Frey.”  Hestia’s eyes flashed with her inner fire for a brief
moment, her voice echoing in his ears as she melted away.  “More danger than
you know lies ahead.  Guard your heart and his carefully, lest they be
tainted.”
“Thank you for the warning, Lady Hestia.”  Frey responded, knowing she would
hear him despite her lack of physical presence.  “I shall take it to heart.”
“Frey!”  Luke’s shout reverberated across the Camp.  “Hurry up, slow poke!”
“Coming!”  The godling shouted back, falling quickly into a sprinting trot
towards the Hermes Cabin.
He would consider the goddess’s words again when he had more time.
…
“Frey!”  Luke shouted again as the now taller (but still younger, as Luke
intended to never let him forget) teen loped over with a smidge less predatory
grace than normal.  He gave a mental laugh.  The other teen hadn’t yet got a
total handle on his new height since his latest growth-spurt.
Honestly, he has no idea of what kind of bullshit he feeds the rich-kids at his
fancy-shmancy boarding school, let along the staff for how he’s shown up the
last three years looking way too old to actually be his actual age.
Either they were the most oblivious people on the planet or the most naïve…Luke
wasn’t sure which he would find more comforting considering that either
way…these were the people he and ‘Lena and Chiron and Heidi for the sake of the
Styx were all trusting with Frey’s health and well-being nine-months of the
year.
It doesn’t say much for the school that they just overlooked Frey’s frankly
freakish growth spurts.
And the “accidents” Frey had (Luke and Silena were well aware they were more
along the line of standard-issue near-death-hero-in-training-experiences)
didn’t exactly negate Luke’s bad opinion of Frey’s school.
But no matter how much he or ‘Lena or anyone bitched…Frey just kept on going
back.
For the love of theft and mischief, Luke couldn’t understand what-the-fuck-for-
or-why.
It made zero sense.
But then…
That was kinda par-for-the-course with his over-grown friend.
“Finally, man.”  Luke slapped the taller boy on the back as he fell in beside
him, the duo legging it towards the camp head-of-security Argus and the
strawberry-be-decked van that was their ride into Jersey for them to pick up
their rental car.  “I thought I was going to have to handle this shit without
my wing-man you were takin’ so long.”
“Nah.”  Frey gave a sparkling grin worthy of his least-favorite Professor ever
Gilderoy-famous-smile-Lockhart.  “Like you would’ve left without taking along
this much awesome.”
“Whatever,” Luke rolled his bright blue eyes.  “Prick.  You keep thinking
that.  Hope you won’t mind holding the bags while I throw down with a fucking
dragon, Freya.”  He jested.
“Not at all, Lucy.”  Frey shot back.  “Just like you won’t mind when I §sweet-
talk the apples from Ladon§”  He hissed in Parseltongue – the wizarding
designation for his partial ability with his Far’s Beast-Tongue.
Frey didn’t quite have the full-range of beast speaking abilities that Loki had
– at least not yet – but he definitely had snakes, serpents, dragons, and
reptiles of all shapes and sizes on lock.  He also could communicate – after a
fashion – with Hedwig and his other winged pets…though that might be more due
to their intelligence than any extra ability he possessed.  No matter how hard
he tried he couldn’t get Neville’s toad or Mrs. Norris to speak up…so he wasn’t
sure yet if it was only Parseltongue or if he was slowly developing other
beast-speaking dialects as he aged.
He shook his head as he and Luke pushed-shoved-kicked each other trying to get
the best seat in the van, Luke still shuddering a little from hearing his best-
friend hissing like that.
Luke hated it when he did that.
But he knew if he ever complained Frey would just do it even more often around
him, as had happened already with some of the Aphrodite campers.
Sometimes the normally easy-going teen could be perverse like that.
Those times were usually when Luke and Silena and anyone with sense ducked and
covered until it was over.
Collateral damage, thy name is Frey.
…
The counter-worker gave them a gimlet eye as Frey signed (forged…cough, cough)
all the necessary documents for the rental, including signing up for the
supplemental insurance since, ya know, he didn’t actually have car insurance as
a not-quite-fourteen-year-old.  His license and everything at least passed
without a second look, Frey having easily conjured them after Luke had done
some recon and let him know what he’d need to secure the rental.  They’d ended
up with a sweet little convertible coupe with an awesome V12 and way more
horsepower than was advisable in the hands of a pair of teenaged boys.
Meh.
If monsters couldn’t kill them it wasn’t likely their superior reflexes would
have them crashing and burning anytime soon.
They’d have to at least consider things like traffic laws since the Mist
wouldn’t keep them from getting pulled over by the highway patrol.
So there was that to comfort Silena whenever she thought about what “her boys”
were going to be up to without her supervision while she was on vacation with
her father.
Chocolatier conventions in Switzerland were hard for any teenaged girl to say
no to…even one that was a demigod…maybe especially one that was a demigod
considering it was her father’s fine chocolate making ability that drew the eye
of her Love Goddess mother in the first place…
Frey tooled them out of the parking lot and into New Jersey traffic, heading
for the Lincoln Tunnel and never more thankful than that very moment for the
driving lessons Heidi had subjected him to when he was deemed “old enough” by
Thanatos to master the skill.  Which was when he was all-of-eleven thanks to
the time-freezing Loki had used before he entered Hogwarts.
They’d planned one hell of a stretch for the first day, shooting for a whopping
thousand or so miles from the car rental agency to Lake of the Ozarks State
Park in central Missouri.  It would take them around fifteen or so hours to
make the trip in one haul, trading driving and navigation duties back and forth
between them…but it would be worth it when they can spend the next day lounging
around on a pair of beach chairs next to the water before starting their trip
back up.  As long as they didn’t stay in one place too long they should be able
to avoid most interference of the monster-kind.
And let’s face it…they were when it was all said and done, a pair of hormonal
teenaged boys cut loose to wreak havoc on the countryside.
Dawdling here-and-there and taking something other than the most-direct route
was rather tamecompared to what another pair of boys might get up to…
But then again…
It was Frey and Luke.
They would be lucky of the Garden of the Hesperides was still standing when
they were done let alone all the beaches and must-see places between Camp Half-
Blood and California…
…
The next morning, Frey woke up to a most…pleasurable sensation.
Throwing back his head in a gasping moan, one hand threw off the bunched up
blankets while the other quickly found the back of a golden head.
A golden head that was nestled firmly between Frey’s solidly muscled thighs,
wicked lips and tongue working away before pulling up and off of Frey’s
glistening iron hard cock with a lewd pop.
“Morning, sunshine.”  Luke cracked with a smug grin as he leaned down and took
one last long swipe of his tongue up Frey’s impressive arousal.  The other had
certainly enjoyed a growth spurt in every way since the last time they enjoyed
each other before Silena left for her trip.
To be honest, Luke had been a little…apprehensive about approaching Frey
without ‘Lena with him.  He liked boys and girls equally but something about
Frey had always revved his engine.  Almost as much as ‘Lena herself…and Luke
could admit in the privacy of his own mind that he was stupid in love with that
girl.  Which happened to be the main reason behind his hesitance in getting
dirty with Frey one-on-one.  He didn’t want to lose ‘Lena because he couldn’t
keep his hands off of Frey’s admittedly luscious ass.
He didn’t want to lose ‘Lena full-stop.
Frey answered Luke with a sub-vocal growl, wrapping strong hands around the
smirking blonde’s biceps and flipping him, reversing their positions in an
effortless show of his more-than-human strength.  Pinning the blonde to the
bed, Frey settled himself snugly into the cradle of his sometime-lover’s hips,
smiling smugly when bright blue eyes widened in shock.  Leaning down, Frey
nipped lightly at Luke’s throat as the blonde arched back with a gasp as Frey’s
frotting against him sent waves of pleasure spiking up and down his body.
“Do you trust me?”  Frey asked, staring down into pleasure-dazed eyes.
“Wha-what?”  Luke gasped, blinking his eyes as he tried to think.  But then
Frey lowered his head once more, lush mouth hovering a bare fraction of an inch
from the shell of his ear, his warm moist breath igniting one of his more
sensitivezones.  Thinking about anything other than getting off was far too
much to be asking of him when Frey was looking down at him like that, then
teasing the shell of his ear just right, and keeping up the maddeningly slow
drag of cock against cock, weeping tips just barely kissing before being ripped
back away with a tease of his hips.
“Do,” a kiss to his ear.
“You,” a teasing lick to his neck.
“Trust,” a quick, stinging bite of pearly teeth to his collar bone.
“Me?”
A flick of his wrists had him free and digging his hands into Frey’s luscious
ebony mane, the long locks having been teased free by Luke’s nimble fingers as
he watched his friend-lover sleep before getting the bright idea to wake him in
the method smiled upon by males everywhere.
Tugging lightly until bright, heated green eyes stared up at him, Luke gave a
crooked grin and a dip of his chin, having worked out what Frey was
asking…without lowering himself to asking.
Both of them knew when Silena left with her father rather than go on this quest
with them that she was giving them – well Luke – her tacit approval to get each
other out of their systems.  Silena wanted – as any self-respecting daughter of
Aphrodite would – to be the sole focus of her lover’s desire.  Frey was happy
for them, glad that they’d found each other so early – especially since half-
bloods don’t usually have very long lifespans.  She gave them this time
together – to be together – knowing that once they returned Frey would never be
returning to the bed of either of his friends.
They were about to begin a journey that he for once wasn’t invited on.
But before it began, there was one more journey that he was permitted to take
with Luke.  And it was one he would like to fully explore.
Including the one arena that Luke had never before permitted him to explore,
though Frey was no virgin at this particular act thanks to his oh-so-thorough
“tutors.”
Frey knelt between his legs and lifted them, pushing them up and wide, splaying
his ass open so his pink hole lay before him.  Frey sent out a quick wave of
magic, using a spell to clean his friend, then leaned in and licked it causing
Luke to let out a moan.  Frey licked, nibbled, and kissed his ass until his
hole began to open for his tongue to probe it.

"Oh, my god," Luke moaned over and over.  It was an act Luke had never
experienced before – and one that he’d certainly never performed for Frey.  He
sent up a quick prayer of thanks to Frey’s tutors before losing himself
completely in the pleasure.

Luke was mewling like a kitten as Frey fucked him with his tongue, his cock
laying against his stomach leaking so much that an absent thought wondered if
might have ejaculated already before Luke called his attention away from the
musky heat under his lips and tongue.

"Put your cock in me, Frey," he whimpered.  “I’m ready, please.”

His blue eyes still burned into green as Frey quickly cast a spell protecting
them followed by a second which had lube appearing into the spasming pink
opening.  Frey lifted his legs onto his own strong shoulders as he knelt
between them and slowly pushed his cock into Luke’s hot, wet hole.  Luke gasped
at the new sensation of being so very full grabbing Frey’s taut arms and
squeezing hard enough to bruise.

"Too much?" Frey whispered, drawing back until only the head of his rock-hard
cock remained inside his lover.

Luke shook his head no, pinching his eyes shut and taking deep breaths.

"Take it slow."

Frey pushed gradually until over half of his erection was inside of Luke,
pausing a moment to give him time to adjust when Luke suddenly pushed his body
against Frey’s, impaling himself onto his cock.  He shuddered and cried out,
Frey immediately starting to withdraw and Luke pulled him back into his heated
passage.

"Fuck me hard," he ordered hoarsely, hot blue eyes burning up into Frey,
demanding his all.  Luke wasn’t a delicate desert flower.  He could take it. 
He would take it.
They only had one last adventure together before Silena claimed him, he
wouldn’t waste it by letting Frey be overly chivalrous.

Reading all of that in his lover’s eyes, Frey pulled back once more to his
opening and then slammed back into him, giving him the hard fuck Luke demanded
from him.  Luke’s fingers dug into a sweat-slicked back as he began to rock
with his lover’s motion.  Frey fucked him hard until suddenly he arched his
back and pearly ropes of semen exploded from his cock onto his chest, his face,
and the floor.

Luke's sphincter squeezed Frey’s cock harder with each shot until he was past
the point of no return.  Frey quickly slammed home, once, twice, thrice, all
the while looking into those shining blue eyes before feeling the hot heat
enveloping him push him over the edge, emptying himself into his willing
vessel.

Luke reached up and pulled Frey down beside him once he’d finished, nestling
his younger lover into his arms as Frey shot an absent cleaning spell at the
rapidly-cooling semen coating him.
After several long moments, Frey looked down into sleep blue eyes.
“I’m going to miss you.”  He admitted, nibbling at his plush, kiss-bruised
lips.  “Going to miss being like this with you.”
The son of Hermes didn’t say a word.  He didn’t have to, his eyes saying it all
for him.  Friends and lovers, yes: but as always, being friends came first. 
And as much as they loved each other – and they did, it wasn’t the kind of love
that life partners shared.  They were friends and comrades, and brothers-in-
arms.  Just with a little extra between them.
Just before Frey dropped off to sleep, naked skin cooling, Luke suddenly
guffawed.
“What?”  Frey cracked open a cranky-green eye to glare over at his bedmate.
Luke gave him a lascivious leer.
“This trip just got a lot more interesting…wouldn’t you say?”
…
The two teens high-tailed it out of Missouri the next morning, leery of staying
too long in one place and having their monster-draw kick in before they even
reached California.  That didn’t, however, stop them from taking a circuitous
route, hitting National and State Parks from the Crazy Horse Memorial to Old
Faithful in Yellowstone to the awe-inspiring glaciers in, heh, Glacier National
Park.  They cut straight across Idaho without pause, shooting for Highway 101
and the scenic byway that would lead through the Redwoods and down into
California.
It was while they were within a couple hours of the famous highway, intending
to take the ferry across Puget Sound and see the mortal worlds’ version of
Mount Olympus at Olympic National Park that Frey first felt it, that tingling
of wrongness that always warned him danger.
“What is it?”  Luke asked, concerned.
Frey of the two of them had a much better developed sense of when monsters and
other dangers were near.  Luke had asked Chiron about it once, wondering if
Frey’s godly parent was actually Apollo for how closely his friend’s intuition
seemed to border on precognitive.  The ancient centaur had shaken his head,
dispelling his idea, telling him instead that it was likely due to Frey’s close
relationship with Thanatos and therefor the darker realms of magic and
immortals that gave Frey his ability.
Chiron was partly right at least, a large part of Frey’s ability being from his
connection to Thanatos, yes, but also from having his Far being an Avatar of
Magic and a god of Chaos giving him an instinct about things and events which
were ripe with either – such as monsters.
Luke turned his head to follow where Frey seemed to be staring off at the view
of the two closest peaks of the Cascades that they could see from the ferry.
“I don’t know.”  Frey answered slowly after several moments before closing his
eyes with a wince and shaking his head.  “Promise me something?”
“Sure, Frey, anything.”
“Let’s take the southern roads: Route 66, hit Joshua Tree, etc., on the way
back.”  Frey turned resolutely away from the mountains rolling his shoulders in
an attempt to shake off the twitchy feeling he’s been dealing with for several
hours – even since coming into view of those damned mountains.  “I don’t want
to be anywhere near this mountain range…everever again.”
Luke blinked.  Even for Frey who was nowhere near normal for a demigod, that
was weird.  But then…he’d never been proven wrong before.
“Sure, dude.”  Luke gave him one of his movie-star handsome smiles, throwing an
arms around his shoulders and giving him a joking kiss to the side of his
head.  “Anything.”
…
The irritating feeling didn’t go away until they hit the pacific coast, only to
re-emerge the next morning after they stopped for the night in Seaside, Oregon,
coming back and hitting Frey hard as they entered the Redwoods and crossed into
California.
Turning over the wheel to Luke, Frey fought to center himself, pressing hard on
his grandfather’s sigil in an effort to shove down his godling nature in favor
of his latent Jotun abilities.
Say what you like about Frost Giants but there was little they had cause to
fear or be wary of, an attitude Frey desperately needed to lock onto or he
could kiss sleeping without aid of a potion goodbye until they finished the
quest and got away from whatever was giving him the mother of all migraines.
Luke’s own mood had darkened as he watched his friend and lover’s normal
unflappable nature deteriorate.
Once Frey had gotten more accustomed to the sensations, pushing them back until
they were no more than an irritating buzz in the background, he opened his eyes
and glanced at the road atlas they’d been using for the trip, commenting:
“It must be Mount Othrys.”  He said absently as he traced the interconnected
mountain chains, thinking on what he knew about the western coast of the U.S.
from his Far’s and Heidi’s teaching.
“The Titan stronghold?”  Luke frowned, glancing over a quick moment before
turning his attention back to the beautiful – but dangerous – highway the
convertible was traveling.  “I thought it was destroyed in the takeover?”
Frey shook his head, calling up everything he knew about the changing of the
guard – so to speak – of the Greek factions.
“The Greeks are very cyclical.”  He said, running one hand through his loose
ebony mane.  “And annoyingly hard to destroy.  Mount Othrys was sundered when
the Titan Lord was defeated but Atlas remained behind in the wreckage – holding
up the sky.  According to what I’ve been taught, Mouth Othrys is Mount
Tamalpais in the “new world” – at the base of which is the Garden, the golden
apples, and Ladon.”
“Makes sense.”  Luke said with a hum.  “Since the Hesperides are Atlas’s
daughters.”
“Mmm.”  Frey nodded, thinking hard.  “The West Coast has two major fault lines
that nearly connect: the notorious San Andreas and one that’s supposed to be
even worse for all that it’s less famous: The Cascadia Subduction Zone.  Mount
Tam itself is part of the Northern Cali coastal ranges which meet up with the
Sierra Nevada range in the north end of the state’s great central valley…”
“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Frey?”
Frey looked up, eyes grim.
“Outside of the opening to the Underworld in L.A.,” he said.  “There’s zero
presence of Olympus on this side of the country.  None.”  His voice was hard. 
“If I was say,” he rolled his eyes.  “A pissed off older brother who got
shafted in a rigged dice game or an extremely pissed off former king, this is
where I would have my people located.”
Hands flexed, knuckles turning white, as Luke turned that around in his head. 
Greece, back when Europe was where civilization was thriving, had been far too
small for anything like what Frey was suggesting.  And if there was one thing
the States had in abundance it was size.  But still…
“What,” Luke joked a little.  “Do you want to go poke at the Titan in his cage
or something?  While we’re in the neighborhood?”
“Pass.”  Frey punched Luke lightly in the shoulder.  “You twit.  But still…” 
He trailed off a moment, staring out at the beautiful blue Pacific Ocean,
gleaming like a jewel under the California sun.  “We need to be very, very
careful.  I don’t want anything to happen to you because we were outnumbered
and cocky.”
“I hear ya, Frey.”  Luke took one hand off the wheel to ruffle his friend’s
hair.  “I hear ya.”
No.  Frey thought to himself, worry ruling his heart.  I don’t quite think you
do…
…
“Then I don’t understand why you’re doing this!”  Frey cried out, running
frustrated hands through his hair and falling back, still naked from the night
before, onto the silk sheets on the massive king-sized bed Frey’s money had
paid for during their stay in San Francisco.  “Why would you even bring me
along if you won’t let me help?”
Luke continued to pack, robe falling down along one shoulder, making sure he
had everything he would need for his clandestine adventure into the Garden. 
Frey hadn’t stopped badgering him for a moment since they’d woken up and Luke
made his announcement that he would be going alone to the garden at the base of
Mount Tam.  He’d brushed it off that he was thinking of Frey, that Frey’s
reaction to being on the West Coast made him vulnerable…but he knew in his
heart that it was more than that.  Moreover…Frey knew it too.
“Just tell me why, Luke.”  Frey’s voice had turned from demanding to
heartbreakingly sad, face turned away from the lithe figure beside the bed. 
“Why would you come on this quest, risk your ass, all for a dumb apple?” 
Especially when they both knew Luke didn’t have anything to prove to either
himself or Silena.  Which only left…
“Because I will not be ignored.”
Luke leaned over, looming over his lover as Frey reclined on the bed.  His blue
eyes glowed like iced diamonds.  They were mesmerizing but so very cold.  Frey
found himself falling into them.  
“You’re not being ignored, Luke. I know you’re here,” Frey whispered.
There was the slightest softening in the demigod’s eyes, but then that
disappeared and Frey was not sure that he really saw the emotion or not.
“Then will you?” Luke asked.  “Stay here for me?”  Love me one more time, he
asked silently, too proud to say it out loud.  Just in case…I don’t make it
back from this.
“You promise that if I do that you’ll come back if you need my help?”  Frey
demanded, trying to force him to come back alive and well through sheer force
of will.
Luke ran a hand through Frey’s hair, smoothing it back from his forehead with
an almost tenderness.  Frey’s skin prickled in pleasure and alarm.  It really
was like walking the edge of the blade when one of Luke’s moods overtook him. 
More power to ‘Lena for wanting to live with the moody prat forever. 
“I promise.”  The demigod said, crooked smile flashing over his face.
“How much is the promise of a trickster and a thief worth?” Frey asked, half-
joking.
“Does it matter?  If I’m lying, then you won’t have to worry about it after
today…one way or another.”
Frey suddenly grabbed one of his lover’s hands.  He hadn’t realized he’d done
it.  Luke went very still and the whispering started.  
“No,” Frey said, his voice quiet, the whispers saturating the air around them
as his green eyes flashed the color of the Killing Curse though he couldn’t see
it. He knew that Luke heard them. He knew the demigod knew what they were.
“Or you will bring the shadows down on me?” Luke didn’t seem particularly
afraid exactly.  There was more a challenging light in his eyes.
“Yes,” Frey said then added, “And I am certain that you cannot keep yourself
safe from them forever…they’ll hunt you down one way or another.”
Luke trailed a finger along his jaw. He looked pleased. He nodded and said, “I
promise.”
“Then let’s do this.  Show me something.”  The last was a challenge. Frey knew
it. Luke knew it and his friend laughed.
“You keep surprising me, Frey. I think I understand what your Draco sees in
you, wanting you for himself alone.” Luke murmured.
Frey pulled the tie of Luke’s robe loose.  It cascaded off the bed as if the
tie had somehow been holding it where it was and then, like a kite, it was
blown away.  Now they were both naked.  
The early morning sun illuminated Luke’s skin, making him glow golden in the
bedroom of the hotel suite.
And then Luke was kissing him. Those lips, teeth and tongue teased his lips
open and then it was like he was consumed by the other teen.  It tasted
like…goodbye.  The hot slide of tongues, the slightly painful rasp of teeth and
the press of lips over his was all consuming.  Luke undulated his body on top
of Frey’s.  Their cocks lined up together and rubbed along each other.  Frey
moaned and his cock throbbed.  
Luke slid one hand all the way down to Frey’s stomach. His muscles jumped in
reaction to that light trail of fingers and suddenly a large sword-callused
hand was gripping Frey’s cock.  Frey gasped and arched his back as Luke kissed
and stroked him.  Almost immediately his balls drew tight to his body.  The
swordsman’s thumb parted his slit, smoothing the slick precum over the hard
knob.  He used such perfect pressure from his experiences with Frey to slide up
and slip down his length that Frey’s hips were rising and falling.  He wanted
the other boy to remember this forever…and beyond if Luke didn’t make it back.
 Luke rode his movements with liquid grace.  He didn’t miss a step. He
continued to twist his wrist just as he reached the tip of Frey’s cock.  Heat
built between Frey’s legs.  His cock was just a molten rod in Luke’s hands.
 His cock surged up and his balls tingled.  He was going to cum.
Between kisses, licks and nips, Frey got out, “Lu-Luke, I’m going to -- Merlin!
If you keep doing that -- I’m going to cum!”
“You act as if that’s a bad thing,” his friend chuckled.
“But -- but we’re not -- not done,” Frey gasped. His whole body arched like a
bow.
“We’re not done by a long way.”  Luke was rolling his balls now as he stroked
him.  The demigod nibbled on Frey’s lower lip.  His mouth kissed along Frey’s
jaw and moved around to his ear. He nipped the lobe of Frey’s ear and
whispered, “Cum, Frey. I want you to cum.”
The words tipped him over. He was cumming.  His body shook.  His semen painted
the air and fell onto his belly.  Luke stroked him throughout, milking the last
bit of cum out of him then the more experienced teen moved down his body and
licked the head of Frey’s cock clean of semen, hedonistic in his frantic mood.
Frey’s penis trembled and he let out a half-pained cry. His cock was too
sensitive to be touched now.  Frey reached down and fisted his hands in Luke’s
hair, holding him back.
“S-stop, p-please,” Frey begged. “Hurts. Sensitive.”
Luke kissed the tip and then rested his chin on Frey’s left thigh.  “Do you
know that you blush all the way down to your belly button when you cum?”
Frey’s eyes were half closed and his body was singing with endorphins.  “Do I?
 Never saw myself cum.”
“Your tutors ever told you?  It’s quite … sweet,” Luke said and kissed Frey’s
inner thigh even as he coated his fingers in Frey’s cooling cum.
Before Frey could respond, Luke was moving. He was pushing Frey’s legs apart as
he was folding them against the young man’s chest.  
“Hold yourself open for me,” the crazed thief said.
Frey’s muscles felt like jello, but he grasped each leg in a hand and held them
against his chest and spread far apart. The cool air circulated around his ass.
His anus felt so exposed.  He felt so exposed.  It had never been like this
before with Luke, and especially not with his tutors.  There was always a sense
of separation.  Now with the candlelight shining on him, exposing everything of
him to Luke and everything of Luke to him, it felt as intimate as he feared and
had always wanted it to feel.
And this was going to be one of – if not the very last – times together.  
Luke dragged his fingers through the cum on his stomach again and Frey realized
he would likely be using that as lubricant.  His stomach trembled and he was
shocked that his cock already started to strain to harden again. He whined
softly.
“There’s no need to beg yet, Frey. I’ll be inside you very soon.”
His fingers were suddenly circling Frey’s anus. The semen felt cool and slick.
 Luke’s fingertips pushed lightly against his pucker. Frey let out a short gasp
and he rolled further up to expose himself more.  Luke leaned down and his
breath puffed against his opening, in a mirror of Frey’s own actions mere days
before.  
“Lick me,” Frey nearly begged.
Luke peered up at him from between his legs. “Lick me what?”
“Lick me please,” Frey did beg this time.
“Of course.  You smell earthy and sweet.  I didn’t expect that.” Luke admitted.
Then his mouth was on Frey’s ass and the godling let out a sound that he didn’t
know he was capable of. Only one man had done this to him and it had been for
awhile, but it still hadn’t been like this.  Luke pulled his anus farther open
with his thumbs and his tongue dipped inside.  Frey’s legs trembled and heat
bloomed inside of him. Molten. Quivering.  
Luke’s tongue thrust inside, touching his silken insides beyond the tight
muscle.  Frey nearly bucked.  His cock was already hot and hard against his
stomach.  He’d never gotten so hard so fast again.  He yearningly moved his
hips and he was rewarded with another thrust of that tongue deep inside of him.
 Luke licked the interior of his ass and he clenched down on that tongue.  His
lover kissed his anus and Frey released him.
“Mmmmmm, Frey, I cannot wait to have you clench down onto my cock that same
way,” Luke said. His eyes were burning blue now, glowing in the twilight dawn.
 
His slicked fingers sank inside of Frey then.  Two of them at once. There was a
burn, but it was a goodburn.  Luke pushed them in until they were up to his
knuckles. He pulled them out, spreading them as he did so.  His tongue snaked
inside Frey again between the fingers, fluttering inside of Frey, licking him,
wetting him, slicking him. He thrashed but Luke gripped his hips and held him
still as his tongue thrust in and out and then those fingers were probing him,
dragging out of him, pushing into him, spreading him until he was just a mass
of sensation.
Luke drew back. He was poised above Frey like some kind of Greek god of ancient
times.  His beautiful face, masculine yet with a sharpness that was so
compelling, shone with victory and that was the only warning before his cock
thrust right into Frey.  
Frey took in a sharp gasp and arched, raising his hips higher and clutching his
legs to his chest.  He was prepared, and used to being filled after nearly a
week of sex every night both giving and receiving, but Luke was large, larger
than two fingers and a tongue, and his breath froze in his throat as the burn
of being filled to the max flowed over him.  
He thrust in and pulled out before thrusting fully back in again. Then he was
lifting Frey up so that the other teen’s legs were forced to wrap around the
demigod’s trim waist and Frey’s ass was snug against Luke’s thighs.  That had
the effect of piercing Frey far deeper with his cock.  Frey’s hands raked
Luke’s back as he tried to breathe around the fullness.  
“God, it feels like your cock is in my throat,” Frey managed to get out.  
And it did. It was like he was speared to the very core.  If he tried to
actually draw his body off of Luke’s cock, he had feeling he wouldn’t be able
to do it.  The tender tissues of his ass were clinging to the thief’s pulsing
penis.  Waves of pleasure alternating with pain raced through him.  The pain
stopped him from cumming. He actually saw black dots in front of his vision. He
wasn’t ready to be fucked like this, but Luke didn’t care.
“Soon, I will be in your head,” Luke murmured.  “You’ll never forget me, not
until you meet that perfect match of yours your Divining has warned you of.  It
won’t matter if it’s a thousand years from now when you meet them or tomorrow:
you’ll never forget me…I’ll make certain of it.”
He fastened his hands on Frey’s waist and lifted the godling up and then set
him down again. The feeling of being parted,of that slide of cock and interior
walls of his body.  So deep.  So hard.  So good. His ass burned. His body
trilled.
“Let go, Frey,” His thief urged.  His eyes were the color of hottest flame now.
 So beautiful. So inhuman.  What had Luke seen that his eyes could look like
that?  What had him so frantic and crazed?  “Let go.”
Frey felt like he was truly standing on a knife’s edge or more like a knife’s
point. Any way he went meant falling.  It meant pain, because no way was safe.
 But it also could lead to intense pleasure.
Frey suddenly wound his arms around Luke’s neck and he was kissing his lover.
 His buttocks clenched around Luke’s cock and he bore down as hard as he could.
 He was so large. He felt split open.  But he wanted to keep the thief deep
inside.  Then he began to rock, drawing himself up and down on that stiff rod.
 He was going to enjoy every second of this.  He would control the rhythm and
depth. He would determine when he came.
Luke bit his jaw.  Hard. Harder on the throat.  It hurt and felt good. Frey
raked his fingers down the other’s back. He may have drawn blood.  They
suddenly were falling off the bed and onto the floor with Luke on the ground
and Frey on top of him. He thrust his hands on top of the swordsman’s shoulders
as he tried to fuck himself on Luke’s magnificent cock.  Luke grinned and
suddenly Frey was on his back, legs in the air, and the hedonistic teen was
pumping into him with machine-like repetition.  Deep. Hard.  Deliberate.  His
cockhead ran over that magic bump inside of him and had ever thrust sending him
into the stratosphere.  
Luke manhandled Frey onto his side, drawing one of the young man’s legs up
against his chest.  Frey scrabbled against the carpet as this position allowed
Luke to plunge into his interior from a totally different angle. Luke ground
inside of him, then cupped his balls and squeezed them.  Frey let out a whine.
“You were going to cum and you don’t get to have a second time before I get my
first.”  Luke demanded into his ear.  His friend sounded completely different
than the placid, easy-going persona that he put on at the Camp. He was raw and
needy. His blue eyes were now more fire than ice. His irises had nearly
swallowed up all the color.  
“Fuck me, fuck me, gods, fuck me!” Frey cried out, babbling, but needing to
talk as the pleasure was building inside of him like a tidal wave that
threatened to drown him.
Luke rolled Frey onto his hands and knees.  Frey stuck his ass further up into
the air and spread his thighs to give the sorcerer more access and he took
advantage of it.  The thrusts into his were short and sharp now.  Luke was
breathing hard.  Both of them were slick with sweat.  Despite the painful press
of the hardwood floor beneath his knees, Frey didn’t care. The pounding he was
receiving felt too damned good.  He reached back and Luke’s hands braided with
his. It rough.  It was almost tender.  It really was a goodbye. Then Luke
thrust inside one final time.  Frey was nearly pressed flat to the floor by the
force of it. His cock jerked just as Luke’s did inside of him.  
Frey turned his head and Luke kissed him before erupting.  Hot spurts of cream
coated his insides.  Frey felt it pouring into him, filling him, marking him.
 He shook with it, glad for a brief moment that he always cast protective
spells for all manner of things – including male pregnancy - and then he was
cumming, too.  They kissed as if both would die if they didn’t. 
All too soon, both of them were spent.  Luke rested lightly against his back.
 Sweat plastered them together.  The demigod continued to kiss him almost
dreamily and then to lick the perspiration off his shoulders and back. Frey
shivered in pleasure even as his cock hurt at the very thought of getting hard
again.
“You better come back.”  Frey turned his head and pinned Luke with a fierce
glare as the other pulled out of him before moving towards the bathroom to
clean up before leaving for the Garden.  Luke paused one hand on the door jamb
as he watched his long-time friend and some-times lover come slowly to his feet
and move towards him with the predatory grace that was all Frey.  “You hear me,
Luke?”  Frey demanded, reaching out as he made it over to his friend and
grabbing him by the jaw.  “You come back.  To me and to Silena.  I don’t care
if you fall flat on your face or make off with all the damned Golden Apple in
the Garden.  If you make it without a scratch or are mortally wounded.  You
have a portkey I made for you that will bring you to my side.  You damn well
better come back.”
Luke gave a broken laugh, leaning forward and resting his forehead against the
sweat slicked one of his friend.
“I promise.”  He said, this time with meaning.  “I’ll come back…no matter what
happens in the Garden of Hesperides, I’ll always be your friend and ‘Lena’s
Luke.”
“You better.”  Frey said in a whisper.  “Or I’ll sic Thanatos on your ghostly
arse.”
…
“Fuck!”  Luke dodged around the tree filled with ripe and glowing golden apples
away from the roaring form of Ladon, the apple’s dragon guardian.
He’d known he’d made a mistake in insisting Frey stay behind as soon as he’d
stepped foot inside the legendary Garden but there wasn’t much he could do
about it at this point.  Ladon would be on high-alert after this even if he did
escape empty-handed, making going back for his best friend a pointless
endeavor.  His pride had gotten him into this now he would have to get himself
back out of it.
Well…
Pride and worry.
Frey hadn’t been himself ever since they’d hit central Washington.  He’d gotten
a reprieve through most of Oregon, but then his wariness and high-alert state
had come back with a vengeance when they got to Cali.  Whatever it was that was
bothering the other teen, it most definitely wasn’t natural by any means.
And Luke didn’t want to risk pitting Frey up against Ladon of all monsters when
he wasn’t feeling quite up-to-snuff.
He’d always been a little in awe of the younger half-blood, even more so when
they became friends after losing his first friend to a damn hell hound.  When
he was in fighting-form, there was little that could best Frey.  And that was
the problem and the reason he was here without back up.  Frey wasn’t in
fighting-form, despite his protests otherwise.
Which left just Luke to take on one of the fiercest creatures in any pantheon.
Yay.
As he dodged another swipe from the dragon’s vicious claws, Luke began to
wonder if he was going to be able to keep that promise to Frey after all…
Bellowing in pain as his dodge left him a little short and Ladon caught him,
tearing a vicious gash down his face, Luke leapt narrowing missing a low-lying
fruit as his portkey, spelled to bringing him back if he sustained a mortal
injury, whisked him away from the Garden of the Hesperides, failure tasting
like ash in his mouth as his fingers just barely brushed against the cursed
golden skin of the Apples of Immortality.
…
Silena watched the arch that led into Camp Half-Blood anxiously, worried for
both of “her boys.”
Frey had called her from a road-side pay phone outside of Phoenix when they’d
started making their way back to New York after leaving California behind. 
He’d told her something had happened, that Luke wasn’t in a good way, and to
get her “peachy-sweet behind back to Camp” to support her boyfriend.  She’d
been kinda relieved honestly that he’d called her.
She hadn’t been sure how the younger teen would take the two of them diving
into exclusivity – or the possibility of it anyway.
That Frey had called for her told her that Luke had talked to Frey – and more
importantly gotten the extremely handsome hero out of his system enough that he
was able to commit to her despite his all-too-real feelings for their friend.
It was her Frey thought Luke needed now.
And that was all she needed to know about what happened between California and
back again.
When she saw the two figures, golden and ebony hairs, making their weary way
through the arch she let out a cry at the sight of a livid gash on Luke’s cheek
that she could see all the way from the top of the hill.
Bad that told her.
Whatever had happened…it had been bad.
Rushing down the hill, she lightly brushed her hand over the mark after giving
her lover a resounding kiss, throwing her arms around him like he was a
vanquishing hero rather than one so obviously broken in spirit.  Her job now
was the one of women throughout time – building her man back up again for the
next struggle that was coming.
Because as sure as the sunrise, there was going to be another struggle for her
man to face head-on.
The only question was, when?
“This must have been awful if you couldn’t heal it all the way, Frey.”  Silena
murmured, seeing the burgeoning loneliness in her friend’s eyes.  She was sorry
for it, even though she wouldn’t give Luke up to him for all the heroes in the
world.  Luke was hers.
And Frey had a love of his own out there somewhere.  He only had to find it.
“I should’ve died.”  Luke admitted in a rasp, tucking Silena into his arms and
resting his chin on the top of her head.  “Forget failing the quest.  If Frey
hadn’t been there, I would have died.  If it wasn’t for one of his wizard
tricks, I would be no more than a pile of dragon shit right now.”
Silena reached out a hand, squeezing Frey’s larger hand in hers once he
acquiesced and allow her grasp.
“Thank you, Frey.”  She whispered, tears in her eyes and her words heavy with
double meaning.  “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”
Frey didn’t say a word just nodded to them both and headed back, along, towards
his cabin, leaving the lovers to bask in having each other safe and sound in
the glow of the heavy late-June moon.
…
***** Fifteen: The Ancient House of Gaunt *****
                                    Lokison
                  Chapter Fifteen: The Ancient House of Gaunt
Frey cursed as he stared at the glowing digits hovering over his hand thanks to
his wandless Tempus.  His portkey back to Siri’s apartment in England was set
to go off in less than two hours and he still hadn’t had time to sit down with
Luke and talk to him one-on-one since they arrived back from their semi-
disastrous trip to the Garden of the Hesperides.
Not that Frey resented Silena for monopolizing her now-exclusive significant
other.  No.  Not at all in fact.
But that didn’t change the fact that Frey sensed a need in Luke.  Something had
changed in his best-demigod-friend.  And Frey was damned and determined to
figure out what that change was before haring off across the pond for another
ten-or-so-months.
His birthday was tomorrow, and with it came a new set of worries as he set off
on a tour of his holdings in England and beyond.  Though he’d claimed his
lordships, he didn’t have access to the investments or properties until he
turned either seventeen or was legally emancipated – and fourteen was the
youngest age emancipation could be considered.  However…emancipation would be
hard to gain since Chiron and Thanatos had done such a damn good job of raising
him – or having him raised as the case might be.
He could tour the properties and know about the investments – but he couldn’t
live in any of the many manors, cottages, cabins, or townhouses until he came
“of age”, nor could he change the current investments that came with his
inheritances.
Add more, yes.
Do anything with what he already had, no.
Thankfully while Siri wasn’t able to access the political responsibilities of
being Lord Black due to his incarceration – lawful or otherwise – his dogfather
could deal with the rest of it, just leaving the political crap for Frey to
handle until either Siri turned over the estate in its entirety to his current
Heir or finally caves and has a child of his own to turn it over to.
Personally Frey would much rather Remus get over his issues with worrying about
passing on his lycanthropy than have Siri turn over the title of Lord Black.
As if he didn’t have enough to handle in the Wizarding World without the
massive headache the House of Black entailed.
A flex of Frey’s power had the rest of his things packed and ready for his
return to England – sans most of his wardrobe since his ever-increasing growth
meant another visit to Twilfitt’s was in order.  Though thanks to his rampage
against Aragog’s spawn he had more than enough acromantula silk that having his
robes made would be less expensive than his last couple trips to the Master
Tailor’s.  He’d already sent off bolts and bolts of the stuff for Masters J.
Twilfitt and M. Tatting to ready for his upcoming order – and thought ahead to
Yule and had lovely scarves and robes and other garments readied for gifting in
the Winter Season to his many friends and associates.  The Malfoys especially
would reap the benefits of his loathing of giant-fucking-spiders so near a
school full of children, along with the ladies of his social circle including
Silena, Annabeth, and Luna.
For once, shopping for Draco’s Yule present wouldn’t have him comparing boots
and robes and books for ages on end in December.
Small blessings.
Another small blessing was that thanks to the power of the basilisk heartstring
core and the fine ash wood harvested from the Malfoys’ sacred grove, Frey
didn’t have to go through the hassle of making himself yet another wand this
year.  Careful maintenance and no need for massive displays of power had kept
the wand in somewhat good shape, the only use it’d gotten outside of class and
Remus’s private lessons being charging the Heartstones with Sev during the
school year.
Hogwarts was brighter, cleaner, and more responsive to her charges’ needs than
ever before – injuries from trick stairs and old curses being non-existent in
the previous term.
The staff – save Sev – and board were at a loss to explain it but all were
satisfied with the state of things.
Now all that was left was for Remus to bring Frey’s suggestion of having the
board, staff, and students actively donate power to the school brought before
them – a suggestion that should pass with support from Lord Malfoy and Remus
holding the voting proxy for three seats: Potter, Peverell, and Black.
It was a measure that was sure to put a kink in Dumbledore’s tail…especially as
from what Frey could tell a good number of the spells, enchantments, and even
curses that the castle had cleansed once the stones were charged had come about
either directly from the Headmaster’s wand or while under his tenure.
A knock at the door pulled Frey from his wool-gathering as a golden-blond head
peeked inside his sanctuary.  Part of Frey was already mourning the day he was
outed as being of Asgardian lineage and barred from Camp Half-Blood.  This
place has been home as long as he can remember – and honestly it was a miracle
he’d made it this long with only Thanatos among the Greeks knowing who he truly
was.  Even Heidi didn’t know for certain – only guesses based on her
uncommonly-close relationship as his previous nanny/caretaker/friend while he
was growing up and growing strong enough to survive the vicious dance being a
godling required.
Outside of Thanatos only the goblins – who would never say a word about one of
their best and richest customers – Lucius, Draco, and of course his Far knew of
Frey’s unique heritage.
And if he wanted to live to see his immortality freeze into place it needed to
stay that way.
Shaking off that maudlin thought he turned and smiled at his demigod friend,
welcoming Luke into his private rooms and offering him a bottle of butterbeer
from his chill-charmed cabinet.
“Man.”  Luke shook his head in bemusement as he always did on entering Frey’s
quarters – aka the Thanatos Cabin.  “It’s like stepping back in time in here. 
No electronics, no T.V., no computers.  I don’t know how you survive, dude.”
Frey laughed at the oft-repeated complaint.
“Lord Thanatos doesn’t appreciate modern comforts the same way other Greeks
do.”  He admitted as the two of them settled down onto the dragonhide-covered
couch.  “Honestly if Heidi hadn’t insisted I wouldn’t even have the charmed
cabinets to keeps things hot-or-cold.”
“Dude.”  Luke just shook his head, unable to wrap his modern-teen-mind around
that.  “Things are cramped in the Hermes Cabin but at least I managed to bring
in a flatscreen and pirate up myself cable and an internet connection.”
Frey shrugged pointing towards the screened-off king-sized bed and the massive
private bathroom saying: “There’s a tradeoff to enduring the lack of modern
comforts in the range of creature comforts I have here.”  He smirked tipping
back his butterbeer.  “I’ll take my private rooms and luxurious trappings any
day over your playstation and x-box.”
Luke rolled his eyes at the good-natured ribbing.  “Yeah, yeah, rub it in hot-
shot.  Rub it in.”
The two teen laughed at each other before polishing-off their slightly-
alcoholic beverages.  After several moments, aware of the fleeing time, Frey
sat his empty bottle aside and leaned forward, staring at Luke in patent
concern.
“Are you okay, Luke?”  He asked gently.  “I know things have been a
little…rough since we came back.  How are you handling it?”
‘A little rough’ was an understatement.  Chiron had taken one look at the scar
on Luke’s face, heard his report of how the mission went and of Frey’s strange
reaction to the mountain ranges of the west coast, and promptly called-off all
further quests for the time being.  An extremely unpopular move to say the
least, on which at least some of the campers were blaming Luke’s failure for.
Things were…well…rough for the Hermes cabin at the moment, with Luke himself
taking the majority of the fallout.
The golden-haired son of Hermes let out a shuddering breath, his carefully-
designed mask of good cheer and bonhomie cracking and crumbling into dust at
the sight of his best-friend’s honest concern for his welfare.
“I don’t know, Frey.”  His voice cracked as his eyes got damp.  “I just don’t
know what’s wrong with me the last couple days.”  Pearly-white teeth to shame a
toothpaste model tore at his shapely bottom lip as one long-fingers hand
worried a fray in his well-worn jeans.  “I’m just so angry all of a sudden.  I
mean…”  He trailed off, waving one hand in a futile gesture of confusion.  “I
was fine – well, mostly – on the way back to Camp, when we were just hanging
out and well you know…”
Frey smirked, his answer nothing short of sultry:  “I know very well.  I
happened to find the trip rather orgasmic your injury and my reaction to the
West Coast aside.”
“Ass.”  Was Luke’s pithy response to Frey’s innuendo.
“Yes, I liked yours very much.”  Frey snarked back, eyes gleaming.  “Just as
you enjoyed mine, and my hands, and my mouth…”
“Yes, thank you.”  Luke fidgeted uncomfortably.  Now that he was exclusively
seeing Silena he was a little taken aback whenever Frey would unleash his
rather potent charm on him or tease him about the formerly sexual bent to their
friendship.  Honestly, if he hadn’t been so head-over-ass in love with the girl
he would still be enjoying all the younger teen had to offer.  “I remember. 
Anyway.”  Getting back on topic.  “Since we got back to Camp it’s like whenever
I’m not with you or with ‘Lena that I’m just so damned angryand resentful all
the time.  Everyone’s dogging me over failing the quest,” he ranted.  “Which
isn’t even fair.  Heracles is the only one who’s managed to take on Ladon and
win so I was going into it with a stacked-deck anyway.  It’s not my fault I
failed.  Fucking Dad,” he sneered at the relation he had to the god of Thieves
and Mischief.  “And his fucking need to outdo his fucking brother.  He set me
up to fail and because of the fucking Law he can’t even come down to see if I’m
okay or fucking apologize for sending me on a jinxed-fucking-quest.  It’s not
fuckingfair!”  He railed, panting and out of breath as he finished his rant
with a shout and a punch to the couch cushion beside him.
Frey just watched the outpouring of – as Luke had called it – anger and
resentment with a stoic gaze.  There was more to this than – understandably –
anger over a near-impossible quest or being pissed at himself for his failure.
 No.  Something else was at work here.  And fuck-it-all but he didn’t have the
damn time he needed to root out the cause of the poison he could see now that
was growing in his best friend.
If something – anything – wasn’t done soon, then the Luke he’d spent the last
several years befriending and teaching and training alongside would be gone and
this angry creature would be left in his place.
A dangerous thing considering how high up the hierarchy of the Camp Luke was.
It made his unease around the mountains of the West come alive once more as he
reconsidered the idea that’d been floating in the back of his mind ever since:
If he was a pissed of god or immortal and immoral being of any power, and had a
bone to pick with Olympus…the West was where he’d hide until the time was ripe
to strike.
For the first time, it hit Frey that maybe a scar wasn’t the only thing Luke
had lugged back with him to Camp Half-Blood – but something much, much more
insidious: a rage that had hatched inside him and could destroy him if left
unchecked.
Waiting several long moments to see if Luke was truly finished, Frey finally
moved, taking the empty seat beside his friend and wrapping him up in his long
arms.  Frey rarely showed Luke this kind of affection, the other teen
preferring to get this type of thing from Silena or Annabeth or the legion of
younger Campers that seemed to flood Cabin Twelve on a regular basis – both his
own younger half-siblings and the unclaimed how looked up to the older – and
therefor infinity tougher, stronger, and cooler – Lead Camper.  Luke was a
bastion of strength to the others who looked up to him, the youngest – and
sometimes not-so-young – counting on him to chase away nightmares, boogey-men,
and the sometimes-rabid Ares Campers.  Luke got more hugs on a daily basis than
some others – like the intelligent but rarely demonstrative Athenas or the
rough-and-tumble Ares kids – get in a month or longer.
But rarely did he get them from Frey.
Which was a shame when he considered it.
Frey’s hugs mattered.
The younger half-blood always wrapped his arms around you tight, squeezing
gently but firmly, resting his cheek against your head or shoulder or chest,
rocking back and forth.
It wasn’t an exuberant showy display of affection, but a wordless vow of
caring.
Frey truly gave a damn about those he deigned to hug.
Luke broke, a sob tearing from his lips as he wrapped his arms around the
taller teen’s waist, leaning in and really giving back into the embrace,
feeling that ball of…black…something just loosen and give way in the face of
Frey’s honest loving regard.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  He whispered.  “I don’t know where all of
this…this…vengeance desire has come from.”  He looked up at Frey through teary
blue eyes.  “I mean, yeah, I’ve always been pissed and hurt that Hermes left me
with my mom.  Made me grow up there when he knew she wasn’t quite right.  And I
hate that I never get to see him and there’s always at least a handful of kids
who live in Cabin Twelve because their divine parents don’t give enough of a
fuck to Claim them or aren’t considered worthy of having their own Cabin.  That
stuff all pisses me off, especially since the Hera, Zeus, and Poseidon cabins
are all fucking empty and Twelve is so damn overcrowded.  All of that pisses me
off.  And hurts.  But I’ve never actually…”
“Thought about killing them for it.”  Frey supplied what Luke couldn’t bring
himself to say.  “Making them pay for their disregard, maybe?”
Luke swallowed harshly.  “Yeah.”  He admitted sucking in a breath, partly
shocked that Frey didn’t hedge away from saying what Luke couldn’t even bring
himself to think let alone actually say.  “That.  All of that.”
“I’m glad Chiron has the Camp on lock-down for quests then.”  Frey said, much
to Luke’s shock and confusion.  Confusion that dissipated once Frey finished
verbalizing his thoughts on the matter of Luke’s newly-born homicidal
tendencies.  “Because something is stirring in the West.  Just the few days we
spent there combined with not being able to complete a nearly-impossible quest
has you ready to take on Olympus itself.  I don’t know whoor maybe what has
caused it, made me have migraines for days and now has wormed its way into you,
but I’ll be damned if I’ll let it lay or allow it to poison you.”
Blue eyes blinked in shock.  “You really think that I’ve been…compromised…or
something?”
“Honestly,” Frey leaned back against the couch, taking Luke with him and
cuddling the older teen against his strong chest.  “Yes.  I do.  Just like I
think the atmosphere in Camp isn’t entirely natural either.  Something deeper
is going on underneath all of it.”  Frey cursed.  “And with me leaving today it
couldn’t have happened at a worse fucking time with things starting to stir in
England as well.”
“Is there anything, anything at all, you can do?”  Luke’s voice was nearly
begging of his friend.  “Anything, Frey?  I don’t want to be this…raging
person.  I don’t want to lose ‘Lena over this, man, please.”
Frey gave him one last squeeze before letting go and rising to his feet,
padding over to one of the locked chests that lined the wall underneath his
weapons display.  With a wave of his hand he unlocked it, searching the depths
for something he remembered seeing mixed in among the other ancient jewels and
sacred items Thanatos had liberated from the Potter and Peverell vaults while
he was busy meddling in the wake of Frey’s parents’ deaths.  Smiling he left
out a sound of victory as he grabbed the sedate onyx pendant, conjuring up a
braided leather thong for it to reside on before affixing it with his nimble
hands.
Walking over to his friends he held out the quarter-sized triangular smooth
gem, one side inscribed with the sign of the Hallows – marking it as a Peverell
treasure – and the other with runes Luke quickly gave up trying to decipher as
they all but danced before his eyes.
The thief reached out with cautious hands, taking the pendant and settling it
shakily around his neck and hiding it under his Camp t-shirt, feeling a cool
wave overtaking him as the stone came into contact with his skin.
“How do you feel now?”  Frey asked as he cursed under his breath at the glowing
time, having cast another Tempus.  He hoped his little token helped because he
was shit out of time to help Luke – for the moment anyway.  He would do some
more digging and research once he was back at school and bored out of his gourd
with nothing to do but pointless homework and culling the acromantula colony
back.
Needless to say he wasn’t Aragog’s favorite human-shaped creature.
Not that the monster knew that Harry Potter was the cause of the sudden decline
in the numbers of his clan but…he definitely knew someone was culling his
spawn.
With the death of Selena, the fucking thing had likely planned to take over the
Forest with no more Queen Basilisk to fear upon coming close to the school – a
plan Frey had put paid to before the giant spider could act on it.
Luke blew out a relieved breath.
“Better.”  He decided after a moment of soul-searching.  “Lighter somehow. 
More myself, definitely.”
“Good.”  Frey nodded, tapping one finger against where the pendant was hidden. 
“Keep that on you at all times.  I’ve spelled it to be theft-proof against
those little buggers you call brothers and sisters but that won’t help you if
you lose it in a spar or take it off willingly.  It’s meant to protect the
wearer from outside influences – that it made you feel better moments after
wearing it says that there’s something supernatural about your rage and desire
for revenge against Olympus.”
“What should we do?”  Luke asked simply, bowing to the more experienced half-
blood.
“Nothing at the moment.”  Frey’s eyes flashed with a strange mixture of disgust
at the timing and consternation.  “Just keep an eye on the Campers – let me
know if you see someone starting to act strange – or stranger as the case may
be.  Try and see if there’s any one person whipping up resentment towards
Olympus or anything.  Just…”  Frey laughed shaking his head.  “Be you, Luke. 
You always seem to know what’s going on and with who.  Just keep it up and
alert me if anything bothers you.  I’m only a call or an owl away – and with
weekends off grounds I can always shadow-walk back to Camp if you really need
me.”
“Okay, Frey.”  Luke gave him a crooked grin.  “Your call.  I’ll do what I do,
and have ‘Lena keep an eye out to.  You just make sure whatever-the-fuck’s
going on in England doesn’t gank your ass.  We need you here still, hotshot.”
“Okay.”  Frey clapped his best-friend on the shoulder.  “I’ll keep that in
mind.”
“Do.”  It was nothing less than an order.  “I’m not kidding: we need you here.”
…
Rap, rap, rap, rang the gavel in Lord Lucius Malfoy’s hand as he called the
1994 Summer Session of the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors to order.
The platinum-blonde’s eyes traced coolly over those gathered, many of whom were
lords, ladies, or proxies that represented thirteen of Britain’s greatest
Houses, with only the most begrudging of allowances made for the fourteenth and
fifteenth members of the body: the now-in-disgrace Headmaster and the sole
representative of the Ministry of Magic.  Hogwarts, after all, had been founded
hundreds of years before the formation of that governing body and barely
allowed the minutest of even an idea of control over its continued existence to
the sitting Minister.  When push came to shove, Hogwarts was after all a
private boarding school that rarely took in scholarship students.  Said student
had to have a prodigious amount of power – or prodigious connections – to gain
such status, a feat that happened only rarely, Lucius’s former Master being one
of those few.
And a private boarding school had little to be concerned over when it came to
governmental oversight – so long as the galleons from paying families kept
rolling in.
In fact, it was the matter of galleons that was one of the main items on the
docket for this Session.
“First item of business.”  The Board’s Secretary, Lady Cedrella Weasley nee
Black – who sat in governance in place of her less-politically-minded husband –
read out in her still-clear and commanding contralto.  “The induction of the
Four House Heads as put to this body by Proxy-Lord Peverell-Black-Potter.  Mr.
Lupin?”
“Yes.”  Remus rose to his not-inconsiderable height and addressed such lofty-
names as Lords Ollivander, Malfoy, Greengrass, and Nott and Ladies such as
Longbottom, Bones, and Weasley.  Two more seats sat empty, no one able or
willing to make it to the session such as the LeStrange and Prewett seats, and
another four were held via Proxy in addition to those held by Remus.  “Over the
last year and some months, the current Headmaster of our illustrious school has
fallen into disgrace.  Moreover, the actions of a single pair of student and
teacher have shown to have cleansed the Hogwarts’ Ward stones – allowing the
school to better maintain itself and carry out its duty to the children.  As a
result, there are two matters put before you today by myself and our Head, Lord
Malfoy, those being: the induction of the Heads-of-House onto the Board, and
the mandatory powering of the ward stones by all the members of the board,
staff, and student body.”
To call the resulting cacophony an uproar would be to put it mildly, Remus
thought to himself as he sat back down, with Dumbledore supports and
traditionally Dark Lords and Ladies battling back and forth over the two main
items on the docket – outside the coming Event anyway.
Lucius rapped his gavel once more, calling for order after he’d felt they’d
acted like the very schoolchildren whose educations they were supposed to
oversee long enough.
The Malfoy Lord help up one hand before one of the other members could pose a
question.
“Before this can devolve any further.”  The word was so icy it sent chills down
more than one spine.  “Let us first agree that having the Heads-of-House
available would give us a more rounded view of the events and activities that
happen in the school…rather than having to hear about them second-and-third
hand from the Prophet or Circe-forbid a Wizengamot case when the Headmaster’s
laxity once more makes the papers…or lands him in criminal proceedings.”
“Lucius.”  Albus’s voice and eyes were patently hurt and disapproving.  “There
is no call…”
“There is every call.”  Madam Longbottom cut him off, still fuming over the
events uncovered thanks to the trial of Sirius Black.  If she’d had her way
he’d be in a cell not still sitting in a place of large influence and even
luxury as the post of Headmaster of Hogwarts.  “You know full well my feelings
on this subject, Albus.”  She cut her eyes towards the Malfoy Lord.  She had
every reason to hate and loath the pompous blond but just this once she found
herself in agreement with him – no matter how grudging that agreement came
off.  “I second the notion.  Let us vote on it rather than sit here name-
calling and twiddling thumbs.”
“Very well.”  Lucius hid his pleased smirk, calling for the vote as directed. 
“All for the inclusion of the Heads-of-House?”
“Aye.”
Lucius did a quick count.
“And against?”
Silence.  Even Dumbledore, no matter how enraged, would dare vote against a
measure that had all but one of his fellows in agreement – and that naysayer
merely being the Minister’s lackey.  No.  He knew he’d lost this round, better
to wait for a more advantageous time to press his agenda.
Lucius nodded.  “The motion passes, thirteen for, zero against, and two
abstaining.”  Cedrella’s auto-notes quill scratched along with his words. 
“Proxy Lupin, if you would be so kind?”  Lucius arched a brow and Remus gave a
genial nod before taking out his wand and sending out four patroni to each of
the Heads, summoning them to the Governing Board chamber.
It was a mere matter of minutes, spent in tense small-talk among the two main
factions, before the Heads presented themselves, ready as ever to be called
before the Board during their normal sessions.  It happened rarely,
Dumbledore’s formerly-iron-grip on the body keeping them from seeking second
opinions very often save when Lucius managed to finagle his way around the
elderly codger.  But still…it wasn’t unheard of.
Lord Malfoy stood and with a wave of his wand had four more seats appear – two
on each side of the long oblong table where Lucius sat at one end and Albus the
other.  Minerva, naturally, took the seat that appeared on Albus’s right-hand
beside the Ministry’s flunky while Pomona took the seat on his left next to her
school-and-house-mate Lady Bones.  Severus found himself on Lucius’s left
between the Malfoy Lord and Lady Weasley nee Black while Filius took the seat
on his right between Lupin and Malfoy.  Once all were arranged, Lucius quickly
summed up the reasoning behind their summoning – and their new indoctrination
into the Board.  Save for a small gasp from Minerva and a widening of eyes on
the part of Filius, all went smoothly and the Heads were quickly sworn in,
Cedrella bringing forth the next item of business at Lucius’s nod.
“The next item, as previous brought forward by Proxy Lupin, is the donation of
magic and energy to support the Hogwarts wardstones.”
Before Lucius could wave Remus on, Severus interrupted.
“Perhaps.”  He said in his silky drawl.  “I might be able to shed some light on
the subject.”
“How so, Severus?”  Albus asked with a barely-hidden edge to his voice.
“Well.”  Severus and Lucius exchanged devilment-filled looks.  “As I am the
staff member in question who helped with the ritual cleansing of the ward heart
stones in the first place, a duty which I believe belongs to the Headmaster or
Mistress, I might have insight on the subject.  Sir.”
…
After nearly having the life squeezed out of him from both of his dogfathers,
Frey sent his trunk to his room with a flick of his wand – the trace having
been lifted when he claimed his Lordship – and settled down to hash out the
schedule for the rest of his birthday and the following month.
“Okay pup.”  Sirius was nearly bouncing in excitement – both at having his pup
home for most of the next month and for the party that was coming later that
evening.  “So your party is all set and ready to go – we decided to use Black
Manor since the penthouse doesn’t have any grounds to speak of and Grimmauld
still isn’t finished being renovated.”
“That’s great, Siri.”  Frey said with genuine appreciation at his godfather
handling party issues for him while he was busy in the States.  “What about the
guest list?”
Sirius couldn’t help a lightning-quick frown at that reminder but snapped out
of it just as fast.  Just because he had problems still with the Malfoys
doesn’t mean he was going to turn into – Merlin-forbid – his mother and throw a
fit over it.
“All invited and accepted, cub.”  Remus jumped in when Sirius’s pause grew a
bit long.  “And Severus has sent over a list of days he’s available to visit
your properties with us and help disarm any curses or traps we might find.”
“Brilliant.”  Frey smiled.  “What else?”
“We have tickets to the games for England, Scotland, and Wales since they’re
all in the U.K. as part of the wind-up to the Cup this year.”  Sirius was back
to bouncing in place.  “Don’t have much hope for any of them but it should
still be grand.  We’re in the SkyBox for all three, as well as the Semi-Finals
and the Final.”
“We can’t make the Semi,” Remus shot his lover an exasperated look.  “We have a
staff meeting that day at the school so you’ll be solely in the custody of
Lucius and Narcissa.”
“Dray will be happy about that.”  Frey commented with a grin.  “You’ll make the
Final though, won’t you?”
“Of course, pup.”  Siri grinned doggishly.  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Ok then.”  Frey kicked back.  “Presents?”  He asked hopefully.
Loki and Thanatos had already given him his gifts before he’d left Camp, his
Far bestowing a set of finely crafted basilisk-bone divining dice – much finer
tuned than anything he had before – while Thanatos had sent a reminder about
the Elixir along with a quiver full of arrow for his bow the Harvest Lord had
given him two years before that were tipped in poison made from the toxic blood
of his favored Shadow Hounds.
It was a powerful neurotoxin, and one that made Frey leery of even handling the
arrows before he came into his immortality.
It also made him wonder about how well-informed his patron was, especially in
light of recent events and worries.
Sirius barked out a laugh, shaking his head.
“At your party, cub.”  Remus rolled his amber eyes in amusement.  “And not a
moment sooner.”
…
The party went off without a hitch – most of the invitees were already friendly
if not out-right friends, and no one wanted to ruin Frey’s – well, Harry’s –
day for him.
He raked in his usual assortment of candy, books, and odds-and-ends, with the
Malfoys and his godfathers both agreeing to split the cost of the Cup box
tickets between them.  Draco could barely keep his hands to himself, let alone
his eyes, once he saw the results of another June-July growth spurt.  For his
part, Frey wasn’t all that innocent-minded about his wizarding-best-friend
either, the Malfoy Heir having a major growth inheritance of his own as he’d
said he would a couple years before.
Of course, the two of them weren’t the only ones doing that sort of noticing,
as shown by the two teens’ friend Blaise not being sure who he wanted to eye up
more, a sentiment shared by most of the witches and not a few wizards their age
and some older.
So it wasn’t much of a surprise when a couple days later, having met up at the
stadium’s Sky Box for the England-Transylvania game (which England was pummeled
in much to the teens’ dismay) that Draco had some news for his friend.
“Blaise?”  Frey turned towards his blond friend, giving him his full
attention.  “But…why?”
“What do you mean, why?”  Draco nearly spat, eye narrowed.  “Are you implying
no one else would want to date me?”
“No!”  Frey shouted, quickly raising his hands to ward off the dynamo and back-
peddling as much as possible without jumping to his feet and running from the
box.  “Not at all.  I just meant…well…he knows about our deal, yeah?  Why would
he be okay with a guaranteed break-up in a year?”
“Oh,” Draco waved a hand, settling back down much to his friend’s relief. 
“That.  I think he’s hoping to change my mind.  You know, make me fall for him
so I’ll forget about you or something.”  He shrugged.  It could happen, they
were young after all and Blaise was very handsome and charming in his own quiet
way.  “But I did ask him and he said that he’d rather have a year than nothing
at all.”
“Oh.”  Frey nodded, somewhat appeased.  It wasn’t that he considered Draco his
possession or anything.  On the contrary he was happy Dray was taking his
advice and dating someone else for a time.  But he didn’t want his friend –
either of them – hurt.
Either way…
He’d been waiting for Draco to grow up for three years, he wasn’t going to let
him go without a fight.  Not when he was so damned close to being old enough
that it didn’t freak him out.  Sometimes being years older than his commonly-
held age really sucked ass.
Draco leaned forward, searching emerald green eyes a little tentatively.  He
knew it wasn’t fair, especially with him dating Blaise now.  But…  He didn’t
want Harry falling in love with someone else any more than Harry apparently
wanted him falling for someone else.
“What about you?”  He asked.  “Are you finally going to date someone?  Or just
find someone to shag while we’re at school.”
He wasn’t an idiot.  It was pretty clear from how Harry treated others that he
had experience…and not with just boys or just girls either.  No.  Harry was an
equal-opportunity flirt…even if he was much more…sultry with males.
Frey looked back, seeing the warring curiosity and worry and possessiveness in
Draco silver gaze.  At least, for once, his possessiveness over Frey seemed to
be dialed back.  With his new-found maturity, maybe Frey would date someone
this year.
“Maybe.”  He settled for the simple and non-committal answer.  “Maybe I will.” 
He gave the other teen a crooked grin.  “It all depends on whether there’s
someone I like enough to date but not so much I have to be concerned for them
stealing my heart away, doesn’t it?”
And that was that…for the moment.
…
Severus, Remus, and Frey touched down on an old, abandoned lane just outside
the township of Little Hangleton, England, a few days before the World Cup
final.
Most of Frey’s time had been taken up with attending the smaller games leading
up to the semi-final, where he’d had the time of his life watching alongside
Draco and his parents as Ireland flattened Peru and secured their place in the
tournament finale against Bulgaria.  In between, he, Remus, and Sirius had all
visited Potter Manor and the cottage in Godric’s Hollow – now that he’d managed
to reclaim it from the Ministry that had seized it following Voldemort’s
initial defeat.  This was the first time Severus had had the time to go with
Frey to the more worrisome properties – such as this one that Frey had
unearthed as the home of Tom Riddle’s mother Merope Gaunt, a domicile that had
reverted to the larger Peverell estate upon the death of her brother with no
other known heir.
Riddle should’ve rightly inherited the shack – and to Frey’s keen eye that was
exactly what it was though the land was as promising as reported by Gringotts –
but all signs pointed towards Dumbledore keeping such information out of the
hands of the muggle-raised orphan.
And if there was one thing Frey had learned about the Slytherin purebloods it
was that come hell or high water, they’d go to the grave before turning over
secrets like right-of-inheritance traditions to someone “out of the circle”. 
For all Voldemort’s power and influence, even fear, apparently not one of his
followers had told him of how to actually claim his Slytherin legacy.  Maybe
they assumed he knew and wouldn’t welcome their interference – from all Frey
knew of the young Dark Lord that would’ve been a valid line of thinking.  Maybe
they thought he already had since he had the audacity to make claims to the
Line without going through the accompanying Rituals.
Who knew?
But push comes to shove, Riddle never had gone through the Rites and Rituals to
claim his inheritance, leaving it just waiting to be claimed by another – no
matter how distant said claim actually was.
Frey hissed out a breath as they came close to the shack, feeling the wards
surrounding it.
Remus shuddered out a breath, his inner wolf yelping at the feel of rich,
vicious Dark magic.
“This is familiar.”  Was all Severus said in reaction, turning calm black eyes
on the youngest member of the party.
“Yes,” Frey answered the unspoken question.  “It is.  You would recognize his
handy-work I would think, especially since we two,” he waved an elegant hand
between himself and the Potions Master.  “Encountered it in the Chamber.”
“What is it?”  Remus narrowed his eyes.  He’d studied Dark Magic extensively
for his Mastery in Defense, but this whatever it was, was far out of his range
of experience, though he thought he saw a couple of nasty enchantments and
curses he’d seen before.  It was just hard to make them out in the morass of
distinctly other magic tangled up with them.
“Parselmagic.”  Frey answered absently as he blinked, letting his own other
abilities come out to play, feeling the wards and the lines of tangled and
entwined magic for himself.  “Or rather, magic cast using Parseltongue.”
“Merlin.”  Remus blew out a breath, studying the schema that his cub brought to
life in a riot of colors with a long sibilant hiss and a slash of his want.  “I
haven’t seen this since…”  Eyes shooting wide he stared at the other two
wizards as they discussed something just a hair too low for his enhanced senses
to pick up.  They weren’t as powerful as normal being the week of the new
moon.  A boon for the two secretive men he found himself keeping company with. 
“Harry, Severus.”  He drawled in a near growl.  “Is there something you would
like to share with me before we go any further?”
“This was where Tom Riddle truly became Voldemort.”  Frey answered after a
small back-and-forth with Severus, never looking away from his work in tandem
with the Dark wizard.
For his part, Severus was markedly focused, even though much of the information
his charge was about to share was new even to him.
“He committed his first murder at Hogwarts,” Frey continued, breaking his story
every now-and-then to his another string of Parseltongue, likely counter-curses
and hex-breakers to his audience.  “But it wasn’t until later that he really
shattered and became the crazed creature Voldemort was known for.  Here he
learned the story of his desperate-near-squib-mother and his muggle father who
abandoned her.  Here was where he killed his father, his grandparents, and
framed his maternal uncle for it all.  And here was where he originally worked
his most…evil of magics.”  Frowning in concentration, he cocked his head and
then narrowing his eyes made a final slash-sinister, sending the wards and
protective enchantments tumbling down, leaving only the normal Dark curses and
such to be dealt with by Severus and Remus, who both stepped forward at his
gesture.
“Owner or not, cub.”  Remus said in an aside as he worked with the Dark wizard
to undo the remaining curses Harry left for them.  “You wouldn’t come here,
knowing that much of this place’s history, if you weren’t looking for
something.  Just what is it you hope to find, Harry?”  He asked intuitively
then gave an exclamation of victory as together with Severus they brought down
the last curse.
Frey motioned for them to step back, prepared as always to go first in case of
more Parseltongue traps.  The older wizards heeded his call, though with ill-
grace on both their parts.  Neither man was eager for their young one to face
whatever evils remained in the run-down hovel.
“Nothing.”  Frey answered after several long moments searching through the
scant rooms for imminent danger.  “Anything.  Everything.  Something.”  He
shrugged.  “Doesn’t really matter in the end.  I just wanted to see…before I
burn this cursed place to the ground.”
“Finally.”  Severus drawled, head cocked to the side as he felt the taint of
Dark magic drawing him over towards a floorboard near the common room exterior
wall.  “Something about this jaunt into idiocy we agree on.”
“Sev.”  Frey rolled his eyes, which sharpened as he noted his teacher’s
preoccupation.  “Sev!”  This time it was a stern command, bringing the nearly
crouching man to a sharp halt.
“Yes?”  He asked without regaining his footing.  Something was down there.  It
was calling him…  Eyes widening with an-out-of-character gasp, he slammed his
Occlumency shields down, locking them tight and the siren-call of the curse
most certainly out of his mind.  Shaking, he stumbled away, warning the
werewolf off.  “Away, wolf.  I don’t recognize whatever that is, but if it can
affect me it can affect you.  Better to let the idiot Gryffindor handle this:
it doesn’t seem to call to him the same as it did myself.”
“No,” Frey murmured as he studied the enchantment.  “It doesn’t.”
And if he were a normal wizard, it would.
Even someone as powerful as Dumbledore would have been affected by the curse.
But then…
Nothing about Frey was normal.
“Ooh.”  Frey shook his head.  “This is a nasty one.  Used by some of the more
vindictive members of the Slytherin line I believe during the Witch Trials.  It
would ensnare anyone who came across the item before hitting them with a fatal
curse – this one as a special spin on it: A Necrotizing-Flesh Curse.  Even
worse, there would be no way to reverse it once it struck.”  He looked over at
Severus with a devil-may-care grin.  “Not even your level of skill, Sev, would
be able to cure someone hit with this little beauty.”
“Cub.”  Remus spoke very, very calmly in the face of his charge’s openly
admiring of a nastily-deadly curse.  “I think I speak for both of us when I say
that you are freaking me the fuck out right now.”
“Oops.”  Frey lowered his head bashfully.  “Sorry.”  He hissed out the counter-
enchantment and then the counter-curse, wand moving in sinuous swirls to
accompany the sibilant language rolling off his tongue.  “There.  No more
Mastery-Dark curses or enchantments.  Promise.”
“Thank you, cub.”  Remus gave a soft smile.  “Though I see now how you and
Severus are so easily able to get along.”  He gave a little laugh.  “You have
the same appreciation for excellence in magic – no matter how Dark.  However,”
he arched a brow.  “I think we’ll keep this little episode between the two of
us.  Others might not be so understanding.”
“Deal.”  Frey said with a nod.  Turning back to the floorboard he levitated the
board off from the cache it hid, a small box following.  The godling set it
down on the remaining rickety table at the far end of the room, the group
moving to hover over it.  “Now.”  He whispered.  “Let’s see what’s so
important.”
Although…based on what he’s feeling now that the box and whatever it hid wasn’t
being concealed by some high-scale dark magic, he had a damn good idea about
what he was about to uncover.  In more ways than one.
“There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road
at twilight.”  Frey murmured, almost to himself, as the box opened with a
gentle flick of his wand and an old, tarnished silver ring inset with a plain
black stone gleamed dully in the muted light of the shack.  Frey had had his
suspicions about the Tale of the Three Brothers ever since he picked up Draco’s
dog-eared and often-read copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard to read his first
stay at Malfoy Manor.  He’d put it aside, but the story had niggled at him,
never more so than when he’d found out that his Cloak was a family heirloom of
great value, passed down from father-to-son along the Peverell and then Potter
lines according to the family histories.
“What?”  Severus whipped his head around, staring at his protégé as if the teen
had grown a second head.  He knew that line, his mother having read the stories
to him like all pureblooded mothers did.  On the young wizard’s other side,
Lupin was staring at him likewise.
Frey just shook his head chiding them.  “All fairytales have a founding in
reality: no matter how loose and shaky that founding is.”  Reaching down into
his robes he removed a length of pure silk, the same as he used to handle the
locket the summer before, and plucked up the ring from its dusty nest to
examine it more carefully.  “The Three Brothers is one such tale, wizards and
witches have sought the legendary Hallows for ages.  Grindlewald even took the
symbol of them – one of the Peverell coat of arms – as his sigil.  Is it really
so far-fetched that three powerful items actually exist to correspond with the
tale?”
“So…”  Remus said uncertainly.  “Is that supposed to be the Resurrection Stone
then?”
“I doubt it.”  Frey dodged skillfully, his two companions weren’t the sort to
believe in that sort of thing and so were eager to write his ramblings off as a
young man’s temporary flight of fancy.  “But it’s definitely a Peverell
artifact.”  He motioned to the carving in the stone without actually laying
hands on the Ring.  “See: as I said, one of the Peverell coat of arms.”  He
held up his Peverell Lordship ring for comparison.
“Yes,” Remus nodded, agreeing.  “Yes I see.  But what has been done to it?”  He
narrowed his amber eyes.  “Dark magic practically drips from it even with you
removing the curse and enchantment.”
“That it does.”  Severus nodded shortly, hands clasping his forearms inside his
robes as was his want.
“Not all of it.”  Frey shook his head, using his Thanatos-given-skills to
analyze what was most definitely a Horcrux – in addition to being the fabled
Stone.  “Just the metal band: the Stone itself is uncorrupted.”  By Dark magic
anyway.  It was most thoroughly saturated with Death magic however, likely the
cause of Remus’s unease.
Wrapping the ring in the silk until it was complete contained, he took out a
silk bag identical to the one he used on the locket, tucking it inside for
double protection before concealing it in his inner robe pocket.  Thanks to the
two layers of insulation from the soul leech’s taint – better than the locket
but worse than the diary, telling him where it fell in the order of creation –
he felt confident, enough anyway, to wait until he had privacy to deal with
it.  It wasn’t the sort of thing he was willing to do with an audience – Lord
Malfoy excepted since he didn’t have much choice with the diary.
And it wasn’t like either was going to step outside for a mo’ either, not with
curses and enchantments just waiting to be triggered at a second’s notice.
“Okay.”  He breathed out in relief once the taint of the Horcrux was at least
partially nullified.  “We’re good.  I think we’re done here.”
“Thank-bloody-Merlin.”  Severus muttered under his breath, striding for the
door in the lead.
Once all three of them were outside and arranged around the hovel, Severus and
Frey sent out waves of Incendios, Remus standing by to provide assistance in
keeping the fire under control.
It was a loophole in the binding magic surrounding his inheritance: he couldn’t
live in any of his properties.  Not until he was emancipated or came of age. 
But that didn’t stop him from using magic while visiting them.  A loophole he
used in this case to burn the damned shack to the fucking ground.
The three wizards all watched as the place nearly imploded once the enchanted
fire hit some of the curses and enchantments they hadn’t either disabled or
triggered – for good reason, Frey having noted them and left them in place
because he knew they would add to the ease of destroying the place.
Once the fire had done its job, the three of them cast smothering charms in
unison, slowly bringing the flames to a standstill and then banishing the
rubble left behind, leaving a cleared patch of ground that had none of the
overwhelming taint of the remnants of the Ancient House of Gaunt.
Frey blew out a breath when it was done, easily picking up the sounds of the
fire brigade coming their way.  It would’ve – and had – taken quite a bit of
time for the township to figure out where the fire was coming from, so few
people ever came this way after the Riddle murders.  He was just glad it was
done.
The land could finally heal with the lingering madness of the Gaunts burned
away and banished.
That didn’t explain the sense of Dark magic that was still pinging on his
radar.
Honestly, the Gaunt shack had been so corrupted he attributed all of it to
that.  But the shack was gone and yet…  He glanced over at Sev, asking a
wordless question to which he got a slow, worried nod in response.
“We need to get out of here.”  He responded immediately, holding out the
portkey that would take them to their next stop – and hopefully a less
worrisome one: Peverell Castle.  “Now.”  He said as he felt at least part of
the Dark magic coming closer at quite the clip.
Each of his companions laid hands on the burnished piece of mithril that
Gringotts had given him as a master portkey leading to all of his properties. 
He simply had to choose the right password and it would take them away.  In
this case:
“Death’s Chosen.”
The portkey whirled them away, but not before a greying rat, missing a toe,
spied an old friend – and his companions.
…
Frey’s boots had barely touched down on the wide grassy moor that was the home
of Peverell Castle before he was shooting off a Patronus to one of his newer
allies: Lady Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement.
“Expecto Patronum: Lady Amelia Bones: Large amounts of Dark Magic present while
inspecting property near Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, England.  An
investigative force is needed: Dark practitioners suspected.  Use caution. 
From Harry Potter,” He glanced over at his companions, prompting them.
“Remus Lupin, I concur.”
“Severus Snape, I concur.”
“Expecto Patronum.”
Severus wasn’t surprised by the shape his charge’s Patronus had taken being
familiar with the big cat from their mutual adventure in the Chamber of
Secrets.  Likewise, since Remus had helped refine Harry’s skills, the Patronus
was familiar, though his ability to use it to carry messages, especially the
addition of others’ voices – that was new.
“Good job, cub.”  Remus said, buffeting one shoulder at the display.  “Now
let’s see about this castle of yours…”
…
The creature known as Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle depending on who was
talking, waited impatiently for his most incompetent servant to return to his
side.
Nagini had smelled waves of smoke nearby while out hunting, returning to report
it to her Master who sent Wormtail out to spy – as it was one of the only
things the worthless wizard was even moderately good at.
Wormtail was just rushing in, sniveling as always, when his Lord sensed the
tell-tale signature of anti-disapparation wards snapping into place around the
Manor.
Eyes widening, the Dark Lord cursed in his high-pitched hiss, calling for
Nagini to wrap herself around him as Wormtail summoned the few very-
incriminating texts and artifacts, as ordered.  It was a costly delay with
Aurors on their tails, but a necessary one if he had a hope of completing his
plan before the year was out.
Curse that fucking Potter brat!
If only he’d gotten the Stone, but no, the child’s infernal, eternally
infuriating meddling hide had somehow kept him from his prize, forcing him to
give up his host earlier than planned.  That it killed Quirinus in the process
was of no concern to the Dark Lord.
He’d been unutterably weakened by that attempt at regaining his body, left to
scavenge once more against the lowest of the low as he built his strength back
up – a process that had taken much longer than he’d anticipated.  He felt he
had been somehow diminished, but dismissed it as an aftereffect of taking the
cursed unicorn blood for so many months on end.  If nothing else, the weakening
he’d experienced had convinced him to stray from that path for good.
Three years from when he’d first tasted it, and still he was weak!  Having to
rely on the likes of Wormtail, the cowardly creature only coming crawling back
to him after having one-too-many close calls with his former friends.
Friends.
What a useless liability.
“M-master.”  Wormtail whimpered, one hand out.  “We must g-go, before the
Aurors find us.”
“Very well, useless creature.”  Voldemort hissed, grasping the portkey with one
misshaped hand as Pettigrew picked up himself and his precious pet, staggering
under the weight of the snake as he whimpered and whined at having her so
close.  Living as a rat for so long had multiplied his fear of snakes to near-
insanity.  “§Sanctuary§” He hissed the password, the portkey taking them away
from his preferred domicile – for the moment – and to one of his other hidden
bolt-holes scattered across Britain.
A shame.
The nearness to his unlamented Father’s grave was ideal.
No matter.
Wormtail wasn’t worth much as a follower, and barely more than that as a
servant, but even he was capable of Apparating them both to the Graveyard when
the time came.
…
Alone in his often-used guest room at Malfoy Manor later that night, preparing
for their departure to the World Cup Final’s grounds, Frey lit the fire in his
fireplace after having prepped it with the proper woods and herbs to cleanse
the Horcrux from the Ring.
Using Ancient Greek, the language as always tripping off his tongue with easy
familiarity, Frey offered up the soul leech – and the soul leech alone – to his
Patron and guardian.
It wasn’t without readiness that Frey turned his head once the deed had been
done and the ring settled into place – and under a glamour – on his bare index
finger and watched with calm eyes as the Harvest Lord himself stepped from the
shadows to his side.
“So.”  He said, leaning back onto the cushion at his back and linking his
fingers over his stomach, the Resurrection Stone gleaming dull and black before
both of their gazes, the glamor having no effect on either of them.  “The Three
Brothers.  Peverells after all as the lore claims?”
“Yes.”  Thanatos said, giving a short nod.  “But rather than having bestedme,
they had proved themselves to be worthy acolytes, friends even.  All three of
them joined my Harvestmen in the end, even though the elder two had done some
rather stupid things with the boons I granted them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You had to discover it on your own.”  Thanatos answered simply.  “You had
suspicions ever since you were introduced to that story about the grain of
truth it might contain.  Especially since you’d already been granted the Cloak
by that time.  But it wasn’t until you knew that I could tell you the rest.”
“And the Wand?”  He cocked his head to one side.  “It’s the one you warned me
of right?  The only one that will truly fit me?”
“Again, yes.”
Frey got a sardonic look on his face.  “I don’t suppose you feel like sharing
where I can find it, then?”
Thanatos gave a genuine laugh at that.  “You know better than that, my young
hero.  You’ll have to find it yourself.  But I can give you a hint: It is
closer than you might think.  In fact, you have seen it used within the last
year.  That is all I can reveal.”
His young ward sighed, knowing better than to push the Lord of Death.
“Yes, Grimmy.”
“Cheeky.”
…
 
***** Sixteen: Festival of Fools *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: With this chapter marks Lokison going from a T rating on
FanFiction to an M rating.  There will be more mature content in the Fanfiction
version from now on which includes a less-heavily-censored version of the
story.  Chapters will still be censored but not as completely as chapters 1-
15.  Chapter sixteen is not censored but chapter seventeen will have censored
content.  That is all, please enjoy!
                      Chapter Sixteen: Festival of Fools
The campgrounds outside the stadium for the Quidditch World Cup of 1994 were a
riot of color, commotion, and clashing languages.
Frey easily recognized the sounds of Greek coming from a group of swarthy
wizards gathered around a wireless, listening to the commentators talking
player stats and scores and rehashing the games in the series leading up to the
final set to start the following day.
Other languages stood out to the multi-lingual godling: the sounds of Norwegian
and Swedish and Danish, all languages coming from a similar Ancient-Northern
dialect close to the Old Norse he spoke when alone with his Far.  He heard the
romantic murmurs of French and Italian, the guttural sounds of German and other
Slavic dialects, and the quicksilver cadence of Spanish.  Wizarding kind from
all nations and walks of life had gathered together to enjoy two teams at the
top of their game, it brought to life memories of watching the Olympics or
World Series, the FIFA World Cup or the Super Bowl on the big screen at the Big
House at Camp Half-Blood.  All good memories shared with good friends.
And now this memory, shared with those as close to him as his own family should
have been.
He and Draco wandered around, sometimes with their parents/godparents and
sometimes alone, spending more galleons than was perhaps wise on souvenirs and
special Omniculars just for this one game.
Draco found himself waffling between the two teams playing – for reasons he had
no problem sharing with Frey.
“It’s Krum you see.”  Draco whispered, eyes darting back-and-forth over the
myriad offerings on display at one booth.  “He’s the best Seeker in the
professional leagues.  And he’s only seventeen, in his last year at
Durmstrang.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he’s got a rough sort of dark-handsomeness going
for him either.”  Frey arched a brow knowingly at his best friend.  It was
nothing less than the truth.  Frey himself wouldn’t mind a snog or seven with
the handsome – and from some of the promo shots taken, well-built – teen.
Draco sniffed, nose in the air, before going back to his shopping.
“I’m sure I don’t know whatyou mean.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”  Frey rolled his eyes before leaning down to whisper
hotly in his ears.  “But I think we both can agree that it’s a good thing your
hot-blooded French/Italian lover isn’t here to see the look you get on your
lovely face at some of those promos…isn’t it?”
Draco blushed all the way back to their campsite, refusing to so much as glance
at his far-too-amused best-friend.
…
The Quidditch World Cup Final was awesome.
Both teens yelled and cheered as the Irish Chaser flew loops around the
Bulgarians, the only hope the eastern European Champions had lying in their
brutal defense and their star Seeker from the Vrasta Vultures: Krum.
Though, both of them had gotten a bit of the side-eye from the elder Malfoys
when neither reacted to the Veelas’ display.
In fact, none of their party had reacted.
Oh, Lucius and Sirius had both leaned forward before their Occlumency shields –
and in Siri’s case – mate-bonds kicked in.  Remus being a mated werewolf didn’t
desire any but his mate and Narcissa had no love at all for her own gender. 
That just left the younger two wizards.  Draco was easy enough, having been
comfortable in his sexual preference for years.  But Frey was a surprise, even
to Dray.
Before the Veela display, none of them had known that Frey was basically 99%
homosexual, with only the barest of base attraction to the female form.
But they certainly had it figured out now and if those looks his godfathers
were giving him were any indication he couldn’t avoid them doing a run at “The
Talk” when they got back to the penthouse after the game.  None of their party
were going to spend the night at the campground, their tents already being
broken down and sent away with house elves.
Narcissa was shining in the Box, showing off her fine breeding and social
abilities, Lucius a handsome foil at her side.  Remus and Sirius – after a
shared roll of their eyes at the behavior – had observed the basic niceties
before planting themselves firmly at the box’s rail, the two teens soon joining
them when the Weasley brood entered.  They thought there might be a scuffle
between the three classmates but apparently the older – and very handsome as
Frey had noted the previous summer about the eldest, the second eldest being
much the same – brothers had “Ronniekins” well in hand.
So while the “adults” were polite and made nice with the Bulgarian Minister and
that bumbling twit Fudge, the younger Weasleys with Frey and Draco hooted and
hollered in joy and shared love of the game.
“Well, fuck.”  Draco drawled in dismay as the Ireland chasers and their superb
teamwork had the score over 160 for Ireland.  “Little hope now with the
bumbling the Bulgarian chasers are doing.”
“Too right.”  Bill Weasley nodded his head in agreement, wincing as the
Bulgarian Keeper failed to make yet another save.  “Bulgaria’s just outmatched
in every way except for Krum there.”
“That Wronski Feint of his looked fun.”  Frey said, leaning forward eagerly. 
“I might just try it…”
“Why would you do that?”  Ron scoffed sneered at the much-taller boy in
disdain.  “You don’t even play Quidditch.”
“Yes, he does.”  Draco said with a tone usually reserved for the most moronic
of beings.  Or, you know, Crabbe, Goyle, and most of all the Weasel.  “Just not
for Gryffindor.”
“You play, Harry?”  Fred popped over, George right behind him, throwing arms
around the teen that was just a wee bit taller than them.  “What position?” 
George asked.
“Seeker, mostly.”  Frey answered absently, having spotted the Snitch.  “Helps
Draco stay in shape for the Season during summer and breaks.”
Draco had taken over the empty Seeker position the year before when Higgs had
dropped from the team to focus on his O.W.L.s.  The older boy was due to come
back and play in his sixth year but was going to take one of the open Chaser
positions to give them time to train a good prospect for the year after. 
Slytherin had an excellent plan of recruitment that kept the Cup safely tucked
away in Snape’s office – much to McGonagall’s dismay.
“What?!”  Ron all-but-shrieked.  “You help this slimy git?! Potter you bloody
traitor!”
“Merlin Ron…”
“Chill out…”
“It’s not like…”
“We have that…”
“Great of a…”
“Team anyway…”
“Without a good…”
“Seeker.”
The twins said in their – rather annoying – way of speaking.
“Dad said I could try out.”  Ginny piped up, craning her head around her
favorite brother Charlie to join the conversation.  Charlie, like Frey, had
spotted the Snitch and was watching it closely, not paying much mind to his
siblings’ conversation.  “Charlie was training me this summer while he
visited.”
Ron got a mulish look on his face.  He wanted to play, he had to play if he
wanted to go professional.  But he wasn’t good at being Seeker and that was the
only position due to come up any time soon.  Wood and the Twins were all due to
graduate – and leave open spots on the team – at the same time as two of the
Chasers – Johnson and Spinnet.  Bell was in the year between them and Ron, and
the Seeker position had been a waste of a broom ever since Charlie graduated.
Altogether, Ron was only going to have two years to prove himself and show off
to scouts if he wanted to play professionally – not six like most who get
recruited.
Or even bloody Malfoy who didn’t even need a career like Ron did, what with all
of Daddy’s money.
And here was bloody Potter helping the git to beat Gryffindor.
It was the worst sort of betrayal, that was.
“KRUM HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!”  Sounded throughout the stadium, punctuated by a
pair of snorts from Frey and Charlie who shared a knowing glance.  Thankfully,
the announcement also cut off the coming rant from an idiotic redhead.
Granted, Frey and Charlie had only had eyes on it for less than a minute, but
that was still thirty seconds longer than Krum.  But then, they didn’t have to
worry about dodging bludgers and disrupting the Chasers the way Krum did
either.
…
Draco was on cloud nine the next morning as he floated down to breakfast.
Not only had his favorite Quidditch player caught the Snitch to end the World
Cup Final, but Ireland had also won, an outcome he hadn’t seen as likely.  He’d
also spent several days with his best-friend’s almost undivided attention. 
Best yet, said best-friend had been…flirty with him.  And this on the heels of
showing possessiveness over him dating Blaise.
Yes, things were falling into place nicely for one Draco Malfoy.
A sense of well-being that instantly shattered upon reaching the dining room
and seeing his parents’ tense faces as they studied the front page of the
Prophet with something akin to horror but that was even more like despair.
“Mother?”  He gazed in confusion between the two bulwarks in his life. 
“Father?  What is it?”
Before either could answer they were interrupted by the glowing spectre of a
Patronus in the form of a large jungle cat that promptly opened its massive
jaws and spoke in a familiar voice.
“We’ll be there shortly.  Severus is on his way.”
…
The five adults along with their two teen charges gathered in Lord Malfoy’s
personal study.  Once tea had been dispensed (and brandies despite the early
hour for the adult wizards) Remus took the bull by the horns, leaning forward
attentively.
“Alright, cub.”  He said, eyes worried after the day’s headlines screaming of a
Death Eater attack on the World Cup campsite in the early hours – not to
mention Harry’s reaction to it of summoning them all to the Malfoy’s post
haste.  “We’re all here.  What’s going on?”
Severus and Lucius traded concerned glances, the blond lightly brushing his
right hand against his lower left arm in an unconscious gesture.
Neither of them had been either contacted to join nor warned about the attack.
As far as their former fellows were concerned, the Dark Lord’s former right-
and-left hands were suspect, a situation that doesn’t give itself long to a
lengthy lifespan.
“Tom is making new moves to return.”  Frey said without an ounce of worry or
concern, simply stating the facts as he saw it, utterly lacking in an emotional
response.  To him, Voldemort was just another evil to battle – but not until
he’d destroyed his soul leeches.  That was the only part of the situation that
worried him: the Horcruxes.  With the Death Eater attack, it put a clock on his
quest where before he was just content to take it one step, one day at a time
with only the most vague of plans.  He glanced up at Sev and Lucius from his
seated position centered before the Lord’s desk.  “I’m assuming you two didn’t
know about the attack?  That your former compatriots failed to inform you?”
“Yes.”  Severus responded after taking a bracing sip of brandy.  “My loyalties
were already suspect after the war.”
“And even the dimmest of Death Eaters couldn’t fail to notice your close
relationship to my family, Harry.”  Lucius sighed, swirling the dregs of his
glass.  “Especially in the light of your entrusting your Wizengamot and ICW
proxies into my care.”
“Merlin.”  Sirius blew out a breath as the reality of the situation the two
former Death Eaters faced.  “You’re going to be at the top of his list, right
under Harry and Karkaroff.”
“For once, mutt.”  Severus sneered with a barely-hidden eye roll.  “Your
analysis is correct.”
“I knew this would happen.”  Narcissa whispered, hands clinging to Draco’s own,
beautiful blue eyes swimming in worried tears.  “That one day he would return
and we would have to choose between Harry and him.”  She drawled the word with
disgust plain even through the tears.
“What about the Mark, Father, Godfather?”  Draco’s own eyes shot wide with fear
as something his father told him once upon a time came rushing back in the wake
of the other revelations.  “He can reach you through it, can’t he?”
“Yes.”  Frey answered, sparing the older wizards from having to impart the
dastardly news to their precious platinum-haired child.  His voice was steely
and cold.  “That Mark of Tom’s is one of the cruelest pieces of magic ever
fashioned.  And even worse: he worked it on his own followers who loved,
feared, and trusted him above all others.”
The others studied him carefully, taken aback at his cold tone.
“You…expected this, didn’t you?”  Sirius probed with great care, unsure of
Harry’s current state of mind.  “As the Malfoys and Snape expected their
loyalties would be called into question, you followed that same trail of logic
and knew the Mark would be a problem.”
In lieu of an answer, Frey reached into the deceptively simple woven bag at his
feet and removed a small box, barely four inches wide by six inches long, and
intricately carved of ebony with a – to them – familiar sigil carved on the
top: the triangle, circle, and line of the Peverell rings adorning Frey’s hands
but usually kept under glamor.  Not so today.  On this day, his rings shone and
gleamed under the candlelight of Lucius’s study as his nimble fingers opened
the latch and with great reverence in every move flipped back the lid to lay
flat against Lucius’s black leather desk blotter, revealing the interior of the
casket.
The inside was lined with shimmering black silk shot with silvery threads,
cushioning a quartet of vials in the blackest of onyx.  Where most gemstone
vials were purely decorative, these clearly held something within of greatest
treasure and import, the flat black cylinders seeming to absorb all light that
hit them rather than glimmering under the lights of the study.
“Very few concoctions can be or should be,” Severus drawled, black eyes
gleaming as he glided forward, one hand reaching to just hover over the small
collection.  “Kept in an onyx vial.  The most deadly of poisons and…”
“The greatest of panaceas.”  Lucius breathed, leaning forward in an un-Lucius-
like movement of great eagerness.  “The Elixir of Life.”
Severus whipped his head around to stare at his young protégé with an
implacable and discerning gaze.
“One day.”  He began, his voice low but carrying in its silky way to all
corners of the room and all the ears that would hear.  “Before the school year
of 1991 began, Albus came to myself and several other members of the staff with
one of his harebrained-schemes: though this one had the potential to be
deadlier than any other before it.  He was resolved that the Dark Lord would be
trying for the Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone and meant to protect it in the
school.  Hagrid was sent to fetch it and we all placed protections around it. 
It stayed safe…or so we thought.”
“The protections weren’t that great.”  Frey admitted with a small smirk of
triumph.  “They were pretty easy for me to get around.  Honestly, I think that
if they’d actually tried most of the upper years could’ve broken through them,
not even mentioning the abilities of the most adept younger students.”
“What happened?”  Sirius prompted, almost bouncing in impatience.
“The Dark Lord.”  Frey took up where Severus left off at a wave from the
Potion’s Master.  “I knew something was wrong with Quirrell and assume, rightly
as it turns out, that he was possessed and in pursuit of the Stone or whatever
was kept hidden in the chamber leading from the third floor corridor entrance. 
I wasn’t about to let him get his hands on whatever it was so I took the
challenge and bested the trials.  When I reached the end, rather than dither
about, I simply undid the enchantments of the Mirror, making it reveal its
cache.”  He cocked his head to one side, rolling his eyes.  “Which held a lot
more than just the Stone by-the-way.  I gave the Stone to Thanatos and kept the
rest.”
“Then how…?”  Draco made an aborted motion towards the case.
Frey chuckled then answered.
“I came home that summer and when I arrived I found the case on my bed with a
note from my Patron.  I had removed something he despised from the mortal plane
and in return he blessed me with a few vials of the Elixir to do with as I
pleased.  But not knowing what I would have to pay to receive more if I wasted
these,” he gestured towards the vials but made no mention of the other two he
held in reserve.  He still hadn’t managed to make it to St. Mungo’s.  Before
too much longer he was going to have to rectify that.  Maybe sooner than later
depending on what happens after this day.  “So I waited to see what would
happen, and made contingencies.”
Reaching in with the gentlest of hands, he spoke no more.  Picking up one vial
at a time he offered one first to Lucius, then Severus, then Sirius, and
finally Remus. 
“Cub, what…?”  Remus couldn’t even vocalize his thoughts; they were so boggled
by the gift.
“The Elixir of Life is so much more than most would ever even dream.”  He
answered the unspoken question.  “It can’t cure you Remus, but it will remove
the damage caused by decades spent under the curse.  Siri,” he turned towards
perhaps the most-confused member of the gathering, the older wizard staring at
the vial in utmost perplexity.  “Azkaban left its mark, and before that you had
sustained damage from duel after battle after confrontation with the Dark and
going up with your family.”  He gave a sardonic smirk as he looked back-and-
forth at the Slytherins.  “I don’t think I need to explain to either of you why
you’re holding a vial…do I?”
And he didn’t, Sirius, as always highlighting the situation with a quip and his
devil-may-care grin.
“Bottoms up.”
…
A few weeks later, sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Frey was
still baffled by the sheer power of the Elixir of Life.
Many times, since he’d given it to four of his most important allies in the
Wizarding World and snuck into the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo’s and
banished it into the stomachs of Alice and Frank Longbottom, he would find
himself shaking his head ruefully or giving anywhere from a grin to a guffaw at
the hint Thanatos had given him three years prior:
“…did no one study what it actually does…?”
All four of the wizards who had taken it knowingly were like new men.  Years
had seemed to fall off of them, Lucius no long looking a decade or more older
than the lovely Narcissa as the damage from Dark Arts abuse and being held
under the Cruciatus and other curses sloughed off the years away.  The Mark had
disappeared from both Lucius and Severus after a rather painful-sounding shriek
from the skull, the curse that bound it unable to remain in the wake of the
Elixir.  Severus himself had found himself rather more handsome than he’d ever
even had the vaguest hope of being as his skin cleared and healed, his hair
took on new life, his teeth whitened and straightened, and his nose healed from
a series of unset breaks harking back to his abusive childhood.  The slight
limp that bothered him in the colder months ever since being bitten by Fluffy
healed, along with the scar it had left behind.
Sirius as well had seemed to find new life, much of his mental damage and
wounds left from Azkaban and even his rotten childhood melting away, leaving
behind a much happier (and if it was even possible) a somehow in turns more
mature and more bouncy Sirius Black.  For his part, Siri’s regained vanity at
regaining his formerly very handsome looks had him almost matching Lucius for
smugness at his lustrous hair and clear skin unmarred by the tattoos he’d gain
in prison.  It was enough to make Severus sneer in disdain at the pair of them,
though it had lost a little of its chilling force in the wake of his own
transformation.
But of them all, it was Remus whose post-Elixir figure was the most striking.
No longer hunched and bowing in on himself from the constant and chronic aches
and pains from three decades of suffering under his curse, the werewolf found
himself tall and strong, the scars of many, many transformations spent in
confinement washing away, leaving behind unblemished golden skin.  His hair
regained its sandy-brown pigmentation, the professor no longer appearing on the
shady side of middle age.  He was quick and lithe and with a lightning-quick
grin, nothing but joy sparkling in his amber eyes.
Yes.  Frey decided as his friends finally located him hiding away in a
compartment.  It had taken him years to decide on who should benefit from the
Elixir, if anyone at all, but in the end he truly felt like he’d made the right
choice.
A feeling that he felt swell and treble with the impossibly happy and enthused
look on Neville’s face as he burbled and laughed and told the story over and
over again about how one day, out of the blue and with no known cause, his
parents woke up.
…
“We know something you don’t know.”  Draco all but sang to their friends once
everyone was present in the compartment and Frey and Cedric had cast the
appropriate charms to expand the space.
And Frey did mean everyone.
Between the attack on the World Cup campground and the Wizarding World being
held in a state of confused awe over Nev’s parents having a sudden turn-around
so soon afterwards (and didn’t that have the Healers, Unspeakables, and the
Ministry in general in a right tizzy), every single one of their larger group
of friends was present.  Even the ones that didn’t necessarily get along like
the Patil Twins (Padma had eventually won over her sister but it took a couple
years to manage) and the Greengrass sisters who being from families aligned
with different parties tended to butt heads.
Constantly.
It was an unrelenting source of alternating entertainment and migraines for the
three boys that were at the core of the group: Frey (as Harry), Draco, and
Neville.
Which was an eclectic group from the beginning since Malfoys were members of
the Dark political sect, Longbottoms Light, and Potters Neutral.
However, when you looked deeper beyond the last names, you found more in common
between the three than truly different.
For example, all three of them were of Black Blood but not one of them bore the
name.
For another, all three of them were descendants from a truly Olde family the
Malfoys having been Malfoi’sbefore splitting from the main family in France
during the War of the Roses, Potters from the Peverells, and Longbottoms being
able to trace their lines back to Camelot and beyond.
On this day though, the Patils and the Greengrasses had sheathed their mutual
claws and dislike in preference for being able to be around their wider group
of friends without having to share time: like divorced parents who behaved
themselves once a year for their child’s birthday or wedding.
Altogether there were Cedric, Hannah, Susan, and a Charms prodigy in the year
between Cedric (a sixth year) and the fourth years named Wayne Hopkins present
from Hufflepuff; Padma Patil and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw’s fourth year and
Luna Lovegood from their third; Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne Greengrass who
were fourth year Slytherins and Daphne’s younger sister Astoria also from third
year; and of course, a whole plethora of Gryffindors including Harry/Frey,
Neville, and Parvati from fourth year, Katie Bell from fifth, along with the
Weasley Twins, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet from sixth
year.
Between those twenty-one students who usually studied in ever-fluid groups of
six or seven at a time, often separating those (like the two sets of sisters)
who didn’t get along, Frey had made friends with people from all four houses as
he’d originally set out to do as well as in diverse years, including among
their number five current prefects (Diggory, Hopkins, Bell, Jordan, and
Johnson) and what would have to be at least a couple more as they moved up the
years.  Cedric was already a shoe-in for Head Boy and if she didn’t allow her
friends and teammates the Weasley Twins to lead her astray, Johnson was likely
to take Head Girl for Frey’s fifth year.
To say that with that large of a group, Frey learning expansion charms for all
sorts of situations (train compartment, library tables, hidden alcoves for
pranking meetings, etc.) was a necessity would be an understatement.
Blaise rolled his eyes at Frey from his position on the seat across from the
godling as Draco chanted his semi-taunt from his position snuggled up to the
French/Italian wizard.
“What do you know, mi dolce?”  He asked with a cross between being a long-
suffering friend who was used to pandering to the blonde’s whims and the newly-
indulgent boyfriend who was trying to keep from pissing him off in hopes of
snogging later.
“My sweet?”  Frey arched a brow in disbelief.  “Are you sure all that snogging
hasn’t rotted your brain, Blaise?”
Snickers and laughs broke out among the assembled group at the good-natured
teasing as Draco rolled his eyes with a huff, reaching out across the aisle and
smacking Frey on the shoulder for the jibe.
“Fine then.”  Draco scoffed with mock-indignation.  “See if I share with you
lot.”
“Doesn’t matter if you share or not.”  Theo pointed out from where he was
buried in his book next to the window.  “If you know so does Harry, and he
never lasts long against Luna’s puppy-dog eyes.”
A fresh wave of laughter broke out as the two teen wizards in question let out
a wave of “Hey!”s in stereo from opposite benches.
“Oh please.”  Daphne shook her head, entertained as always by the playfulness
between the consummate Slytherin and his Gryffindor best-friend.
Before Draco, Harry, and Neville became friends through their study group, it
was thought impossible for the two houses to get along let alone actually
befriend each other.  But no amount of inner-house censure had stopped the pair
and at this point everyone had given it up as a lost cause, especially as more
and more students crossed that invisible but still very real divide.  Quidditch
was still a different story, however.  It wasn’t unusual for Draco and the
Gryffindor players that he’d befriended however reluctantly to not speak to one
another for days if not weeks before and after the annual match.  A state of
affairs that was even worse if the two teams wound up against each other a
second time for the cup.
“You know it’s true.”  Neville pointed out from his spot reviewing his DADA
summer assignment with help from Angelina and Cedric.
“Like you’re any better!”  Frey pointed out in exasperation.  “She doesn’t even
have to say anything and you’re already helping her search for the Snorkack or
bringing her a new necklace to ward off Wrackspurts.”
Neville blushed beet red as his friend alluded, but didn’t out-right out him,
to his crush.
“Neville is very considerate.”  Luna said dreamily, as she did most things when
she wasn’t studying for classes.
“I’ll bet,” Fred whispered in a mock-aside to George, the older boys all
breaking down into another round of snickers as Neville ducked his head at the
good-natured teasing.  They’d been trying to convince him to ask her out since
the second-half of last year but had yet to make any progress against his well-
ingrained diffidence towards the fairer sex.
“Anyway.”  Draco said forcefully dragging attention back to where it should
belong.  On him and his juicy tidbit of news.  “The fact remains that Harry and
I still know something you lot don’t.”  He studied the blonde Greengrass
sisters.  “Except maybe the Slytherinettes.  They might know depending on how
tight their father is about sharing ‘confidential business’ with his family.”
Daphne and Astoria shook their heads in unison.  Their father kept business to
himself, being very traditional in his views on what was to be shared with the
“womenfolk” in his life.  Unless it directly impacted them – which this most
not – he didn’t worry them with unpleasant business talk.
How that was supposed to work when Daphne was his Heiress and Astoria wanted to
be a Healer, they weren’t sure but they respected their father’s ideals.
Even if it made him seem like nothing short of a fossil.
“Out with it.”  Cedric prompted with a laugh.  “Before you explode.”
“Hogwarts,” Draco said with flair.  “Is this year, going to be hosting a most
exciting event.”
“A ball?”  Parvati perked up, her interested peaked.
“A festival?”  Her sister hazarded a guess.
- “Of fools maybe.”  Frey muttered under his breath, sharing a knowing look
with Draco.  The blond was well-aware of the godling’s feelings on the coming
festivities being nothing less than glory-seeking idiocy on the part of the
various school heads and Ministers.
“A Tournament.”  Draco answered, eyes bright.  “Though,” he added to the
Gryffindor Patil.  “There is a traditional Yule Ball as part of the Ancient
Traditions surrounding it.”
“A tournament?”  Katie cocked her head to one side as she looked up from her
game of Snap with the other Gryffindor Quidditch players save for Angelina who
was helping Neville.  “I don’t remember reading anything about a tournament in
recent history.”
“That’s because it’s not recent history.”  Cedric enlightened the others with a
little sigh.  He’d heard about nothing but the tournament ever since his father
found out through the Ministry gossip train.  And as the only one of the
upperclassmen present who had stuck with NEWT-level History of Magic, he was
the best one to answer.  Except maybe Harry, he admitted to himself.  Harry
always seemed to know subject matter way beyond what he should.  “It’s called
the TriWizard Tournament and is supposedly a contest that allows a champion
from each of the three most prominent European schools to achieve glory – and a
prize purse.  In reality…”  He trailed off shaking his head.
“It’s a festival of foolish and stupidly dangerous risks.”  Frey finished the
thought for him, though likely with a great deal more acidly than the
Hufflepuff would’ve.  “And with little glory attached.  It’s all about bragging
rights.”  He shrugged bad-temperedly.  And to him it read like another salvo on
the part of the Headmaster to ‘test’ his would-be weapon.  Not that Frey had
any intention of going along with it.
Dumbledore could suck it; he wasn’t taking the bait.
“Bragging rights?”  Padma asked in her quiet way, her gentle voice cutting
across the whispers that had broken out in the compartment at Cedric and
Harry’s words.
“Gold?”  Fred-and-George had a much more pertinent – to them – question.
Frey threw up his hands in exasperation motioning for Draco to continue.
“Harry’s not a fan of the idea of the Tournament.”  His best-friend made the
excuse for his out-of-character bad-temper.  “But yeah, gold: a thousand
galleons to the winner and so-called ‘eternal glory.’”  He put the phrase in
air quotes.  “In reality it’s a pissing-match, excuse the language ladies.” 
The girls all waved him off, having heard worse from the boys before.  “Between
the Ministers of Britain, France, and Bulgaria and the Heads of Hogwarts,
Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang.”  He shrugged.  “If I hadn’t known about it
because of Harry’s seats on the Board and the Wizengamot, I wouldn’t have been
able to tell you much about the Tournament at all, let alone who the last
winner was.”
Frey rolled his eyes and sneered:  “So much for eternal glory.”
“Okay.”  Cedric held up a hand, unable to take it anymore.  “I get that you’re
not a fan.”
“Understatement.”  Draco muttered having to put up with his best-friends rants
on the subject for the last couple weeks since his proxy Lupin told him about
it.
Cedric continued.
“But really, why all the negativity?”  The older boy asked, perplexed.  “It’s
just a Tournament.”
“A Tournament where people,” Frey pointed out.  “In this case, children barely
old enough to Apparate let alone make sound decisions, die.  In fact, it was
discontinued in the first place because the death toll was so high.”  He shook
his head.  “Call me crazy, but I’m not a fan of anything that puts the lives of
my friends or even those I dislike, at risk just for bragging rights for adults
who are much better qualified to take the same challenges on, and the
entertainment of an audience.”
“Well.”  Fred said.
“When you put,” George continued.
“It that way…”  They said together, with cheesy grins.
“Where do we sign up?”
“Idiots.”  Frey bit off, then turned to ask Neville if he needed anymore help
with his essay, shutting down that line of conversation.
…
“Brother!”  Thor called out in his jovial way, either ignoring or just not
noticing Loki’s quickly hidden grimace at the title.
Loki still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the information his son
gave him the previous summer.  He knew himself well enough to know that he had
to do something but he didn’t know what yet.  Though, it did explain how Frey
had started to avoid referring to Thor as his uncle and Odin as his grandfather
– while curiously enough claiming Frigga still.  Loki had wondered but had
written it off as a teenager phase.
Frigga knew he’d gone through several of those.
Thankfully so far Frey’s rebellions had been small, except for the matter of
the basilisk…which in hindsight Loki had to agree that his son took the right
path.
He was just growing with such haste.
He’d known he was going to regret the premature aging he’d been forced to put
his son and heir through due to the meddling of that damned Headmaster, but it
wasn’t until this summer when he’d had to watch helplessly as his son was
affected by some form of strange aura leeching out across the California coast,
that it’d really hit him.
Frey wasn’t a child anymore.
The wee babe he’d held in his arms and comforted in the wake of James and
Lily’s deaths had turned into a highly honorable young godling, as evidenced by
his gracefully stepping aside in the matter of his young lovers’ feelings for
one another.
Loki couldn’t say that he would’ve been able to do the same, with such respect
for what they felt.  Nor would he have been able to comfort his male former-
lover with sympathy and calm, as Frey had.
His child was nearly a man – was a warrior grown by the markers of Asgard if
not by that of the world where he resides.
And it killed him a little more every day that he was forced to remain apart
from him, leaving his son to grow and learn without his presence, even if he
was able to give some measure of comfort and guidance through his dream-walking
and using his doubles.
It just wasn’t the same as in the years before Frey gained the interest of his
true (well…apparently adopted) people.
And above all, Loki resented Odin and his damnable nature for that most of all.
Thor was still talking while Loki was lost in thought.
“How goes events with our young Warrior-Mage?”
That was new, Loki had to admit.
Most of the warriors of Asgard looked down on Loki for using magic, despite
Magic Herself choosing him as an Avatar, the highest honor any god could
receive.
It was only since they’d become witnesses to Frey’s adventures that that
prevailing attitude if not out-right disdain had started to lessen, to change
into something approaching respect after seeing what a Mage who was also a
Warrior was capable of.
Not that they respected Loki per se…
But they were now much warier regarding riling him or pushing him too far.
“A Tournament comes to his school.”  Loki answered, hands braced on either side
of the Seeing-Pool as he lifted his head from watching his son to converse with
the Prince of Asgard.  “A contest of daring, bravery, and cunning.  It should
be a most interesting year…though the young Seidr shows no interest in
competing himself.”
“Hah.”  Thor shook his head, for once showing the wisdom that the Thunder god
was capable of but rarely used outside of battle strategy.  “That cretin ruling
his school will likely force his hand, if not another.  Shall we summon
Heimdall to begin the betting?  What are the trials and rules of this
Tournament?”
And for once, the two princes, one true-born and one adopted, whiled away an
Asgardian afternoon in perfect concord – a rare event indeed.
…
Frey found himself waiting with impatience as Dumbledore took his sweet time
rising to his feet for the start-of-term announcements following the feast
later that night.  The students had all been – as the old codger liked to say –
fed and watered and Frey was looking at another year of barely paying attention
to lectures as he worked ahead on the studies his Far set him when they met in
his dreams and gaining allies and friends through his study group that he’d
began in first year.  Yes, fourth year was shaping up to be another year of
watching Granger fume when she couldn’t match his marks, Weasley exhibit the
absolute worst of table manners, and honing his Far-and-Father given pranking
talents with the Twins.
Well.
Except for that one thing.
Which if he knew the old man’s machinations well enough – and at this point he
was all-too-familiar with them – would probably end up throwing him in some
kind of either mortal danger or a clash with Tom.  After the events at the
World Cup and the Riddle Manor – and wasn’t that a shock to his system learning
just who was likely the culprit behind the Dark magic he sensed in Little
Hangleton – Dumbledore was sure to try and throw them at each other…unless Tom
took the initiative and came after him on his own.
It was a toss-up really; which old man would be the conductor behind their next
encounter.
Personally, Frey was betting on Dumbledore.
But then, of the two of them, Frey appreciated Tom’s lack of guile.  He was
evil.  He knew it, he flaunted it, and therefore everyone else knew what to
expect from him.
Dumbledore’s brand of elaborate manipulations while playing the genial
grandfather – as long as everyone did as they were told – well…that just didn’t
sit right with the godling.
Give him an honest knave any day over a dishonest schemer.
Especially one that felt a sense of moral superiority because they were favored
by one of the gods as a particularly useful tool.
Stupid Fates.
Ah.
The old bastard was finallytalking.
“Well now that we're all settled in and sorted, I'd like to make an
announcement.”  Dumbledore wheezed from behind his ornate pulpit after
introducing Remus as the new History Professor and Sirius as the new DADA
instructor – the latter to the sound of stereophonic gasps over his reputation
and sighs from the girls at his good looks.  “This castle will not only be your
home this year but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts
has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament. The
Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From
each school a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear. If
chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contest are not for the
faint-hearted. But more of that later.”
“Blimey.”  Frey heard coming from farther down the table, the school breaking
out into a hive of whispers and gossip as soon as the words “Triwizard
Tournament” came out of that decrepit mouth.
Dumbledore continued:
"The Tournament was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing
ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities -- until,
that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."
Some of the younger students were in shock over this while many of their elders
simply frowned or sighed, the ongoing threats of death or dismemberment being
old hat to them.
“But enough about that.”  Dumbledore beamed in his patented mien, blue eyes
twinkling out at the students.  “A reminder that this is an opportunity to
create lasting friendships spanning nations that can also span your lifetime. 
We, the staff, all encourage you to make the most of this opportunity.  Now, as
the Tournament is occurring on our grounds there will be no formal Quidditch
cup this year.”
The old man paused and let to shouts – and heartbroken sobs from Oliver Wood –
calm down.
“Yes, yes.”  Albus sighed.  “A tragedy I am sure.  However, this will give you
even more time to enjoy the festival surrounding the Tournament and make new
friends.  Even study, as strange as that might seem.”  His joke fell flat with
the outraged students, as could have been foreseen.  “Now before you all go off
to bed with visions of winning eternal glory for your school – and the prize of
a thousand galleons for yourself-“
“Blimey a thousand galleons.”
“Eternal glory?”
Frey rolled his eyes and hissed out to his friends who seemed to have gotten
caught up in the old man’s theatrics:
“Death toll.  Danger.  Dismemberment.”
“Oh, right.”  The Twins visibly deflated.
“Thanks for the reminder, Har.”  Angelina leaned over and whispered in his ear
as she watched Fred pout to his ‘other half’.  “I rather prefer my half of the
Twins in one piece.”
“No problem, Angie.”  Frey grinned and then lightly jerked his head towards the
podium where Dumbledore was still speaking – and apparently squashing many
student’s dreams of glory and gold.
“---only students who are of age, that is seventeen, by October Thirty-First
may compete.”  Dumbledore continued on, acting completely oblivious to all
protests from the student body.  “You will be given more information as the
time for the other schools to arrive nears and the Tournament approaches.  For
those of you too young to compete, you might wish to support your coming
Champion to the best of your ability.  For those of age, I admonish you to
consider this choice with great care.  The Triwizard Tournament is a deadly and
dangerous trial, designed to test your nerve, daring, courage, and above all
your magical abilities.  Better to not step forward than to lose your life. 
Now.”  Dumbledore returned to his cheery self after his final – dire – warning,
clapping his hands briskly.  “Off you trot!  Classes start bright and early in
the morning!”
…
Author’s Note 2:  Okay, before anyone says anything about Frey’s rant regarding
the TriWizard, let me say this:  the trials and quests demigods go through is a
vastly different thing than the Tournament.  Slaying monsters and such is how
demigods protect mortals from things they can’t see and prove themselves as
being worthy of gaining a boon from the gods or even of immortality.  That’s a
very different thing (in my opinion) than the glory-seeking and bragging that
surrounds the TriWizard.  And Frey, being aware of how short life can be after
witnessing what happened to Thalia when he was much younger, and almost losing
Luke a month before he found out about the TriWizard, is always going to be
scathing of anything that puts people’s lives at risk just for the sake of
bragging and entertainment.
***** Seventeen - Bread and Circuses *****
                                    Lokison
                     Chapter Seventeen: Bread and Circuses
The first weeks of school flew by for Frey as he acclimated back to life at
Hogwarts and spending time with his wizarding friends and his dogfathers and
Sev.  It was very strange having all three men in the same place, Frey had to
admit.  Though for the sake of the student-body (and to keep up their
individual relationships with himself) they had managed to mostly leave
Snivellus, the Mutt, and the Wolf behind them over the last couple years since
Frey forged their initial bonds with him.  It was still very hit-and-miss,
especially with their new leases on life making both Siri and oddly enough Sev
rather frisky and willing to bait one another.
But they made it work, and there was a lack of rumors revolving around the
Potions Master and the two new-and-newish, in the case of Siri and Remy,
additions to the staff.
Though there was a bit of opening-month scandal but it revolved instead around
the so-called “security consultant” Dumbledore had tried to bring in to live in
the castle, one retired-Auror Alastor Moody.  The staff and students were all
rather boggled when upon his announcement at breakfast the second day of school
that the doors to the castle refused to open and allow him entrance.  Indeed,
it was a state of affairs that yet continued with the Headmaster unable to
sway, bully, or otherwise entice Lady Hogwarts into allowing his “old friend”
entrance, leaving the scarred and semi-crippled man no choice but to Apparate
from his home to the school grounds to complete his “duties” as security
consultant.
Rumors abounded over the cause of the castle’s refusal to relent but no one yet
seemed to have an answer – and Frey was keeping his own knowledge of the
situation close to his chest as he delved into the world of the pre-OWL year
(which he was already prepared for thanks to the grueling taskmaster he called
Far) and his personal research of where he might find the remaining few
Horcruxes.  With the coming Tournament drawing so much attention from Asgard,
Frey had found himself more distracted by his Far’s continued long periods of
absence rather than worrying about the old meddler.   The Headmaster had put-up
a cottage not unlike Hagrid’s on the ground for Moody to use as half office and
half crash-pad for late nights, so Frey kept his nose out of it and left well
enough alone.  And he would continue to do so until it became an issue for him
to handle.
If he’d done his calculations correctly from what Thanatos had told him about
Tom’s soul leeches and his own Arithmancy equations, he believed that with the
destructions of the leech on the Resurrection Stone that there remained three
more for him to find and cleanse.
Though what those might be was the question.
His intuition told him however that at least one had to be at the school.
Tom had thus far shown a strain of magpie-kleptomaniac tendencies and a rather
startling sentimental-streak in the choices of using his maternal family’s home
as a hideaway as well as the choices of vessels: his school diary, the
Slytherin Locket, and one of the Peverell Rings, even allowing Lucius to hold
the diary for him.
All of this gave him two divergent directions in which to look – both for
hiding places as well as what was hidden.
The Black and Malfoy Houses were both previously some of, if not the closest
supporters of the Dark Lord while the Gaunt shack was a link to his own “great”
heritage.
In turn, the diary was sentimental and personal like the shack while the Locket
and Ring were of historical significance.
Hogwarts was both personal and significant to the Dark Lord as it tended to be
for every student to attended there, but especially for those with less-than-
pleasant home lives.  For Frey, it was an easy logical leap to make that Tom
might have hidden something within the hallowed walls of Hogwarts.  Besides
which…Frey had to admit that if he were in the same position as Tom, Frey
would’ve gotten quite the kick out of hiding the darkest of dark artifacts
under the so-called Light Lord’s very nose.
Being methodical about it, it took Frey almost the whole time before the
arrival of the rival schools and the beginning of the Tournament to search all
of the highways and byways of the Chamber, bringing Sev with him sometimes so
the Potions Master and ultimate-Slytherin could peruse the Library section of
Salazar’s quarters as well as spending time tending to the master Ward-Stones.
Spending so much time mapping the Chamber made him massively curious over what
had happened to the Marauders’ Map.  According to his dogfathers, they’d had it
confiscated by Filch in their last half of seventh year.  But when he’d snuck
into the caretaker’s office and picked the lock on the drawer, he hadn’t been
able to find it.
One thing he was sure of though – someone had it.
There were things in that drawer that went back the before Filch took over the
position forty years before so Frey knew it hadn’t been tossed.  That only left
someone doing as he’d done and picking the lock and making off with it.  The
only question that remained was whether it was still within the school or had
it happened years before and whoever found it took it with them when they
graduated?
Frey was waffling between the two but with so much else on his mind (and Siri
and Remy’s coaching on how it was made in the first place) he didn’t give it
too much thought since he’d mapped more of the “hidden” parts of the castle
than even the Marauders had been able to find with the Chamber and the Room of
Requirement.  Siri had the year before told him of many secret passageways as
well, beyond those his Far Loki knew of from when Hogwarts was built, so Frey
felt he had a Map that was almost as good as the original if not better due to
his additions with the formerly unknown/legendary hidden portions of the
castle.  But still…he’d like to know what happened with the one his Father and
dogfathers made.
In the wrong hands the damned thing could be bloody dangerous, and that was an
understatement.
Still, time marched on and with the Professors alternately dumping an unseen
before amount of work onto his shoulders (he’d never before been so glad that
he’d stuck to two electives unlike others he could name that were driving him
and everyone else insane) or chivvying everyone into helping present Hogwarts
under the “best light possible” Frey had little real opportunity to add yet
another additional search onto his plate, especially since with his removal of
Binns, History of Magic had become an actual class and not merely nap time or a
chance to catch up on work for other classes.
It didn’t help matters that Draco, normally his partner in class and studying,
now preferred to partner Blaise as his boyfriend, leaving Frey with Blaise’s
partner Daphne in the joint Slytherin/Gryffindor classes.  Daphne was fine, and
rather smart…but she wasn’t Draco.
As he stared blankly at his bed curtains, Frey shook his himself lightly before
turning over and trying to get some sleep and put it all from his mind.  The
delegations from the other two schools would arrive in the morning and Samhain
was the day after next.  This wasn’t the time to obsess.
But still…
That one phrase rang in his head.
She wasn’t Draco.
Merlin…he needed to get laid so he could stop obsessing over his blond friend.
They’d both agreed to date other people while waiting for Draco’s physical age
to not be so…young…to his older-than-he-looks friend.  And Frey, while he
hadn’t dated anyone, had certainly taken advantage of having physical partners
this past summer.  He shouldn’t, in all fairness, be bothered by Draco
following their agreement.
But then…
Frey had been raised jointly by Thanatos and Loki, and while Death might be
neutralthat didn’t necessarily mean fair, while Loki would tell him that things
like equality were mere illusions, and not something that applied to the
double-son of Asgard and Jotunheim.
Jealous on the other hand, was alive and well in the ranks of divinity, many
were the gods, goddesses, and their half-blood kin that experienced it as their
fatal flaw.
Hera was one such goddess and many would say the same of Loki, however, Frey
saw it a bit differently.
His Far could be jealous, petty, and spiteful, that was true.
But Frey rather thought that is wasn’t the dark parts of Loki’s heart that was
the problem at all.
No.
He thought that it might be the extent to which Loki loved: fiercely, wholly,
and with every part of himself to the extent that he would do highly foolish
things to try and win the love and approval of those he cared for in turn.
Loki, after all, had gone to great extents to hide the truth of Frey’s sire
from all others in order to keep him safe.  Extents that could very well start
a war with Olympus over a half-Jotun, quarter?-wizarding, quarter-Elder God
(thanks to Thanatos's contribution to Frey's creation) half-blood being raised
among their own children.  The act of hiding him as well was dangerous to the
point of Odin making a case of treason from it should it be uncovered in the
wrong way.
His Far had given up a great deal to protect him: freedom to raise him wholly
on his own, the ability to openly claim him, the possibility of war, and the
even-more real possibility of execution…all for his son.
Yes, if there was one thing Loki did better than anything less it was love.
Frey just hoped that someday he was able to love his own children half so well
as his Far had taught him – not through words or books – but through his deeds.
Part of him wanted to prove to everyone – whether they knew of his parentage or
not – that he was a worthy son and heir for his father, so that when the day
came for him to Ascend or his parentage was revealed that there could be
nothing for Odin or any other to use against him – or his father.
What treason could there be, after all, in siring a godling who had proven over
and over again to be of heroic stock, with a list of deeds to their name that
would secure them a place in Valhalla among the greatest of warriors?
Such an offspring would be a boon to Asgard – or Jotunheim as Laufey is
apparently aware of him, which sparked a whole ‘nother round of questions – not
a cause for shame or ridicule.
He warred with this ambition within himself, this desire to prove himself
worthy that he knew he inherited from his Far who had always felt second-best
to Thor…though at last he had an answer as to why that was so with Laufey’s
claiming of Frey.
And it was this ambition that tempted him into perhaps failing to curb whatever
plots Dumbledore or Tom had designed around this Tournament.
Frey had a running bet with his Far that he was somehow going to be entered and
chosen – even if it was as Harry Potter – but without knowing his true name
they had no way to bind him to the Tournament as his research had told him the
Goblet of Fire worked.  A fact that if revealed would possibly derail his
ability to dodge Dumbledore’s prying into his home life and call his childhood
into question – questions he had no intention of ever answering…which was
problematic in itself.  But if it let it go on, Frey would have to pretend to
obey the rules of the Tournament – at least in public – and act as Harry Potter
to the hilt.
Sometimes wearing the Boy-Who-Lived mask was exhausting, in fact it most often
was, and he hated having to pretend to be the glittering golden child.
But it was highly beneficial at distracting those – like Dumbledore – who would
muddy up his quest for the Horcruxes.
Frey abhorred the very idea of the Tournament, it went against all the values
he’d been taught from the cradle about the value of life.
Just this once…he hoped he was wrong.
And that when the Champions were chosen on All Hallows Eve, that the name Harry
Potter wasn’t amongst them.
…
The other schools arrived with grand pomp and circumstance, Frey quite enjoying
both schools and their usage of magic for their entrances, both Beauxbaton’s
illusions and Durmstrang’s fire.
Students from all houses gathered around the revealed Goblet of Fire, some
hoping to fool Dumbledore’s age line – to much hilarity – while others entered
with ceremony both great and small.
And then Samhain was upon them and the feast was begun.
…
Frey stood with grand ceremony and strode forward, taking the cleared place at
the front of the Great Hall, standing on the dais that had been cleared of the
teachers and visitors who were now seated among the students when he’d been
called forward to perform a tale of the dead for the Samhain feast.
Every bit the showman from his father’s lessons, Frey had plotted and planned
for weeks over what to perform before landing on a singular tale – that of his
own half-sister.
Holding his hands out before him, he channeled his illusion magic into his
palms until it was a glowing ball of golden light then tossed it up towards the
ceiling, the candles extinguishing on cue as the magic began to illustrate the
story as he spoke, the same as his Far had done for him as a young godling when
he told this and many other stories in the days before the eyes of Asgard fell
so heavily on Frey.
“This is the tale of Hela, daughter of Loki, and Queen of Niflheim, a goddess
of the Dead and Avatar of Death.”  He spoke solemnly his voice resounding
through the Great Hall and enthralling his audience, even those like Hermione
Granger who scoffed at his words.
“There’s onlyone God.”  She snorted derisively, fed up with this nonsense of
the Board of Governors imposing lessons in mythology on Hogwarts and calling it
“Wizarding Tradition.”
“No, there’s not.”  Neville drawled, many around him purebloods and half-bloods
alike nodding their heads and shushing her.  “And saying things like that is
why many wizards and witches don’t like muggleborns.  Now shush and maybe
you’ll learn something.”
Before Hermione could retort, a harrumph from Neville's Head of House silenced
her, Professor McGonagall’s stern gimlet gaze forcing even Hermione into
watchful silence as the truly impressive display of charmwork played out the
story young Mr. Potter was telling – though it was a version even Minerva would
admit she’d never heard before.
Perhaps Mr.’s Black and Lupin were correct and Mr. Potter’s guardians had seen
to his education in such things far better than even a British wizarding family
might have done.
Whatever the cause of the tale and Mr. Potter’s charmwork – which Filius was
already planning on providing Mr. Potter extra credit and house points for – it
was clear they had chosen the right student to represent Hogwarts as part of
the opening ceremonies, as honoring one of the “Death” gods was a new mandate
to go hand-in-hand with bringing wizarding traditions back to Hogwarts per the
demands of both the Wizengamot and the Governing Board.
“Long ago,” Frey’s voice carried, caressing and weaving around his captivated
audience, ignoring the by-play between some of the students and teachers. 
“Loki, son of Odin and Frigga and god of Mischief, Avatar of Magic Herself,
looked around him and felt a lack.  His brother’s good friend, Volstagg, one of
the Warriors Three had wed and his wife had born him a son, bringing a new life
and joy into the warrior.  Loki, wanting this joy for himself but being unwed,
decided upon a plan.  He would bend his very magic, his blood and bone, and
create for himself a child to love and be loved by in turn.”
The illusions overhead played out: a striking form with glowing green eyes
watching a rotund male and winsome female cuddle a child; then that same green-
eyed form studying and hunching over texts in a library; and then as Frey spoke
strands of white red and green flowing from the figure and forming another,
smaller form.
“And so, as Zeus had once made Athena, so too did Loki make his child – a girl
child who he called Hela.”
The dark figure crouched and picked up the smaller figure who was wearing a
pretty dress, twirling her about as the audience felt more than heard a joyous
sense of laughter and delight.
“But.”  Frey’s tone darkened as did the vignette.  “Odin, son of Bor and King
of Asgard, looked upon Hela and was disgusted.  For she had been born not as
all Aesir were from a woman but from the loathsome magics worked by a man, for
the only man who could wield magic with impunity in Asgard was Odin himself,
not his weaker younger son.  Odin called her monstrous and forbade her presence
in the Realm Eternal, casting down she who would be his granddaughter with a
fearsome curse and binding her to the Realm of the Dead for in his eyes – she
never should have lived.”
Now the illusion showed a fierce and tall man in armor wielding a spear and
missing an eye snatching the small figure representing Hela from Loki’s arms
and then with his spear tearing open a rift in the worlds before casting her
down, looking over at the huddled and crying form of his son with disgust
before whirling away.
“None of Asgard ever knew from whence Hela came, save perhaps those who had the
sight, but all feared the dreaded Queen of the Dead.  All save her father,
Loki, who despite his being forbidden to see his own child kept his beloved
child close to his heart.”
The illusion showed two figures, one growing steadily until it was as a grown
woman and the other the familiar green-eyed man, each in their different halls
but reaching out to each other from opposite sides of a mirror.
“In time, Hela grew to be a beautiful maiden, one who ruled the realm of
Niflheim, sometimes called Helheim after her being bound there.  And so her
heart in turn yearned as her father’s had.  But who would love the queen of the
dead when only the dead surround her?”
Hela was shown with long gleaming locks and the same green eyes, watching over
the realms wistfully from her mirror or sitting in judgement over the dead.
“And so Loki, unable to see his own child, spread whispers and rumors of a
great treasure residing in Helheim, so that the bravest and most worthy of
warriors would go there and perhaps one might fall in love and stay there as
love and consort to his daughter.  It was a plan that worked too well, as
Loki’s plans often did, having an unforeseen consequence: many were the
warriors who sought the treasure of Helheim but none of them were canny enough
to realize it was Hela herself nor constant enough to stay in the land of the
dead, even to win the hand of one of the fairest maidens of the Realms, for all
knew that Odin had bound her there and to love her and wed her was to never
leave Niflheim again.”
A parade of warriors knelt before Hela, or fought her guards, some dying for
trying to act as brutes and others content with only a kiss.  But none stayed
and Hela always returned to her cold throne watching over the dead.
“Heart weary and sore, Hela barred the gates of her palace to every warrior of
Asgard, be they Aesir or Vanir, she would have no more coming to trying and
take or charm her without desiring to stay.”
Blue runes climbed over the arched gates of the fortress Frey wrought as he
took a breath and a deep drink of water before continuing the tale.
“Loki was stymied: for he wanted only happiness for the child he had made and
it seemed all was lost.  For of the other races, the Light Elves had no place
in a dead land and could not survive, the Fire Giants were busy trying to start
a war with the Dark Elves, and those of mortal men would not survive Niflheim
long enough to even see the beauty that was Hela.  But Loki had forgotten the
last race – or perhaps the First – the first of the Nine Realms was Jotunheim,
but they were locked away from the other Realms as punishment by Odin, however,
they had gifts that allowed them passage through the blood of Ymir along the
World Tree – but only those of the direct bloodline of Ymir, that of Laufey
King and his family.”
The scene switched, illustrating the massive blue Jotnar and showing a group of
a hundred or so standing on a dais above thousands more, all those standing
high of Ymir’s bloodline including a trio who wore crowns fashioned of ice.
“Of the line of Ymir that shared blood with Laufey king were many Jotnar who
could – with training and sacrifice – learn to walk among the branches of the
World Tree.  But with the Casket of Ancient Winters taken by Odin – another
punishment for the Jotnar’s loss in the Aesir-Jotnar war – their powers were
needed to keep their people from starving.  Two young cousins, barely old
enough to have their markings of maturity, heard tales of the treasure of
Niflheim.  Skadi and Jarnsaxa waited and planned, eager to bring back the
treasure to their family’s hold in the once-prosperous North of Jotunheim, and
learned all they could from listening to the few traders who would dare disobey
the Allfather’s edict to trade with the Jotnar in secret.”
Two blue forms, one taller and holding an ice spear and the other smaller but
still of average size for a Jotun and holding a scroll, traipsed over a frozen
land, hiding in shadows and listening at doors while Dark Elves, dwarves, Aesir
and Vanir alike dared the rifts between worlds or piloted ships to Jotunheim to
seek out stacks of fine furs or casks of whale oil, even rare Jotnar gems.
“And so in time once Hela had tired of warriors and locked the gates of both
her palace and her heart, the two Jotnar set out, combining their powers for
the trip through the rifts and branches to Niflheim.  Hela’s palace gates
opened easily – for they were not of Asgard – and the two Jotnar sought out the
muchly-vaunted treasure guarded by the dark maiden and her army of the dead. 
And stunned at having Jotnar invade her halls, Hela rose to her feet but was
stunned into silence at the sight of them – for they had a rough handsomeness
with their marks and features and deep blue skin – only to see that they were
likewise struck by her, for Hela was taller than any Aesir the Jotnar had ever
seen, nearly on part with Skadi’s own height and outstripping her father by
far.”
The Jotnar were shown slipping through shadows before confronting Hela in her
throne room, the audience getting a deep sense of synchronicity as the trio met
for the first time.
“In that moment, a pair of Jotnar hearts forswear their quest for Hela’s
treasure whatever it may be, and vowed to each win her for their own for many
were the Jotnar, the Aesir or Vanir who had taken a lover or even a war-prize
from their cousin realms, often creating children both great in power and in
beauty.  Skadi, believing that as an Avatar of Death that Death would win
Hela’s favor, swore to bring Hela the trophies of a thousand hunts for proof of
his devotion and so he set out once more, leaving his cousin and now
competition for her hand behind.  But Jarnsaxa was wiser than Skadi and could
see the loneliness in Hela’s eyes, and in so seeing, knelt down on one knee and
set aside his great spear, vowing to never leave her side until Ragnarok came.”
The shadow-figure of Skadi with holding his scroll threw a fist into the air
and marched off purposefully while Jarnsaxa’s knelt with one large hand pressed
to his chest over her heart as Frey continued with the story of his half-
sister’s courtship.
“Moved by Jarnsaxa’s promise, Hela allowed him rest and succor in her halls,
desiring to see how long his vow would remain true.  A year and more passed and
Jarnsaxa’s heart stayed steady and constant, and in the face of such earnest
and true regard, the queen felt her heart soften and yield, at last agreeing to
take Jarnsaxa as her husband and consort.”  Frey paused as scenes of simple
courtship and the eventual handfasting played out.  “And so Hela found herself
for the first time in many a year happy and at peace, her loneliness banished. 
But Odin’s curse was more dastardly than she – or any – knew, and the time came
when it struck once more.”
Happy scenes of domestic idyll danced in shadows and light, the giant Jarnsaxa
showing a gentle loving side of the warlike people as he remained content at
his bride’s side.
“For in time, as often happens between those who share intimacies, Jarnsaxa
begot Hela with child.”  Grief was apparent in Frey’s voice, those all
listening - save for one of the eavesdropping Asgardians who were watching the
spectacle through the seeing pool…and all vowing to never speak of the scene to
the All-Father – attributing it to story-telling than the actual pain this part
of his sister’s tale caused him.  “However Odin had bound Hela thoroughly to
the Realm of the Dead, and such a binding it not easily thrown off.  No sooner
had the beautiful queen quickened than had she lost her first child.  Grief
filled the halls of Niflheim as it happened again, and again.  A terrible, vile
thing done to any woman, let alone one as gentle and lovely as Hela. 
Distraught at what had been done to his love, Jarnsaxa scoured the tomes in the
library of Niflheim, certain that there must be a way for him to give his
beloved the child she yearned for, even as the souls of their lost little ones
grew – though as wraiths rather than living young.”
Murmurs sounded throughout the great hall as the grieving parents surrounded by
the ghosts of their children – from infant to toddler to child and beyond –
were bracketed by scenes of Jarnsaxa searching and comforting his love.
Frey had many reasons to dislike and distrust Odin – but what had been done to
his half-sister was more than enough to push him to the very edge of hate where
he wavered even now.
“And in time.”  Frey’s voice picked up an ominous resonance.  “Jarnsaxa found
the answer – as their children were conceived inside of Hela’s womb they were
unable to take from her to sustain themselves as Hela was made of magic not of
life and bound to her very soul to Death.  Her very being was anathema to
carrying and bearing young.  And so Loki mourned for his daughter – for he had
created her only for his child to live a life filled with loneliness, anguish
and grief with far too few moments of true happiness.  However, Loki locked
away on Asgard and under nearly constant watch, and even Hela herself
underestimated the resolve of Jarnsaxa.  For he had promised her all the
desires of her heart and he would not rest until he delivered all she wished
for into her hands – no matter the cost.”  Frey took a ragged breath.  “A great
and terrible resolve – for the cost would be great indeed.”
“And then.”  His voice rasped lowly through the hall though none had difficulty
hearing it.  “When next Hela felt life quicken within her and began to mourn –
as with all her children she was able to shelter them within her before the
time came for them to feed from her and die – Jarnsaxa cast a spell.  Hela’s
consort and lover was many things, learned and powerful among them, but he
wasn’t a true sorcerer preferring martial abilities to those magical.  And so
his spell worked – their children drew breath, a pair of twin boys and
shapeshifters with it – but at a devastating cost, that of Jarnsaxa’s very
life.”
The tall figure of Jarnsaxa faded away as Hela labored, barely able to lay his
children in their mother’s arms before being stuck down and then reappearing at
her side as a shade – dead but choosing to remain at her side for all of
time…as he’d promised her.
“Those were bittersweet days for the daughter of Loki and Queen of Niflheim. 
Her beloved remained at her side – but as a shade.  Her children lived and grew
– but as time passed it was clear they did not have the near-immortality of
herself or her father.  Jarnsaxa’s spell had been enough to save them but not
enough to bless them with the long days of Asgard or Jotunheim.  They would
still die,” Frey’s voice was solemn.  “Their father’s blessing a mere extension
of the inevitable.  A hundred years and more had passed since the two Jotnar
had slipped into the halls of Hela’s palace, and in that time she had known
both the highest of happiness and the very dregs of despair when at last her
other suitor reappeared, having waged wars and won many battles in her name to
prove himself and his love.  The sight Skadi returned to was not the one he
expected…to say the least.  His rival was dead – but not gone.  And his love
both adored her children – and mourned them – in equal measure, knowing that it
was only a matter of time before they joined their father in her halls as
shades rather than the joyful living beings they currently were.  Known Fenrir
the Wolf and Jormangandr the Serpent for their preferred forms, shapeshifters
and sorcerers, Fenrir with the First-Born blessing of Hela and Jormangandr with
that of Jarnsaxa, each destined to be more powerful than their parent…should
they live long enough for the Blessing to take effect.”
“Then one day when her children were grown and still aging, Skadi returned. 
Triumphant from battles numerous in worlds both near and far, he found himself
welcomed as an old friend by the Queen who had entered into a melancholy,
already fearing and anticipating the day when her children would die and join
their sire as a shade among her court.  A strong sorcerer and moved by her
grief, Skadi found the spell that Jarnsaxa had cast, seeing at once the problem
of where Odin’s curse had kept it from giving Hela’s beloved sons the fully
measure of years that should be their due.  And without thought for himself, he
cast the spell once more, conferring his own span of remaining life onto Hela’s
sons, thereby joining his beloved as her second husband and consort of Niflheim
for all of time until Ragnarok comes.”
The hall erupted in applause as he took a deep bow, Dumbledore reclaiming the
podium and thanking him with glittering eyes and false enthusiasm for his
performance.
…
“And now.”  Dumbledore said with great effect.  “The time has come for the
Goblet of Fire to select our Champions for the TriWizard tournament.  Now let
me be clear.  If you are chosen, you stand alone as the representative of your
school.”
The Goblet’s Fire shot high, all eyes on the magical flame as they waited with
baited breath.
Then the first slip of paper and the first champion’s name shot forth.
“Representing Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Ms. Fleur Delacour!”
Weeping sounded from some of the Beauxbatons girls as a willowy blonde with an
icy expression stood, accepting her Headmistress’s congratulations gracefully
before continuing back to the antechamber to await the rest of the champions
and the instructions for the first task.
Once she was clear of the great hall, the Goblet’s fire turned red once more,
revealing another piece of paper which Dumbledore snatched from the air.
“From Durmstrang Institute, Mr. Viktor Krum!”
Frey arched his brow as he applauded good-naturedly, snorting a bit at
Karkaroff’s deputy headmaster’s over-the-top cries, Karkaroff himself
restricted to Hogwarts’s grounds and the Durmstrang ship as Lady Hogwarts had
refused to allow the man entrance to the school.
The Goblet turned red once more as the door closed behind the back of the tall
and rather roughly handsome Viktor, ideas already tumbling through Frey’s head
and tugging at his awakened libido.
“And finally, the Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is…” 
Dumbledore paused, eyes widening dramatically.  “Harry Potter?”
All eyes turned to Frey as he gave in internal groan.
Sometimes he really really hated being right.
“Harry Potter?  Harry where are you?”  Dumbledore searched the benches for the
thorn in his side.
Frey slowly stood, taking out his wand and letting of a flashbang of sound and
light to silence the shouting crowd.
“Sonorous.  I’m only going to say this once.  I, Harry Potter, swear on my
magic that I neither entered the tournament nor had someone else enter my name
for me.  So mote it be.”  Holding his wand high, he locked gazes with the stern
face of the headmaster, who clearly didn’t approve of his method of dealing
with this newest manipulation.  Though be who was the question.  “Lumos
maxima.”
A bright light shone from the tip of his wand, nearly blinding in its intensity
before he cancelled it, making many people cry out and cover their eyes before
he put his wand back in its holster and strode away into the antechamber with
the other champions, leaving the great hall in stunned silence in his wake.
…
Frey entered the antechamber, the other champions just giving him a once-over
but not throwing a fit…mainly because unless you knew who he was, you wouldn’t
know he was supposed to be only fourteen instead of the seventeen you were
supposed to be to enter the tournament.
Technically he could get out of it, he wasn’t bound in any way by the Goblet,
he’d felt the artifact searching for him, but it couldn’t find him.
Harry Potter after all, wasn’t his true name.
Several minutes later, likely after they shot off some platitudes and sent the
children off to bed, the two school heads, a trio of deputy heads, a pair of
ministry lackeys, and Remus, Sirius, Severus all piled into the antechamber
with Dumbledore at the head arguing with Madame Maxim as well as Professor
McGonagall and Severus.
“It is an outrage.”  Maxim declared, Minerva nodding along while Severus simply
caught Frey’s gaze and arched a brow, wordlessly asking if he was alright and
wished to continue.  Frey gave him a small nod and Severus stood back against
the wall, tucking his hands into his sleeves.  “He is too young!”
“That’s right.”  Sirius growled in fury.  “Harry is only fourteen.  How did his
name get into that fucking Goblet, Albus?”
“Sirius, language.”  Remus scolded him mildly.  “However, I agree Albus.  This
is a serious breach of the safety regulations the ministry promised the Board
that would be in place.  There will have to be an investigation.”
“What is going on?”  Krum asked in his deep bass voice from where he stood by
the fire.
“I’m only fourteen.”  Frey told the other champions.  “Someone entered me
without my permission.”
“Bah.”  The Bulgarian deputy head spat.  “How would such a thing happen or
why?”
“How about.”  Severus suggested silkily.  “Because he’s the bloody Boy-Who-
Lived and there are known Death Eaters living in freedom who just might be
interested in entering a young man in a competition he has a very real change
of perishing in…to start.”
“All that aside.”  Albus said, stroking one hand down his beard.  “Harry has
given a magical oath that he had nothing to do with it, therefore the question
that remains is does he have to compete regardless, Ludo?”
“Well…there’s no precedent…”  He spluttered, turning to look at the new head of
the Department of International Cooperation.  “Sir?”
“The rules are clear.  He’s been chosen.  Fourteen or not…the boy will have to
compete.”
“Well, there we have it.”  Bagman said helplessly, clapping his hands in a
mockery of cheer.  “So, the First Task.”  He continued as the educators
bickered and hissed amongst each other and the students just watched him
carefully.  “It is traditionally a test of bravery and nerve…so you will not
receive any notice or help regarding what it entails.  It will take place here
on Hogwarts grounds on November 24th of this year.”
…
The population of Hogwarts was behaving…odd to say the least after that.
Most believed him, taking his oath as truth, though a few holdouts who were
hopefuls themselves complained over a Fourth-Year being chosen over themselves.
His friends and study group all buckled down and helped him prepare, granted
none of them knew what he was preparing for, he did as Remus was on the Board
who had approved each and every task, an advantage that apparently no one but
himself and Remus knew he had.
And gods knew, Remus wasn’t about to say anything if it meant his cub having a
better shot at surviving the death circus of a tournament.
Still, his friends all made up lists of upper-level spells for him to learn,
and were willing to submit themselves as test-dummies once he’d gotten the
knack of casting them, except for a few borderline-illegal spells that they all
agreed were more of a last resort.  He’d also netted himself more work-out and
sparring partners, as particularly the older boys were worried about him.  That
they didn’t have Quidditch this year to keep them in shape probably had
something to do with the new interest in his workouts likely had something to
do with it as well.
But with his becoming Champion brought a full-new level of attention down on
his head, which would lead to him ducking into the library or whatever quiet
corner he could find somedays, including the RoR, just for a few moments of
peace.
A habit, he was entertained to learn, that he shared with one of his other
Champions who also had a problem with both fame and – to Harry’s shock now that
he was older – fangirls.
Viktor Krum may be hell-on-wheels on a broomstick chasing a snitch but take him
off the pitch and he turned rather shy and awkward…which was just about one of
the cutest things Frey had ever seen in his life.
“Do you mind if I sit here?”  Viktor asked quietly one day, gesturing to the
open space at Frey’s table that was tucked deep within the library.  It was the
unofficial “Harry wants quiet or he’ll prank your ass off” table, so other than
his closest friends, like Draco or the Twins who weren’t afraid of a good
pranking, people left him alone after the first couple examples he made of
silly students during his second year.
“Not at all.”  Frey smiled brightly up at the professional athlete, pushing out
the opposite chair with a gentle nudge of his foot.  “Please.”
“Thank you.”  Viktor said, setting down his bag and pulling out a few books
written in German which was the official language spoken at his school.
“Bitte.”  He responded.  Or you’re welcome in German.
“You speak German?”  Viktor asked, dark brown eyes sparking with excitement as
he switched to German himself.
“I speak many languages.”  Harry answered in the same.  “German is just one of
them.”
And it was true, he did thanks to his father’s exacting standard for his
education.  Part of which was Loki explaining that it was easier to gain the
All-Speak when he froze into his immortality if he already was multi-lingual. 
Something to do with the pathways already being well paved for the magic of the
All-Speak to come in and build on the existing paths rather than having to dig
whole new ones in his mind.
Which honestly, just sounded ridiculously painful to five-year-old Frey when
his father explained it so he’d been diligent about his language studies ever
since.
“Wonderful.”  Viktor smiled awkwardly before ducking his head and applying
himself to his studies.
And that was that, the sum of their first real meeting, though it by far wasn’t
the last or even the most awkward.
No, the most-awkward award went to the day of November 23rd.
It was the day before the First Task, and Frey was well-aware that the dragons
had arrived the night before, and that likely the heads of the other schools
had come up with some way to discover the details of task and pass them on to
their champions.
Which was the main cause of the awkwardness between himself and Viktor, who had
grown over the last two weeks to be increasing more comfortable in his company.
After several long moments of silence and fidgeting from Viktor, Frey said
blandly: “The First Task is dragons.  There.  Now we’re both aware that the
other is cheating, and likely the French Veela is as well.  Can we please work
on figuring out how not to die a fiery death now?”
…
 
***** Eighteen: Fire and Ice *****
                                    Lokison
                        Chapter Eighteen – Fire and Ice
Frey joined Viktor in the striped champion’s tent, the two of them exchanging
smiles and comfortable with enjoying the silence of each other as the sounds of
a roaring crowd and stamping feet easily penetrated the thin silk walls, gladly
avoiding the hovering form of Rita Skeeter who was stalking the outside of the
tent hoping for an exclusive.
She’d given pinning down Frey a good try at the Weighing of the Wands only to
be stymied when faced with facts that she couldn’t refute, though she gave
twisting them a damn good try.
But Frey wasn’t the son of Loki Silvertongue for nothing, and easily deflected
the worst of her queries.
The witch still managed to get quote from the disgruntled few at Hogwarts that
attempted to paint him as an attention seeker but with only one or two students
with an axe to grind as her sources, it didn’t have nearly the impact she could
have hoped for.
And it certainly hadn’t managed to stymie the budding friendship – and possibly
more – between Viktor and Frey.
For while he hadn’t anticipated Rita Skeeter trying to tear him apart to the
public, his magical oath – though worthless due to the name he used, true or
not – had done more than enough to silence all but the most dogged of his
detractors such as sore losers from the upper years and the always-irritating
Ms. Granger, who found their school less patient with her than ever especially
the Gryffindors who had not only the Boy-Who-Lived as a Lion but also the
Hogwarts Champion to their name.
Lions tended to look askance at anyone trying to tarnish their shine, which was
very much how they saw her attempts at constantly maligning Frey and his
closest friends.
Fleur finally arrived, casting a look at the two young men sharing a settee
before taking herself off to the opposite side of the tent with a disdainful
sniff.
All three of them were in similar uniforms for the task which allowed freedom
of movement but were made of tough leather.  Frey’s was in actuality a modified
version of his dragonhide armor from Camp, simply with the more obvious armor
pieces removed like his greaves and vambraces, and with a simple Hogwarts crest
attached over his left breast above his heart.
Viktor’s were a rather garish burgundy and burnt orange, his school colors, and
clearly modeled off of Quidditch leathers, Fleur’s nearly identical only in the
light blue of Beauxbatons.
As the hour arrived, Ludo Bagman bulled into the tent with his usual over-the-
top bonhomie, greeting them all as if they were about to go out and throw a
party not face off against a fire breathing monster.
After several moments of this and explaining the object – facing a dragon,
retrieve the golden egg, etc. – Ludo held out a cloth bag that moved a bit
saying: “Ladies first.”
Face filled with trepidation, Fleur reached in and drew out a small figure of a
dragon, an animated simulacrum, not an inexpensive bauble for using in as a
method of choosing the order of champions for a single event from what Frey
understood.
It was a miniature Chinese Fireball, Fleur’s eyes widening perceptively, as the
sinuous dragon roared out a massive spire of flaming, well, lava for lack of a
better example.
People could talk all they liked about their Hungarian Horntails and Swedish
Short-Snouts, but when push came to shove, Chinese Fireballs were one of the
most dangerous dragon breeds in the world in the world.
Ludo held out the bag to Viktor next, the stoic and shy Bulgarian pulling forth
a miniature Horntail filling Frey with dread, knowing what dragon was left.  He
would be going first followed by Fleur and then Viktor.  Reaching in he took
out the last dragon, appreciating the sparkling teal and blue scales even as he
mentally cursed.
The Peruvian Vipertooth, containing one of the most venomous bites of any
creature in existence second only to highly-venomous serpents like the
Basilisk.
Great.
Just fucking fantastic.
They really decided to go all-out for the first task, he had to admit.
Three of the most dangerous dragon breeds, all for very different reasons and
requiring very different methods of handling.  It was a case of knowing only
being half the battle.  All three of them knew that they were facing dragons,
even what breeds.  But without knowing which dragon you couldn’t prepare for
it, having to instead come up with a plan of attack for three very different
scenarios.
For one thing, Frey’s parseltongue was out since only Fleur’s dragon was close
enough to a snake in evolution for it to work and he had no idea if his beast-
speaking abilities from his father had developed well enough to translate a
dragon’s speech or not.
Which meant he’d have to go about things the hard way…or the easy way depending
on how you looked at it.
“Good luck, Harry.”  Viktor told him earnestly with a shy smile, sticking to
German as they did when they spoke to each other unless one of them wanted to
practice a language the other spoke.
“You too, Viktor.”  Frey smiled back easily, green eyes glinting
flirtatiously.  “See you on the other side.”  He sent Viktor a wink, a blush
rising in the other young man’s cheeks as he ducked out of the tent at Bagman’s
signal.
Facing the roaring crowd, Frey gave a jaunty wave and a bright smile then took
out his wand at the ready for the signal, which came a moment later as he
stared down at the crouching dragon who was tensed and at the ready, riled up
by the moving around and the noise of the crowd.
Frey mentally thanked Remus and Lucius who insisted that using actual dragon
eggs and nesting mothers was risking endangered species, the Romanian reserve
agreeing, and sending adolescent males who while extremely bad-tempered weren’t
as deadly as a nesting mother protecting her eggs.
He was beautiful.  Frey thought to himself, cheered to his toes that for once
while facing a dangerous – but so very beautiful – creature that he wasn’t
responsible for slaying it.  This was one beauty who was safe so long as he
stayed on his preserve.
Taking a breath, he flicked his wand, casting an illusion over his hands that
wouldn’t show anything to the audience, they likely didn’t even know what he’d
just done as the magic was entirely from his father’s teaching and not really
using the wand at all.  Another breath and he crouched himself, slowly coming
as close to the dragon and nest as he dared, watching the signs for the dragon
to ready an attack.  And he was ready in turn when the Vipertooth breathed in,
getting ready to spit out a blast of poison-laced fire.
Slamming his hands onto the ground, ice flew from under his hands, lunging
under his power towards the dragon and encasing it, quickly dropping the
dragon’s temperature and forcing it into hibernation then retreating back. 
Biting at his lip as his forehead beaded with sweat from the effort of
utilizing powers he’d barely begun to learn and train, Frey forced the ice away
from the now-sleeping dragon.  Unable to make it disappear, he instead formed
it into a cage around the slumbering creature, then cut it off, not even
needing to look to know that his hands had turned light blue under his
illusion.
Rising to his feet, still intentionally deaf to the crowd and the commentary,
Frey easily loped over to the nest and retrieved the golden egg before striding
over to the finish line, then pause before he left the area and cast a simple
controlled light incendio, melting the ice and raising the temperature in the
arena back to safe levels for a creature who was cold-blooded…and not half-
Jotun.
“He’s done it!”  Bagman was shouting, the judges all eyeing Frey with varying
amounts of shock and amazement, Dumbledore twinkling as if he’d just figured
out the secret to the perfect lemon drop.  “Harry Potter bested the dragon and
retrieved the golden egg in an unbeatable time of two-minutes and thirty-nine
seconds using elemental magic!  Never in living memory has a student used such
an impressive display of elemental magics!”  As Frey wasn’t injured, Bagman
went on to call for the scores.  “And the scores!  Beginning with the Head of
International Cooperation.”
A 10 curled into the air above the head of the forgettable man, who gave Frey a
short nod.
“Headmistress Maxime!”
The Head of Beauxbatons studied Frey with narrowed eyes, then raised her wand
and gave him a 9.
“Headmaster Karkaroff!”
Scowling deeply, but obviously impressed despite himself, Karkaroff parted with
another 9.
“And last but certainly not least, our own Headmaster Dumbledore.”
Still twinkling all the way, a 10 rose over his garish purple and gold robes.
“Another 10, that gives Harry Potter a nearly perfect score of 38 out of 40, I
daresay that’ll be first place!  But not to get ahead of ourselves, next we
have the lovely representative of Beauxbatons, Ms. Fleur Delacour!”
Frey’s ice magic had made it easy for Charlie Weasley and the other dragon
handlers to move his dragon out, though it took a bit more doing to get the
Fireball into the stadium.  Frey, just smiled and shook his head when Madam
Pomphrey tried to chivvy him into the medical tent, instead transfiguring
himself a raised director’s chair beside the judge’s platform, watching with
interest at how his fellow champions handled their own dragons.
Fleur had apparently chosen to play on her own natural abilities as well,
drawing on her partial Veela heritage and allure to attempt to enchant the
Fireball to sleep.
She was at least partially successful, losing patience after a good ten minutes
of singing and charging ahead with the Fireball only in a dazed, sleepy state
instead of knocked out.
That tactic would have worked better on some of the western breeds like the
Horntail but it was still a good effort that only left her with burns down her
right side which Madam Pomphrey treated while the dragons were switched then
Fleur returned for her scores, gaining a respectable 27 for her go.
Which left only Viktor and the reason Frey was sitting in plain view of
thousands of spectators rather than taking refuge in the champions’ tent or the
medical area and letting the school mediwitch fuss over his non-existent
injuries.
Frey ended up being glad he’d stayed as Viktor ended up being the only one of
them who actually put on a real showing of fighting the dragon, casting fire-
shielding spells, which were particularly effective due to the shorter-range of
the Horntail’s fire, then hitting it with a Conjunctivitis curse and sending
off loud concussive blasts that were noisy but relatively harmless, herding the
blinded dragon back and using his speed rushed the nest, snatched up the golden
egg and ran.
Viktor was fast, but not fast enough, a flick of the angry and hurting dragon’s
tail slashing down his back and sending him tumbling over the finish line as
dragon handlers rushed the area to stun the dragon and levitate it back to the
holding area.
“Hey you.”  Frey smiled down at the prone, heavily muscled form.  Viktor was
alone in the healing tent for the moment as the mediwitch had gone to fetch a
salve for the tears in his back, Viktor having been stubborn enough to stay in
the arena to hear his scores, netting an impressive 35, having only been marked
down due to the last-minute injury.  “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”  Viktor admitted, turning his head from laying on his arms
to resting his stubbled cheek on the pillow, one eye peeking up at the younger
man.  “Fleur’s groupies were in here before, chattering about you using
elemental magic on the dragon.  Ice, yes?”
“Yes.”  Frey nodded, already knowing that he was going to be answering a lot of
questions about that from everyone, including his friends.  The only ones who
knew that he had that in his bag of tricks at the moment being his father and
his two dogfathers who had helped him practice during the summer.  “It’s a new
skill, I wasn’t sure if it would work the way I wanted it to and it fought me
all the way but it worked.”  He shrugged.  “The Vipertooth was deadly but from
a warmer climate than the other two dragons.  It was as good of a match as I
could’ve hoped for.  If I’d gotten the Horntail I would’ve been sunk.”
“I rather doubt that.”  Viktor told him with a shy grin, eyes darting toward
the tent entrance as they heard the mediwitch coming back.  “See you later, our
place?”
“Tomorrow, probably.”  Frey said regretfully with a shake of his head. 
“Everyone is going to want to celebrate.”
“Tomorrow, then.”  Viktor agreed, the words a promise to their ears as Frey
ducked out the back of the tent, soon to be ambushed by his friends and dragged
away to celebrate and go over his performance.
Frey foresaw a lot of explanations and too much sugar in his immediate future.
…
“How did you dothat Harry?”  Cedric demanded as Frey joined his friends-slash-
study group in one of the – formerly – abandoned classrooms in the neutral
zones of the castle that lay between the dormitories.
As their group had grown, they’d needed more space than could be found in the
library…if they didn’t want to constantly be tossed out on their ears by Madam
Pince anyway.
So they’d picked a spot that was about an equal distance from the dorms, though
being on the fourth floor it was a bit more in the Gyrff/Raven sector of the
castle but there really wasn’t a place in the castle that evenly split the
distances, though the fourth floor came close.
“Elemental magic, mate?”  Fred gave a soundless whistle.
“Pretty rare talent, that.”  George finished.
“No, not rare.”  Draco corrected, eyeing Frey with deep scrutiny from where he
was sharing an old chaise they’d moved in the year before with Blaise.  “Just
hard to learn and harder to practice.  You’ve drawn a lot of attention with
that, you sure it was wise?”
“Probably not.”  Frey conceded with a short nod, shooting an enigmatic look at
the cuddling pair as he accepted the butterbeer from Neville.  “But hey, it’s
not like I’m going to be able to pass under the radar anymore after being
forced to compete in the tournament.  Might as well make the most of what few
secrets I still have left.”
“And the ice magic?”  Cedric brought things back around.
“Is one of those secrets.”  Frey gave a rakish grin at them before sauntering
off to talk to one of the other groups in the classroom.  “You’ll have to work
it out for yourselves how I managed it.”
Draco fumed a little bit.  He knew how he’d managed it.  But he couldn’t say
anything.  The damn idiot was being reckless, taking unnecessary risks.  Draco
sighed to himself, turning to give Blaise his full-attention, snuggling further
into his embrace.  The only saving grace was Harry’s father was known in the
legends for his control of fire…not ice.
…
Frey beat Viktor to the library by quite a margin, spending the quiet time
meditating and centering himself the way Severus has been training him for the
last year or so in preparation for advanced studies in the Mind Arts.
He’d moved on to working through his assigned reading and essays for school,
having tucked away his golden egg in his trunk, determined not to worry about
it.  He already knew it was a hostage-retrieval involving the Lake but no
details.  And with that he had a damn good idea what to do with the egg.  But
the second task was three months away, he had other things to worry about this
exact moment.
Like his continued search for the soul leech inside Hogwarts, whatever-the-fuck
Voldemort was planning, avoiding his Headmaster, and controlling himself around
Draco and Blaise who seemed to be either snogging or snuggling whenever they
weren’t actively studying or in class.
It hurt.
His friends at Hogwarts assumed that he’d done something over the summer but
he’d never said a word.
He didn’t want to hurt Draco, as dumb as that seemed now with Draco running
around the castle without a care in the world for Frey’s own feelings.
When he’d originally suggested waiting, he’d never thought this would be the
result, him pining while Draco ran around with one of their friends.
Frey couldn’t even be angry with Blaise.  How could he be?  Everyone knew about
his and Draco’s agreement, Blaise was just dating someone who hadn’t been
officially taken.
Draco was supposed to be his best friend in the Wizarding World.
From what Frey could tell he was either being willfully oblivious to Frey’s
feelings or he just didn’t care.
Or perhaps worst yet, Draco did know and not only didn’t care, but didn’t
factor Frey’s feelings into the equation at all.
He wasn’t sure which would hurt more if any of them were ever confirmed from
the wizard himself.
“Hello, Harry.”  Viktor said in German, drawing Frey from his depressing
thoughts.
“Hello, Viktor.”  Frey smiled genuinely as the handsome Bulgarian took a seat
at his side rather than across the table, intelligent dark eyes tracking first
over his face and then the open books and parchment surrounding him.
“What are you working on this day?”
“Semester project for Ancient Runes.”  Frey waved a hand idly over the texts. 
“I have the theory mostly figured out, now I just have to make it work in
practice and write the essay.”
“That sounds similar to the projects for Runes we do at Durmstrang.”  Viktor
noted, leaning forward a bit and studying the bit of Arithmancy he’d scribbled
out and the diagram below it.  “What is this supposed to be?”
“A pocketwatch is all.”  Frey said with purposeful vagueness.  “Or the skeleton
for one.  I plan on building on it every semester now that we’ve gotten started
on practical work and aren’t just relying on memorization.  I might be able to
double-dip and use it for Artithmancy next year when we start projects in fifth
year…but that’s all based on if I can make it work.”
“A watch?”  Viktor asked incredulously as he cocked his head and tracked his
eyes over the diagram and equations once more.  “This is much more than a
simple watch, Harry.  And leagues beyond the normal capabilities of a fourth
year.”
“I’m supposed to be a genius; didn’t you know?”  Frey shot back with good-
natured cynicism.  “Besides which, so are being the lead champion in the
TriWizard and using elemental magic.”
“And yet that hasn’t stopped you yet.”  Viktor nodded with a rueful-but-teasing
sigh.  “Yes, I am aware.  My Headmaster had much to say over my performance
coming in second to a fourteen-year-old but then…”
“Someone mentions just which fourteen-year-old managed it and he either fumes
or backs off?”
“Voice of experience?”
“Something like that.”  Frey shook his head, multitude of braids dancing.  He’d
put in the dozens of tiny braids in with a spell that morning, feeling rather
more contrary as far as expectations of “Harry Potter” upon waking, the act
chafing more and more the older he became.  “Yes.”
They easily fell into their routine of studying with sporadic conversation in a
mix of languages, only after about a half-hour spent cobbling together his
daring, shy Viktor reached over under the table and gently took hold of Frey’s
hand, twining their fingers together, blushing bright-red all the while.
Frey smiled down at his diagram that he was working on refining, giving
Viktor’s fingers a squeeze of approval, prompting the other man to speak up.
“There is an event this coming weekend, yes?  A visit to the neighboring
village?”
“Hogsmeade.”  Frey confirmed, casting a flirtatious glance at his handsome
companion from under inky lashes.  “I usually spend the day there both days,
get out of the castle, have lunch with my friends or godfathers, etc.”
“Would you be willing to accompany me for one of those days?”
“I’d love to…I thought you’d never ask.”  Frey tweaked him gently over his
shyness, then both pleased they turned back to their studies, Viktor
conspicuously opening up a tome to a section on partial-human/animal
transfiguration using aquatic creatures.
It wasn’t exactly subtle, nor did Frey need the hint, but he appreciated the
gesture nonetheless.
…
“Attention students.”  Professor McGonagall called out two days later during
her Monday Fourth-Year Transfiguration class, Gryffindor and Slytherin.  “This
year, as part of being the Host school of the TriWizard Tournament, Hogwarts
will also play host to a most venerable tradition – the Yule Ball.”
Excited whispers broke out, mainly among her female student, while a portion of
the males devolved into groans.
“The Yule Ball.”  McGonagall continued with a stern glare over the room.  “Is
traditionally a night of well-mannered frivolity, a chance for everyone
to…ahem…let their hair down.  As such it is open to all students fourth-year
and above with third-year students allowed if accompanying an older student. 
It will begin at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve and end precisely at the stroke
of midnight.  As it is, primarily, a dance there will be lessons offered and
the schedule posted in the common rooms of each House.”  She studied her
students with a gimlet stare as she let out one last final warning.  “Pray,
keep in mind that we are, as such, hosting international students and diplomats
and will likely be joined by high-ranking ministry professionals as well as
some nobility.  Dress robes are preferred; formal attire is required.  Yes, Mr.
Potter?”
“Are all students required to attend?”  He asked with a sigh.  He had a feeling
he already knew the answer.  At least the Ball itself wasn’t blindsiding him.
“No, Mr. Potter.”  The Professor gave him a look over the rim of her glasses. 
“However, all of the Champions are required to attend with a date and open the
Ball with the first waltz.”
“Joy.”  Frey muttered under his breath.  Not that he minded the idea of a date
or anything, even dancing wasn’t bad.  It was more the forced-participated that
bothered him.
Just one more time he had to be a dancing monkey – literally this time – for
the Wizarding World.
He would be happy when he finally turned immortal – his philosophical
existential worries aside - and didn’t have to break out in hives over the idea
of anyone figuring out he was Loki’s son.
…
In his dreams, Frey walked once more alongside the bank of the Black Lake,
waiting for his father to appear as he watched the play of stars that didn’t
exist in this universe play overhead.
Strong, wiry arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, Loki resting his
cheek on the top of his ebony head as he relaxed into the comforting,
protective embrace.
“I am beyond proud of you, my son.”  His Far whispered.  “All of Asgard speaks
of nothing but you these days when they’re not speaking of Thor’s latest
adventure or rehashing victories of old.  You are the best thing, one of the
only truly good things, I’ve done in all my long life.”
“I know.”  Frey told him simply.  And he did, Loki had made that clear using
similar words all his life.  Frey might doubt many things about himself, his
purpose, but he has never once doubted that Loki loved him.  Loved him enough
to risk the wrath of the All-Father to be part of his life, to raise him as a
Prince and a future god rather than ignoring him or casting him aside to live
forever in a distant universe, never understanding why he didn’t quite fit.
Loki squeezed him once more before placing his hands on his son’s shoulders and
turning him to face him, emerald eyes meeting their twins.  Someday when Frey
became all he was meant to be, his eyes would turn the otherworldly green that
was Loki’s in his Aesir form.  But for now, Loki mimicked his son’s color,
knowing that in time all would be as it should be.
“Now,” Loki asked firmly.  “What troubles your sleep this night?  Not this
tournament?  You’ve faced worse things in practice at your Camp.”
And while such tests were rare, they did happen as monsters tested the
boundaries of the Camp wards.
The Hydra at the museum was much worse than the dragon, especially due to
Frey’s age at the time, both mental and physical.
“No, other things.”  Frey said a bit deceptively.  The last thing he wanted was
for his father to try and interfere in his love-life.  Having him know about
what he’d gotten up to with his “teachers” as well as Luke and Silena was more
than enough embarrassment for Frey, thank you.  “I haven’t found the Horcrux in
the castle yet…and moreover I haven’t the faintest idea of what is going on
with Dumbledore and Voldemort this time.”
“Hmm, you’ll find it in time and time will also make those plotters tip their
hands.”  Loki arched a knowing brow.  “And your mood has nothing to do with a
certain blond who seems to be falling under the tempting sway of his hormones?”
The little Malfoy was a matter of some concern to the god.
Nothing good would come of the immature child taunting Frey…nothing good at
all.
Frey looked away, frowning and hiding a blush.
“It’s fine.”  Frey responded from between clenched teeth.  “He’s his own
person, he can see whoever he likes.”
“That’s all well and good.”  Loki arched a brow.  “But I can tell all the way
from Asgard that he’s hurting you – moreover, being a Malfoy and the vindictive
sort, he’s likely doing so on purpose.”
“But why?”  It came out more of a broken whisper than Frey would’ve preferred. 
“What did I do that…that he needs to behave this way?”
“You hurt his pride.”  Loki told him bluntly.  “A young man’s and more to the
point a Malfoy’s pride, both of which tend to be prickly things, when you asked
for time for him to “catch up” to you as it were.  And that same pride demands
he get some of his own back.  This is just how he’s chosen to do it.  And you
should let him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me ask you this.”  Loki paced alongside his son as they started their walk
around the lake.  “Are you still interested in the boy?  Or at least want to
keep him as a friend?”
“Yes…”
“Then let him appease his hurting pride by flaunting your rather attractive
friend in your face.”  Loki advised cannily.  “He’ll feel vindicated and in
time will stop throwing his relationship in your face.  In the meantime…”  Loki
shot a wicked grin at his son.  “You are going to take that well-built
broomrider for a spin aren’t you?”
“Far!”  Frey spluttered at the pun.  “That’s none of your business!”
Loki snorted.  “As you’re still my child, I rather think it is my business but
I have a reason for asking beyond making you flush that particular shade of
red.  Part of the problem I believe is that you’ve given young Heir Malfoy the
impression that you’re waiting for him.”  Loki manfully held in a snicker at
that idea.  “Seeing you dating and doing other things with another might shake
him out of trying to be hurtful when he experiences it for himself.  Besides
which…you are going to need a date for that ball and I have a bet with Thor and
the four Idiots that you’ll take your athlete.”
Frey rolled his eyes at his father’s blatant on-going games of gulling the
Aesir out of their gold…or whatever else it took their fancies to bet at the
time.  His Far had told him that he’d won a slave in the form of Fandral for a
month over his slay-count of acromantula the previous year.  And that was only
one of the bets Loki had won in the last several years.
“What are the other bets?”
“Fandral wagered on you asking the Veela, Sif on your friend Cedric and
Volstagg with her, Hogun and Thor, surprisingly enough, have both wagered on
Draco.”
His son arched a brow.  “Were you the only one watching or paying attention
when I’ve been around Viktor?”
Loki chuckled with a nod, then talk turned back towards Frey’s ongoing quest
for the Horcruxes.
…
Draco watched with a faint frown as Harry wandered out onto the grounds instead
of waiting near the doors to the Great Hall for the rest of their friends to go
out to Hogsmeade.
“What’s up with Harry, Draco?”  Theo asked, spotting what had caught Draco’s
attention.  “Not going this time?”
“Not that he’s said.”  Draco answered slowly as their group of friends all
trickled over, intrigued.
“Ooh la la.”  Padma giggled.  “Harry’s going all-out today.  Those are his best
dragonhide trousers and jacket.”
“And I see the edge of his favorite green acromantula silk shirt’s collar.” 
Her sister Parvati commented, having grown a bit out of her shyness around the
Slytherins her twin had bonded with over books and the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Does Harry have a date, Draco?”  Cedric asked a bit incredulously, the others
with similar glances of shock at the idea.
Everyone knew that Draco and Harry were supposed to get together eventually
even if they didn’t know about their agreement.
And while everyone also had expected Draco to date – being a bit of a prat at
the best of times – no one really thought it of Harry.
Not that they thought less of him for it, sauce for the gander and all that,
but it was still a bit of a surprise.
Especially since none of them could think of anyone he’s paid special attention
to since returning for fourth year.
“He does.”
That quiet statement came not from Harry’s blond best-friend but from his
gentle “godbrother” Neville.
Which since they shared a dorm, wasn’t that much of a shock once they thought
about it.
“Really?”  Fred asked, wandering over.
“Our sweet Harrykins?”  George continued.
“Are you sure?”  They finished together.
“From the man himself.”  Neville nodded, glancing at a shocked (and a bit
dismayed though he was careful not to show it in front of Blaise…too much at
least) face of Draco with sympathy.  “He’s been getting closer to someone ever
since this whole mess with the tournament started.  And the other person asked
him out on Sunday…just for today though, I’m pretty sure he’ll be hanging out
with us and having lunch with his godfathers and Professor S-snape” Neville
shuddered a bit, still not over his first-year dread though he dealt with it
much easier now.  “Tomorrow.”
“Who is it though?”  Theo asked, head cocked to one side as if the now-closed
doors that Harry had exited would give up the secret.
“You’ll need to see it for yourselves.”  Neville told them, holding up his
hands in surrender as they started to harry him for the answer.  “No.  I’m
serious.  You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it for yourselves.  I hardly
believe it and I’ve seen them together.”
…
“Oh my Merlin.”
Was the general consensus as the group wandered into the Three Broomsticks
after a successful morning of plundering the shops for last-minute Yule or
Christmas presents or restocking their supplies for school or leisure and saw
it for themselves.
“He’s, he’s, he’s.”  Draco stuttered in shock, eyes the size of dinner plates
as Blaise gaped beside him, his boyfriend patting his back lightly in absent
comfort as he tried to wrap his own mind around the scene they’d walked in on
all-unknowingly.
“Dating Viktor Krum.”  Neville nodded with a knowing sigh.  “Yeah.”
“You’re right.”
“Mate.”
“We,”
“Wouldn’t”
“Have believed it.”
“If we didn’t see it.”  The twins said in their irritating way.
And there they were, sitting in one of the darker corner brooms of the tavern
and inn, tucked up together on a single bench with Harry’s form almost hidden
behind the bulk of Viktor’s, their hands held together between them, and their
heads bent together conspiratorially.
“Fucking Salazar’s knickers.”  Theo groaned as Draco darted back out of the
tavern, brushing off Blaise as he tried to follow.  “Now I wish Harry had just
dated Cedric like he wanted to last year.  This is so much worse.  Draco’s
going to be impossible until he gets over his “future-husband” dating an
international Quidditch star instead of pining after his blond arse.”
Cedric blinked from where he had his arm wrapped around his own date for the
afternoon, which was Fred this time, though everyone knew he was really dating
both of the twins and only keeping up appearances so no one ratted them out to
the Weasley matron.
“Harry wanted to date me?”
Blaise, Theo, and Neville all nodded.
“Fancied the pants off of you, actually.”  Neville supplied.
“Which I think was what he was after.”  Blaise drawled, eyeing the Hufflepuff
lasciviously.  “Draco threw a strop though over Harry dating any of their
friends.”
“And then he starts dating you?”  Cedric asked incredulously.  “That’s hardly
fair!”  He huffed, his sense of fair play riled, his twins petting him to
appease his rarely-roused but formidable temper.
“Yeah, well.”  Theo commented with a roll of his eyes.  “Harry isn’t likely to
poison Blaise out of spite.”
“…Point taken…”
…
“They’re still staring.”  Viktor murmured to his date causing Frey to hide a
smile at the disgruntled undertone in his voice.
“They would be.”  He told him simply, swinging their hands between them as they
enjoyed the walk back to the school, students eyeing them from in front and
behind.  “Just ignore it.  Eventually the idea of my actually dating someone
will wear off and they’ll stop.”
“Why is it such a surprise that you would see someone in this way?”  Viktor
finally asked.  His date had been open with him over his being somewhat
experienced, taking away a lot of the hesitance Viktor felt over pursuing
someone younger than him.  He wasn’t the sort of wizard who got off on
corrupting innocents.
“Because I never have…here at least.”  Frey told him honestly.  “Previously all
my…affairs…have taken place at home during breaks from school.  You might know
that I’m not a fresh-faced ingénue but they don’t.  Plus, with both of us being
champions in addition to being famous or infamous even outside of all that and
it’s news and gossip-fodder.  Nothing more and nothing less.  They’ll get used
to it.’
“I hope so.”  Viktor said, then eyed his handsome companion slyly.  “Since I’d
rather prefer it if they gaped at my Yule Ball date because he’s the handsomest
wizard there, not because we’re some sort of circus act.”
“Why Viktor!”  Frey gasped with mock-shock.  “Is that your way of asking me to
be your date to the ball?”
“And if it was?”
“Then I’d say yes of course.”  Frey answered before giving the Bulgarian a sly
grin of his own.  “How else can I slip off to the gardens and debauch you,
scandalizing the good staff of our schools?”
…
 
***** Nineteen - Dreamless Depths Uncensored *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter is uncensored and contains male Slash.
                                    Lokison
                      Chapter Nineteen: Dreamless Depths
If someone were to ask Frey later, what stuck out the most about the time he
dated Viktor Krum he would have a simple response: chapped lips, rough hands,
long talks, and soft kisses.
After their successful first date ended with snogging in the shadows of the
Durmstrang ship, Viktor used to colder weather and cold not bothering Frey at
all, they spent the next several weeks leading up to the Yule Ball exploring
those four things…thoroughly, with long talks inevitably ending in kisses and
exploring hands all out of the sight of the general student body, though they
were tripped over every now and again by a random couple looking for a place of
their own to do the same as Viktor and Frey.
It was very different than Frey’s other experiences, he had to admit.
There wasn’t much of a build-up with his teachers in this area and Luke and
Silena had both been his friends for so long that they skipped all the
precursors and jumped into the deep end of them taking (most) of his
virginities.
Frey enjoyed the change very much and was rather reveling in it, much to
Viktor’s frustration at the teasing nature of the wizard he’d gotten involved
with.
Still, teasing and playing aside, both were pleasantly distracted from the
drama of the Yule Ball, working easily on school or sitting silently with
entwined hands in the library while they each explored their individual
preparations for the second Task.
And naturally, when Sev and Sirius were the ones to all-but trip over them
while they were snogging – and a bit more – hidden under the branches of a
weeping willow on the grounds, neither wizard was all that impressed to say the
least…
Honestly, Frey should’ve heard them coming a mile away with how much snarking
banter they were trading, but he was otherwise occupied at the time.
…
“Godric’s balls, Severus.”  Sirius barked with a shiver as they tromped through
the light dusting of snow around the school grounds…in the dark…just minutes
before curfew.
On a fucking Tuesday.
“Do you really think we’ll find anyone sneaking around outside in the freezing
cold?”
“Considering how many of our resident hormonal-dunderheads have been beguiled
by our French visitors…yes.”  Severus drawled with a mocking sneer as the mutt
rolled his eyes.  “Just like you and your wolf were never above getting caught
on the Astronomy Tower during seventh year no matter how many times the
professors caught you.  Hormones are the enemy of any faint resemblance to
rational thought in teenagers.”
Sirius opened his mouth to respond only to close it with a click as his hearing
– much sharper than most wizards’ due to his Animagus form – caught the faint
sounds of pants and soft moans.
“Glad I didn’t make a bet.”  He grumbled, ignoring the smug look on Severus’s
face as his jerked his head toward the massive weeping willow that was one of
the most popular spots for a bit of privacy with someone special…or not so
special, depending on the teenager.
They padded softly over towards the willow, easily parting the branches with a
wordless spell from Severus.
Only for the pair of them to yelp in near-unison and slam their eyes closed as
they saw just who it was under the tree with their boyfriend.
“Pup!”
“Haraldr!”
They yelled, Frey and Viktor wincing at the sound and disengaging ever-so-
slowly, which to both adults’ dismay included removing hands from under-and-
inside clothing.
Soft whispers came from under the willow as Sirius and Severus waited with
ever-increasing impatience, having turned their backs once hands started to
remove themselves from clothes and it became obvious just how far the two
teenagers had passed first base.
“I’m sorry, Viktor.”  Frey whispered, both of them blushing brightly over being
caught nearly with their pants around their knees.  “I didn’t think they’d
check the grounds with the cold.”  He fastened up the ties on his pants and
shrugged back into his tunic, Viktor having proven to be much less shy once
Frey’d made it clear he didn’t mind heavy petting, though they hadn’t yet
progressed beyond that or even to full nudity.
“It’s fine.”  Viktor gave a rueful grin of his own.  “I hope that they don’t
tell the Headmaster.  He wouldn’t look well on my consorting with the enemy. 
Bad enough that we’re known to be dating, he finds out about this and well…” 
Viktor shook his head, a bit entertained at the idea but still not looking
forward to what would surely be a bad conversation – for both him and Karkaroff
considering the high standing of Viktor and his family.
“Come on, lovebirds.”  Sirius called after he’d judged they’d had enough time
to get themselves back in order…and maybe sneak a kiss or two more if they were
quick about it.  “Curfew is in three minutes.  Let’s move it.  You’re treading
close to finishing out the semester in detention as it is, pup and pup’s
boyfriend.”
“Goodnight, Viktor.”  Frey called out as Severus took over the job of
“escorting” the Bulgarian over to the nearby ship, Viktor gaining catcalls from
his schoolmates as they all realized what had to have happened, Sirius muffling
a barking laugh as he towed Frey away with a companionable arm around his
shoulders.
“Goodnight, Harry.”  Viktor shot him a wink, not minding the scene as it would
only boost his reputation among his contemporaries even if it would get him in
hot-water with his Headmaster after all.
“That was real ballsy, kiddo.”  Sirius told him companionably as they wandered
back to the Gryffindor dorms.  “Even I never went snogging – and more if hand
placement was any clue – in the middle of December on the grounds.  Remy’ll
bust a gut laughing when I tell him.”
Frey groaned, burying his face in his hands as the only chance of the escapade
not going all around Wizarding Great Britain just flew out the window.
Fucking Padfoot and his big damn mouth.
…
School let out for the Yule break, with almost all of the first, second, and
third years going home, as well as some of the fourth years and up who either
were completely uninterested in the Yule Ball or didn’t have dates and didn’t
want to go either alone or with a group of friends.
Sirius had followed up on his implied threat, Frey having to serve detentions
with both of his dogfathers and Sev once each before the break, which ended up
being another mortifying round of “The Talk” this time from each of them…though
Sev’s at least focused on making sure Frey knew how to brew and prepare
contraceptive potions and – this was the embarrassing part – a lubricant that
would prevent any tearing or diseases from “idiotic hormonal activities.”
Viktor had shown a great deal of interest in the second potion…after he was
done laughing his arse off over “Harry’s” punishment.”
Frey was still convinced that his dogfathers and honorary uncle were evil,
vindictive creatures who reveled in his pain and embarrassment when they came
en-mass to find him before the Ball.
The females – and fussier males – had all disappeared off to get ready for the
ball somewhere around three in the afternoon, while the less-image-conscious
females and the majority of the males had waited until around six or seven
depending on how complicated their formal wear was and when they were planning
on meeting with their dates.
In Frey’s case it was a bit earlier than the other wizards in his dorm, due
entirely to the fact that he had the most hair and as a result needed the most
time to get presentable rather than some need to preen his plumage.
A quick succession of spells had his hair dry, straight, and clubbed back with
an elegant ruby silk ribbon that matched the lining on his formal robes, thanks
to the heads up from Remus and Lucius, Frey had ordered his from the Master
Tailor at Twillfit and Tattings, which included an enchantment that allowed him
to adjust the colors of the lining and embroidery to match his date’s robes. 
Viktor was supposed to wear the military-inspired formal robes of his school in
red, so Frey made the silk lining of his robes red and the embroidery silver,
which looked very elegant and still seasonal against the inky black.  The
embroidery was custom, the same as the robes, with a repeating pattern of
crests: Peverell, Black, and Potter, with small flourishes or fanciful loops in
between each crest, all along the edges of the hem, cuffs, collar, and lapels.
“Very handsome, cub.”  Remus told him, clasping a hand on his shoulder after he
studied the effect.  “You even have your bowtie done up correctly.”
In red silk with restrained silver stripes, it played off the rest of his
attire perfectly.
“Real cuff-links too.”  Sirius gave a soundless whistle as he flicked a finger
playfully at the ruby-in-silver decorations Frey’s wrist.  “Our pup’s growing
up so fast.”  He gave a fake sob, falling into his mate’s amused arms.
“Mutts.”  Severus gave an obligatory sneer at the pair before eyeing his
protégé, black eyes gleaming with approval at the sight he made.  “You’re
turned out very well, Harry.  Your mother would be very proud.”
Frey gave Sev a hug, then did the same with his dogfathers who insisted on a
picture of him before they lost him for the night.  And then another once
Viktor came to claim him, looking military-sharp in his pressed red formal wear
with shining silver details and white fur tossed over one shoulder.
“Yes, quite handsome.”  Remus nodded with approval before shooing the boys off
to find Minerva for the opening of the ball.  “Don’t disappear into any dark
corners, mind.”  He warned with a chuckle as they blushed and all-but-ran-away.
“I am never going to live that down.”  Frey told Viktor seriously, his date
merely laughing as they waited near the great hall doors.
Soon enough, Professor McGonagall was fussing over them, sending a somewhat-
startled glance at two of the Champions attending together, and then they were
through the doors and the night was begun.
…
They ducked out early, blood hot from hours of dancing and grinding to the
Weird Sisters as the rest of the celebrating students did the same.
Frey’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, chapped lips covering his furiously
as a probing, stroking tongue sought entrance into his slick mouth, Frey
opening eagerly and welcoming in Viktor’s dexterous muscle with a flick of his
own.
Hands digging into hair or hips, they kissed what seemed like forever or only a
moment, before the need for breath tore them away, Viktor gasping a question
into Frey’s neck as he nipped and kissed his way from jawline to the opened
collar of his formal shirt.
“Where?”
Pulling back, Frey thought for a frantic second before the answer came to
mind.  If he were a little less hot for Viktor and not as primed for a romp, he
probably never would’ve suggested it, hence hiding under trees and in alcoves. 
But, needs must, and there truly wasn’t a better place in all of Hogwarts.
“I know somewhere.”  He said between panting breaths as Viktor’s strong, clever
hands stroked him through the thin silk of his trousers.  Thank Yggdrasil for
outer robes, because there was no way the majority of the male population of
the dance could’ve hidden their collective arousal otherwise.  “A place.  A
secret place.”  He emphasized to Viktor, who met his eyes with wild eyes turned
black from lust.  “If I take you there you can’t say a word, not to anyone.”
“My word.”  Viktor nodded then bit softly at the pale-pink lobe of a refined
ear.  “Promise, I’ll keep your secret, my fiery one.  Just lead the way.”
Frey did just that, Viktor watching with interested – and a little amusement –
as he paced several times before a blank section of wall, only to arch a brow
as a door appeared.
“Coming?”  Frey asked with a wicked grin, ducking into the Room of Requirement
and leaving the door cracked, Viktor closing it behind him moments later.
Viktor took a brief glance around the room as Frey stared off for a moment, the
door melting away to Viktor’s surprise.
“It’ll come back when we need it…and not before.”
“Excellent.”  Viktor smirked, advancing on Frey and backing him up until his
knees hit the edge of the massive four-poster bed the room had provided draped
in silk and furs, much like Frey’s bed at his cabin-home, though Viktor wasn’t
aware of that.  “That means this time we won’t be interrupted.”
And that was all either of them said for hours, outside of the occasional
direction or moan, Viktor swishing his wooden wand and stripping them both bare
with a wicked grin, their fancy clothes stacking and folding themselves onto
the chest at the foot of the bed.
A strong arm wrapped around Frey’s waist, as a rough palm cupped his cheek and
jaw, the wand set aside, dark eyes staring into deep emerald before Viktor
stole Frey’s breath with a deep kiss, his hardened cock pressing hotly into the
skin of Frey’s now-bared cobblestone abs.
Frey twined his arms around Viktor’s strong neck, hands cupping and caressing
his shoulders and head, acquiescing without protest as Viktor pressed him
forcefully back, his soft skin hitting the coolness of the silk sheets with a
hiss from between kiss-bruised and swollen lips, his teeth nipping lightly at
Viktor’s plump lower lip in retaliation.
Lean, strong legs encircled tight hips as Frey locked his ankles just above
Viktor’s muscular ass, their similar heights leading to a pair of hot, reddened
arousals gliding and stroking against each other as they explored newly bared
territory with seeking hands and wet mouths.  Bruises were bit into the curves
of necks and pectoral muscles, fingertip points were left on biceps and backs
and hips as neither lover worried about hurting the other with their strength,
Frey himself only having to rein his in minorly, the tough athlete having
proven…obliging to having a strong partner previously.  Slick moisture beaded
on the tips of iron-hard and heated lengths of lust, easing their continual
grinding that kept them on the edge of pleasure but provided no relief.
Blood hot, Frey gave into his own desires, flexing his legs and lifting with
his hips and shoulders, flipping and pinning Viktor onto his back, the older
wizard giving an aroused gasp at the blatant display of strength, a gasp that
turned into a moan as Frey lowered himself down to face Viktor’s pulsing
erection, shooting the wide-eyed and watching athlete a wicked smile before
licking a long stripe up the underside of the cock that pulsed so prettily for
his attention.
“Merlin, Harry!”  Viktor gasped out, throwing his head back and grinding his
heels into the mattress as his hips shot upwards in search of more of that
wicked tongue as Frey nipping and licked and teased, always falling just short
of taking him in completely into his hot, wet mouth.
Pumping his own cock once with a hot hand, Frey bent his head and his attention
truly to the task, opening his lips and sucking him down in a single fluid
motion that was all the proof Viktor needed that Frey’s assurances as far as
his experience was concerned were the absolute truth, his cheeks hollowing and
throat working as he flicked his tongue and suckled the tasty cock that Viktor
cradled between tight Quidditch-toned thighs.
Hands making a mess of Frey’s formerly-tidy clubbed back hair, Viktor buried
himself inside his lover’s mouth, fucking up into him with both hands in his
hair for control, Frey easing back and going with the wordless demand, one hand
dropping to stroke himself in time with Viktor’s thrusts, until the wizard gave
a hoarse shout and pumped his spend down a wicked, swallowing throat, Frey’s
own eyes dilating and cheeks flushing the only sign – besides the obvious one –
that he’d spilled his own seed onto the silk sheets.
Giving Viktor’s softening arousal a last gentle lick, Frey rose to all four and
crawled up Viktor’s long, toned body in nothing less than a prowl, a sultry
look covering his face as he rested their pelvises together and leaned down
over Viktor’s head, weight mostly on his left arm and elbow as he reached over
and plucked a waiting vial from on top of the bedside table dangling it over
Viktor’s eyes as he felt for himself once more the benefits of having a healthy
lover as Viktor’s cock started to harden once more at the sight of the familiar
lubricant.
“Do you want to prepare me?”  Frey asked naughtily.  “Or would you rather
watch?”
…
Naturally, everyone had noticed that Viktor and Harry went missing after the
Yule Ball.
It was only the intervention of Sirius and Remus, who’d seen them wander off
from the Ball while kissing and petting at each other, that kept a search party
from being sent out in the morning when a full head-count had been taken.
They didn’t reappear until the annual Christmas Lunch in the Great Hall, to
much teasing from the students (and Sirius) and the promise of detentions after
the break.
Frey and Viktor agreed it was worth a couple evenings scrubbing cauldrons (for
Frey) and swimming laps in the Lake (for Viktor) to have spent the night
together, a night that they planned to repeat though in smaller and less
attention-grabbing doses.
Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.
Skeeter had somehow gotten a hold of a juicy story that was ninth-tenths
fabrication and one-tenth misconstrued (mostly) bullshit.
…
 
                         Witch_Weekly_Special_Edition:
                            Heartbreak_at_Hogwarts!
                                By_Rita_Skeeter
My oh my, dear readers, scandal and heartbreak brews at our illustrious school
                   in the wake of the TriWizard Tournament!
Champions Harry Potter, fourteen, and Viktor Krum, seventeen, are confirmed to
                                 be a couple!
                     How will this affect the Tournament?
                   Can theytrulycompete against each other?
  Or is sly Harry trying to get a “leg” up – or maybe over – the competition?
                   But that’s not all, no no, dear readers!
Sources say that heartbreaker Draco Malfoy, also fourteen, Heir to House Malfoy
and current boyfriend of Blaise Zabini, fifteen, and son of the infamous “Black
            Widow”, is carrying a tendre for our handsome Champion.
Is Harry dating them both, or is Draco trying to break up the pair, despite his
                            own significant other?
       And what does the dashing Mr. Krum have to say about all of this?
                           Never fear, dear reader!
This writer won’t rest until she has the answers to all of these questions and
                                     more!
Frey groaned in disgust as he eyed the copy of WW that was floating around the
Gryffindor table, Parvati having obligingly let him read her copy that morning
as soon as she saw the headline and the picture (clearly altered) on the cover
of Frey dancing with Viktor while a fuming Draco glared in the background.
Not that Draco wasn’t still on a tear over Frey finally dating someone in the
view of both himself and Wizarding Great Britain…because he was.
But no Malfoy would’ve ever shown their hand in public that way, his little
melt-down at the Three Broomsticks aside.
Viktor, seeing the look on his boyfriend’s face, stood and came to lean over
Frey, studying the article with an amused expression on his face.
“This is a first.”  He said dryly.  “Usually the gossip rags are talking about
how I must be screwing one of my teammates since I never pick up Quidditch
groupies.”
…
Term started back up and with it came a spate of detentions for Frey, as
whenever he turned around he was being caught snogging with Viktor by either an
irritated Severus or a highly-entertained Sirius and Remus.
Since the fuckers had turned it into a damn contest with fifty galleons and a
bottle of Ogden’s riding on who could both catch them and assign them the most
detentions by the end of the year, the only rule being they couldn’t use any
spells or enchanted objects to help and they could only assign one detention
per wizard per catch.
It was ridiculous but when levied against them going back to being at each
other’s throats, Frey bitched but dealt with it.
And since they seemed to have a tacit understanding of leaving the corridor
leading to and from the RoR alone…well.  At least they weren’t completely cock-
blocking them.
Karkaroff had one his nut, as anticipated, but since Viktor was a) of age; b) a
professional athlete he didn’t want to piss off; and c) the Durmstrang Champion
that he, again, didn’t want to piss off; he wasn’t able to actually do anything
about the now-highly-publicized affair, the first article being only the tip of
the iceberg as far as Rita Skeeter’s complete disregard for their privacy was
concerned.
She and all of the papers that were publishing her tripe were all in the
process of having their arses sued-off by a phalanx of solicitors courtesy of
Lucius, Sirius, and Viktor’s PR manager, but that had only seemed to fan the
flames as everyone knew that once the suit was ruled on they’d have to keep
their sticky fingers off of Frey and Viktor’s private lives.
So they were making the most of it while they could, despite the inevitable
retractions they’d have to print.
Then a week before the second task, Frey had an epiphany.
…
“I’m an idiot.”  Frey said emphatically as he paced in front of his father. 
This time his dream had taken them back to his cabin at Camp Half-Blood, where
he felt most comfortable.
“As your father, and the one who supplied over half of your genetic code.” 
Loki arched a brow as he spoke with his usual sharp sarcasm.  “I can assure
you, you’re not.  Though there’s always that one-percent you inherited from
James…”
“Ha ha ha.”  Frey rolled his eyes.  “I’m serious, Far.  It’s so obvious can I
completely overlooked it not just for months but for years!  Years!  I’ve been
going up to the Room of Requirement for the last three and a half years and it
never even occurred to me once Thanatos gave me my quest that I’m likely not
the first student to ever find it!”
Loki chuckled a bit as Frey was clearly in the middle of channeling Loki’s own
dramatic tendencies…though he also could’ve gotten it from any one of his other
three parents as well.  James was notorious for making scenes, and Lily was
well-known for her ability to tear someone apart with her razor-sharp mind and
tongue, usually in the middle of the great hall or the Gryffindor common room. 
As for Thanatos…well…in Loki’s opinion Death gods were the biggest drama kings
and queens in any universe.
“How many years of dross do you have to sift through now that you’ve discovered
the RoR’s Room of Hidden Things?”
“You knew.”  Frey narrowed his eyes, growling a bit in his throat.  “And you
let me search the entire fucking castle! And you knew!”
“I surmised.”  Loki corrected, shoving down his entertainment for a good laugh
later when it wouldn’t have his son hacked-off with him for months.  “And this
is your quest, my little prince.  It wasn’t for me to volunteer information. 
You needed to ask.”
Frey hissed under his breath, muttering about stupid rules for stupider rites-
of-passage before he perked up and asked:
“So…is there anything about my quest that you know that I should know?”
“No.”  Loki shot that down in a heartbeat.  “You’re close to finding one of the
last soul leeches now, and even I don’t have further information on them. 
Beyond suggesting that you somehow search the homes and vaults of his
followers…there’s not much left to do, since it’s unlikely you’ll be getting a
shot at that snake of his anytime soon.”
His son nodded absently already thinking his father’s words over, head cocked
to one side in the pose that suggested he was being awoken early by something
only Frey could hear.
“Goodnight, Far.”
“Goodnight, my little prince.”
…
He hadn’t finished trawling through the entire contents of the Room of Hidden
Things by the time the Second Task was nigh, though he’d made a dent in it that
was certain.
And nabbed himself some items that he was going to be more than happy to pass
on to Sirius to be sold in Knockturn Alley or secondhand shops in Diagon.
Frey had set up an area-wide spell, summoning everything that had been left in
the Room of Hidden Things in the last seven years to one side of the room and
everything older than that to the other.
To no great surprise, the pile that was possibly the property of a current
student was much smaller than the other.
Then another set of spell divided that pile up further: clothing (vanished or
resale), books (some of which he kept for himself, otherwise he either vanished
them or passed them on for resale), furniture (broken vanished including a
strange cabinet, others cleaned and set around the edge of the room), weapons
(vanished, kept, or sold on), and the biggest piles for sheer amount versus
bulk (which the furniture had won hands-down) which ended up being jewelry and
brick-a-brac.
Most of which was either cursed in some way or, he would guess, stolen.
Some might argue that anything left in the school that long should rightfully
belong to the school and the Board or the Staff given the option of reselling
or keeping items…but since Frey was the one doing all the heavy lifting he
chose to ignore what “some” might say about him taking a bit of profit for
himself from cleaning out the Room which shrank down every time he managed to
devote an hour or two to clearing it.
Frey hadn’t yet located another soul leech but as the days passed and he made
in-roads into the mess, the oily feeling he’d come to associate with the
disgusting things became stronger as there was less background noise from other
cursed objects to muffle it.
All at once, the morning of the second task arrived and Frey found himself
worrying in circles over Neville.
…
“Did Nev ever come back last night?”  Frey asked their roommates frowning at
the still-made bed.
“I don’t think so.”  Seamus said, trading a look with Dean who shook his head.
“That’s…odd.”  Frey said slowly, thinking things over.  The task involved
retrieving something from the lake, the song had been certain about that. 
Surely they wouldn’t…no, no that was ludicrous.  No parent would agree to
having their child stranded on the bottom of the Black Lake.  And Dumbledore
can’t be so far gone that he’d take a student into danger like that without
permission from their parent…wait.
Fuck his life.
This is Dumbledore, of course he would.
The barmy old goat.
That was just the sort of “test” Dumbledore had been throwing at him whenever
he could manage it.
And if a student (other than Frey) got injured in the process?
Meh.  Who cared.  They weren’t that important anyway.
“Firsty came and got him, McGonagall wanted him for something.”  Dean told him
after waking up a little more.
“Of course she did.”  Frey hissed under his breath, seething.
They had to have just taken whoever they thought would make a good hostage. 
And since Frey and Viktor were dating, and there was still the whole hullabaloo
with Draco going on, Neville was the next closest person to him they could get
at.  Nev’s Gran was going to have kittens when she finds out they stuck him on
the bottom of the lake without even consulting her.
Frey knew they couldn’t have done.
There was no earthly way the Dowager Lady Longbottom would allow the only son
and Heir of her precious Frank to be used as glorified bait in a contest
legendary for lacking safety measures – both for contestants and bystanders.
Well.
At least there was one bright point to the morning.
Now Frey knew what he had to find on the bottom of the lake.
Even if the thought of Nev stuck down there helpless and in the dark made him
want to break out in hives.
…
Viktor and Frey walked side-by-side down to the Black Lake, dressed in nearly-
identical wetsuits that Frey had had Luke order for them from the states and
ship over with what Frey was going to use for part of the task.  Viktor’s
simply had the Durmstrang crest on the left breast while Frey’s at the
Hogwarts, KRUM on Viktor’s back in orange outlined in red and POTTER on Frey’s
in silver with red outlining.  They certainly looked better prepared for the
task than silly Fleur in her silvery-blue one piece.
“Fleur’s going to freeze her tits off in that water.”  Frey commented with a
shake of his head, Viktor snorting a laugh under his breath at the vulgar
statement, this time in Norwegian which Frey had been helping him with his
vocabulary, Viktor’s grasp of the language being a bit rough, when they weren’t
working on Viktor’s English pronunciation or Frey’s Bulgarian and Hungarian.
Though apparently Viktor and Frey weren’t the only ones who spoke Norwegian as
the nearby Madam Maxime scowled at them and scolded “Harry” for his vulgarity.
Who knew?
“It’s hostages.”  Frey murmured under his breath once she’d wandered off,
banking on her speaking German as well if she spoke Norwegian – or at least
enough to grasp what it was Frey had said.  “Neville’s missing after going to
speak to the Hogwarts Deputy Head.”
Viktor nodded grimly, dark eyes searching over the Durmstrang crowd.
“Nadia is missing as well.”
Nadia referring to Viktor’s cousin – a fourth year – who had won the right to
attend the tournament with the older students.
Durmstrang had apparently warned their students of the trip at the very
beginning of the year and then held a contest for the right to attend.  To many
students’ surprise, several younger years had been highly successful, beating
students much older than them.  Like Nadia, who had won a duel against a
dimwitted seventh year – according to her – in order to go and watch who she
was certain would end up being her cousin compete in the tournament.
“Doesn’t Fleur have a sister?”  Frey asked, craning his head to study the
legion of silver-and-blue clad Beauxbatons students and alumni.  “And…” he
rolled his eyes.  “What’s with all the spectators?  We’re going to be
underwater for an hour.  Not exactly a riveting performance for them to watch.”
Viktor pointed to three of large mirrors that were being lowered into place.
“Magical monitoring spells, proprietary to Bulgaria.”  He explained.  “My
father…”  The Bulgarian Minister for Magic.  “Had the same concerns even if he
wasn’t going to be attending any but the last task.  We use them to keep an eye
on the most dangerous inmates in our prisons and as part of an intermittent-
monitoring program on our paroled criminals.”
Frey nodded, an interested expression crossing his face.  That sounded like an
innovation Britain could definitely benefit from.  He’d have to have Lucius
research it before submitting it before the Wizengamot to use in Azkaban.
A signal from Bagman had them moving into position on the newly-constructed
dock, Frey easily snapping his belt into place with its several compartments,
opening each space and checking to make sure everything was in place.  Sitting,
he shucked off the boots he’d loosely laced over the wetsuit and replaced them
with watershoes, putting his cloak over his boots and socks.  He was really
going to need those back after he got out of the water.  The cold might not
bother him much anymore, but he wasn’t looking forward to having a wetsuit
plastered to every inch of his body in front of three schools, the public, and
the media either.
Bagman rambled a minute about the task – hour, hostage, etc. – and their
standings – “Harry”, Viktor, Fleur – then raised his wand as Frey climbed back
to his feet, exchanging a nod with Fleur before shooting a grin and a wink at
Viktor who smiled back before facing the water with his grim “focused” face on.
Frey just rolled his shoulder, taking his wand out of the holster tucked under
the sleeve of his wetsuit and took a moment to get his orientation correct for
where the dock was versus the mental map he had of the lake’s underwater
topography in his head.
Eyeing a nearby tree that had an identifying mark on it that he’d put there
just before finding out about the Horcrux in the RoR, he laughed to himself. 
Well.  That made things easy.  Dead ahead then.
A bang from Bagman’s wand had the others shooting off to cheers, some of the
spectators confused for a moment when Frey didn’t jump into the water, only to
roar in approval a moment later as they realized why when part of the lake rose
and froze into a solid-disc of ice.
Smirking over his shoulder with a flourish of a bow for the crowd, Frey stepped
off the dock and onto the disc, which floated easily over the water as it froze
the top of the water.  It was a whole new level of control over his elemental
abilities, far more refined and taxing than his forced-hibernation of the
dragon.  It also wasn’t nearly as showy…for the most part.
After several minutes of skimming easily over the surface of the water on his
disc of ice, Frey cast a Find-Me spell for Neville, continuing until the wand
stopped and pointed straight down.
Digging into the first pocket, Frey pulled out something most wizards have
never seen in their lives – a swimming cap.  Tucking his hair up under it, he
pulled out his charmed goggles and put them in place, then pulled out something
that would really confound most of wizardkind – a small emergency breathing
set-up that was little more than a mouth piece, regulator, and air tank, used
by scuba divers as a back-up to their main systems.  It was a lot more reliable
than a Bubblehead charm, and less likely to be punctured or destroyed by the
beasties in the Lake.
Gear in place – which had taken all of two minutes – Frey tested the air supply
and jumped into the icy depths of the Black Lake, the frigid water making him
doubly glad that he’d cast a glamor over his body before leaving the castle
that morning, lest he turned icy-blue and give Madam Pomphrey a heart-attack
with thoughts of hypothermia and frostbite.
Frey dove easily down from years of swimming off the beach at Camp Half-
Blood…though granted, the water there was never this clear or this cold.
He grinned around his mask when after a few minutes he heard the sound of
singing.
His Point-Me spell had landed him directly above the hostages…way above but
still, he didn’t have to course-correct once he was in the water.
                     “Come seek us where our voices sound,
                       We cannot sing above the ground.
                       An hour long you’ll have to look,
                         And to recover what we took.
                               But past an hour,
                             The prospect’s black.
                   Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”
Helpful, Frey decided, that the mer – not the pretty mer he was used to but
their less-attractive icy northern cousins at that – were singing the song from
the egg.
And terrifying when you put it in the context of hostages, but he rather
doubted that even Dumbledore would let three bystanders die in front of all of
the Wizarding World for a game.
Though considering the old goat’s record…
No, not with the world at large having their eyes on Hogwarts.
The mer village was well in-sight at this point, Frey easily picking out the
unconscious trio held under some sort of stasis spell and tied to poles in the
center of the village, guards standing all around with spears and looking
appropriately menacing.
Frey swam right up to Neville, pulling out his dagger from its hydra-skin
sheath, the same one he used to slay the same beast years ago, and sawed easily
through the ropes binding his god-brother then put the knife away and cast a
spell that would return it to the hidden weapons compartment in his trunk, that
bag on his belt being solely to hide the sheath until Frey needed it.
Neville was little more than dead-weight under the spell of whatever kind
they’d used on the hostages.  Frey studied him and then the other two for a
moment before taking out his wand and casting a Bubblehead on each of them and
a warming charm on the Veela girl.  He wasn’t taking any chances on Dumbledore
and Bagman when it came to fucking up something basic like keeping the hostages
alive.
Another muggle gadget from his bags – this time a cuff set up similar to what
surfers used to keep track of their boards – had Neville’s wrist tethered to
Frey’s ankle, then Frey swam up to the surface of the Lake overhead, using
wordless propulsion spells to make it easier since he was hauling another body
behind him.
Bursting out of the icy water, Frey took off his goggles and breathing
apparatus, then hauled up Nev who started choking and spluttering as soon as
his head breeched the surface.
“Easy, Nev.”  Frey told him, already hearing the cheers from the crowd at the
edge of the lake.  “Easy.”
“S-s-s-so, c-c-c-cold.”  Neville chattered, almost looking as blue as Frey did
in his Jotun form.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”  Frey told him, shifting his ice-disc to have
handholds then climbing up, helping Neville up behind him and then rocketing
towards shore, casting a warming charm on his friend as he controlled the disc
and tucked away his muggle devices.  “Guess they decided you were one of my
most important people.  Did your Gran give them permission to use you as a
hostage, by-the-by?”
“N-n-not that I k-k-know of.”  Neville told him, rubbing at his arms and hands,
sitting on a slab of ice wasn’t exactly helping warm him up, though he knew
it’d be much faster to reach the staff – and help – that way.  “She’s g-g-g-
going t-t-t-to t-t-t-tear Dumbledore a-a-a-a n-n-new a-a-arsehole f-f-for
this.”
“I’ll give you a hundred galleons for a pensive memory of it.”  Frey told him
with a toothy grin, eyes glinting, as they approached the dock.  Madam Pomphrey
met them there, helping Neville onto the solid surface while Frey agilely
jumped from disc to dock before vanishing the disc, taking the offered warmed
towels with a nod.
“D-d-done.”  Neville said, as the Mediwitch tutted around him, pressing him
with towels and Pepper-Up’s.
Frey waved away the potion, not nearly as cold as he should be, just rubbing
himself down while the crowd cheered before calming back down to wait on the
other contestants.
He had his shoes switched out for socks and was pulling on his boots with his
friends gathered around in the competitors’ tent/waiting area, Neville having
been sorted out with some drying charms and another round of Pepper-Ups, when a
hysterical Fleur flailed to the surface, having failed to make it to the mer
village.
Sighing as he eyed the distressed blonde, Frey finished lacing up his boots and
tossed his cloak over his now-dry wetsuit, then wandered over to where Pomphrey
and Maxime were clucking over the still-hysterical and sobbing quarter-Veela.
“She’s fine.”  He told her, voice calm and filled with rock-solid certainty,
which got him a better response than Maxime’s assurances that the hostages
weren’t in any danger, that it was just to add “drama” and “urgency” to the
task.
“She’s iz Veela, like moi.”  Fleur gasped out in explanation between sobs. 
“Cold and water, zhey are not good for us, tu comprends?”
“Yeah.”  He rubbed at the back of his neck as a light blush ran up his neck at
the stares the trio of women were subjecting him too.  “I figured.  That’s why
I cast fresh Bubblehead charms on both of the remaining captives and a warming
charm on the little blonde.  I figured with Viktor’s cousin, my god-brother/
distant cousin, that she had to be a relation.  And she’s just a kid so…”
Before Frey could ramble any further into an explanation, he found himself
slammed onto his back the sudden addition of a hundred-and-twenty pounds of
happy, thankful, ecstatic blonde Veela, Fleur springing onto him and bringing
him down in his shock and surprise, before pressing kisses all over his face as
she gushed out thanks.
“Viktor’s just broken the water, Har.”  Neville chuckled from where one of the
best fighters – certainly the one in the best shape – in Hogwarts was flailing
ineffectually and trying to free himself from his new blonde-part-Veela cling-
on.  “You’re going to want to get her off of you now.”
“Trying.”  He hissed, narrowing green-eyes at his useless pack of friends. 
“Some help, please?!”
The two older women – who weren’t even trying to hide their entertainment –
gently and with extreme effectiveness pried Fleur up and off of him, Maxime
giving him a thankful glance of her own, a startling contrast to the scowls and
dire mutters she normally cast his way.
“Thank you for taking care of my student, M. Potter.”  She told him once he’d
regained his feet and Fleur was being fussed over by Pomphrey once more, her
grindylow scratches finally getting the attention they needed now that she was
calm and letting the mediwitch work.  “We are in your debt.”
“It was the right thing to do.”  He shrugged, speaking over his shoulder as he
moved to grab some warm towels to take to Viktor, his boyfriend nearly to the
dock.  “And took all of a minute.  No thanks needed.”
Viktor gracefully accepted a kiss along with his warmed towels, Nadia
snickering a moment at the “love-birds” as she shivered a bit even with the
towels, Viktor and Frey escorting her over to a seat in the tent to be seen to,
Frey and Viktor making quick work of drying her clothes before turning their
wands on Viktor’s wetsuit, one of his friends bringing over his own cloak and
shoes, which he’d barely donned before the Champions were called forward to the
dais for their scores as a tiny blonde waif as rushed into the tent, shivering
all the while, Fleur falling on her with kisses and sobbing apologies as the
mer people returned to the depths of the lake after returning the last hostage.
“Excellent Task, simply excellent!”  Bagman enthused.  “Now, to the scores! 
Mr. Viktor Krum returned after fifty minutes of time, having utilized a partial
but nonetheless effective use of trans-species transfiguration!  He
successfully navigated the obstacles of the Lake and returned with his hostage
within the time-limit!  However, he was the second to do so and therefore
receives a score of 38 points for this task due to coming in second place! 
Nonetheless, this gives him a total score of 72 points!”
Cheers roared out from the crowd, Karkaroff crowing and looking smug.
“Next, we have Ms. Fleur Delacour, who returned second!”  Bagman frowned a bit
in commiseration.  “She utilized an excellent version of the Bubblehead charm,
however was defeated by grindylows and was unable to continue, failing to
rescue her hostage.  For this, we award her half-points, leaving her with a
score of 20 for the task and 47 overall.”
“I should not ‘ave been awarded any.”  Fleur declared from where she was
tearfully watching the mediwitch fuss over her sister.
“Lastly, returning first, we have Mr. Harry Potter!”  Bagman paused a moment,
waiting for the roars to calm before continuing, not wanting to shout over them
even with a Sonorous charm.  “Mr. Potter used a highly effective form of
elemental magic to traverse the surface of the lake, knowledge of muggle
devices to dive through its depths, and successfully returned first after
rescuing his hostage in a mere twenty-five minutes!”
Bagman was forced to wait once more until the shouts and cheers died down, Frey
smiling and waving at the crowd while Viktor stood behind him with his arms
wrapped around his waist, smiling down indulgently at the younger wizard.
“But that’s not all!  Merchieftainess Murcus has reported to Headmaster
Dumbledore that the spells Mr. Potter cast over the two remaining hostages were
a fresh Bubblehead charm and a warming charm to help sustain the health of the
younger Ms. Delacour!  For his winning time, as well as his display of nobility
and empathy, we award Mr. Potter the full forty points!  Bringing his total
from both tasks to 78 and gaining him an advantage over the other competitors
in the final task this June!”
“Well done, love.”  Viktor murmured in Frey’s ear, pressing a kiss onto his
cheek.
A moment that inevitably wound up on the cover of every publication in the
wizarding world the very next day.
…
 
***** Twenty - Labyrinthine *****
Chapter Summary
     The end of this chapter is much darker than originally planned.
                                    Lokison
Warning: Character death, violence, gore.
                         Chapter Twenty – Labyrinthine
Frey put the Tournament out of his mind in the days and weeks immediately
following his domination of the Second Task, during which his use of muggle
devices had garnered him mixed feelings among the populace with askance looks
from Purebloods and Muggleborns alike, while others were fascinated by the
“clever” items.
At this point it was rather a foregone conclusion that he would end up being
the winner of the Tournament, though he only led Viktor by a six-point margin,
as with his “reward” for winning the Second Task, it was extremely unlikely
that he would fail to win the Third as well, making him the overall Champion
after sweeping all three Tasks.
Which gave him plenty of time to work on clearing the Room of Requirement’s
Room of Hidden Things, as he crept closer and closer to the Horcrux hidden
there.  Frey had found many unique and fascinating things in the Room, as well
as disgusting and just plain strange things.  Empty vials containing the dusty
dregs of love potions or poisons, weapons still with blood on the blades or
edges, even a particularly manky wig.  All that could be salvaged was in one
way or another, or destroyed and vanished if Frey couldn’t repair it or remove
the curses upon an item.
Most people assumed during that time – the rest of February and almost all of
March – leading up to Ostara that Frey was spending all of his time tucked away
with Viktor doing dirty, dirty things to his Quidditch player…or just hiding
from Draco’s wrath which had turned icy-cold and formidable in the wake of the
picture of “Harry” and Viktor on the front page of every major wizarding paper
following the end of the Second Task.
Draco hadn’t quite progressed to poisoning Viktor or hexing either of them in
the halls but it was a near thing on some days when Blaise didn’t manage to
soothe his savage Malfoy and Frey wasn’t in the mood to pander to his temper.
Banishing the frustrating blond from his mind, Frey sifted through another pile
of jewelry, cleaning, inspecting, de-cursing as he went.
He’d nearly finished with the pile of odds and ends, the pulses of darkest
magic growing stronger, when his death magic went crazy.
Smirking, eyes gleaming with triumph, Frey stared down at the innocuous-seeming
diadem which upon further examination could be none other than Ravenclaw’s own
with the mithril metal work and white and blue diamonds.  With a flex of
wandless magic, Frey flipped it over, laughing out loud as he spotted the
infamous motto – and innuendo considering the time it was coined – “Wit beyond
measure is man’s greatest treasure.”
“Gotta love a predictable villain.”  Frey said to himself as he floated the
diadem over to a brazier he’d found in the rubble of the “Lost” furniture.
Another Horcrux down, two more and Moldy Voldy himself to go.
…
A few days later, Frey had cause to curse his formerly jubilant mood.
Draco – being his tenacious, infuriating self – had decided to confront him
while he was walking back from the revealing of the maze, hauling him down into
the dungeon corridor.
That was where things took a turn for the maddening…and confusing as shit.
Apparently, Draco had had enough of Frey sashaying around the castle with his
“crooked-nose, pigeon-toed, Quidditch arsehole of a boyfriend.”
The fight began with Draco grabbing Frey’s wrist to stop him from walking away
after yet another argument over Viktor which lead to Draco’s own behavior with
Blaise came to a stalemate, which Frey shakes off with little more effort than
he’d use to flick away an annoying fly buzzing around his head.
Draco moved to latch on to him again and Frey tried to squirm out of his reach
without hurting him, despite how infuriating Draco is and has been for fucking
months.  Hissing under his breath, Draco gives up quickly on trying to keep
Frey in place, going with a dirty trick of a tripping charm and his own body
weight to bear the bigger – and much stronger – teen to the floor.  Eyes
flashing, Frey stopped playing nice, rapid-quick fists burying themselves just
under Draco’s ribs though he still moderated his strength.  The sounds of their
scuffle carried down the dungeon corridor filling it with the rapid fire clicks
and scuffs of their shoes against the tile and the grunts and hisses from each
landing blows. Frey, fed up, elbows Draco in the side and flips them over,
pinning the smaller teen to the rough flagstone floor of the castle.
The blond holds onto Frey with all his strength, forcing both of them to scrap
one-handed, and keeping Frey from just walking away – the way he’d been doing
for weeks and months, ever since he took up with Viktor.
Some of the one-armed punches Frey shot at the less-experienced fighter are
surprisingly blocked by Draco, gaining him a narrow-eyed glare from poison-
green eyes.
Draco hauls Frey up to his feet, poison-green eyes shining with rage and body
coiled tight to unleash another hit; instead, their lips are sealed and Draco’s
tongue sweeps over Frey’s lip to taste the blood from a lucky jab.
Frey’s jaw ticked in reflex as he jerked away again.
“We’re not doing this.”  Frey growled, shoving his hands through his mussed
hair.  “You’re still my friend, I still want to be with you at some point.  But
right now, I’m with Viktor and you’re with Blaise…and that’s not going to
change anytime soon.”
Draco whipped around on Frey, fury lending him strength as he shoved the ebony-
haired half-blood against the dank castle wall.
“We’re not done.”  With Draco’s legs braced apart, his posture shouted that
he’s ready and equipped to use that feline grace his friend had always teased
him with to keep Frey there if need be.
“Well, I am,” Frey said a little louder and sharper, shoving himself back off
the wall and looming over the shorter wizard.
“I say when you can go. I say when you can quit talking.” Each word is
punctuated by the silent stalk Draco made, until they were chest-to-chest. 
“You don’t get to boss me around because you’re more powerful or who your
father is.”
“I won’t forget from now on. I think I learned that lesson well enough over
this last school year.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “But that doesn’t
change the fact that when I say I’m done…I’m done.”
Draco reaches up and pinions Frey’s head between his hands as he shoved them
back against the wall, silver eyes frantic at the meaning that might be hidden
in Frey’s words.
The thumb over Frey’s right cheek stroked the bruises that are already starting
to swell, as Frey taking charge for the first time in the fight grabs Draco by
the wrists and spins them around, pinning the smaller, lithe form to the castle
wall.
Draco ends up with his legs wrapped around Frey’s waist from the lift and
momentum, trying to steady himself and gain some leverage while their hands
were twisted above his head.  He’s working his way up to biting when his
shifting rocks Frey forward, driving his crotch flush against Draco’s, and the
kicker is that with all the scrapping, furious words, and concealed hurt,
they’re both aroused.
All the subtle flirting from the previous years and their past months’ worth of
icy detente has exploded into this.  Frey bites Draco on the neck leaving a
nasty red mark but not for long as Draco cants his hips thrusting up.  Draco’s
head thumps against the tile and his mouth is open in a silent howl.  The
friction is optimal and Frey, saying a mental apology to both Viktor and
Blaise, works it to his advantage driving his hips harder and faster against
the silvery blond.  For his part, Draco feels no guilt at all, hooking his
ankles together behind Frey’s to provide more leverage as they frotted
together.
Sometime before the explosion of orgasm, Draco finds his mouth and as with
almost everything else in the last minutes, takes the initiative.  Lips
plundering and tongue searching, in his mind’s eye, Frey knows his lips are
bruised pink, bloody and swelling to slut status.  Draco echoes Frey’s earlier
motions, biting at Frey’s jaw and neck, breathing like a race horse between
every sloppy kiss.
All the anger from months of not talking and barely existing in the same space
mixes with lust and surges forth with adrenaline.  He bit Draco again, this
time on the corner of his jaw as he came with a hiss groan against his elegant
neck.  Absently he notes that Draco is one of the few people that doesn’t make
a ridiculous “O” face when the icy blond followed him to climax a moment later.
Draco leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.  He felt way more
lustful and only slightly less angry with the situation they’d cornered
themselves into over the course of the school year.  Rasping out a curse, Frey
sets him down on his feet and forces him to let loose of him.
“This doesn’t change a hells-damned thing.”  Frey told him, even more
infuriated than he had been, the orgasm doing little justice as stress relief
considering the circumstances.  “I have a Task to complete, a boyfriend to
apologize to, and another summer to get through before I’m willing to
revisit…”  He waved a hand between them.  “This.”  A few spells later, Frey had
the mess in his trousers – and Draco’s – vanished and their robes set aright
before spinning and finally walking away.
“Oh yes it does.”  Draco hissed at his retreating back, too low for the half-
blood to hear.  “This changes everything.”
For one, he had a boyfriend of his own to apologize to – and confirm that yes,
he really did want to date his irritating best-friend next year, Bulgarian
Quidditch star fling or not.
…
A week later, Blaise turned around after Draco gave him a kiss and took his
leave off to the library for some study time before exams, Blaise needing to
send a reply to his mother’s most recent letter, to find an inscrutable Viktor
Krum a few feet away eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and consternation.
“How do you do it?”  Krum asked in his steadily-improving English.  “Kiss him
and smile and all the time knowing that he’s in love with Harry?”
“How did you get involved with Harry knowing that you’d only be together for a
limited amount of time?”  Blaise asked with a sardonic arch of his brows.  “And
don’t try and tell me Harry wasn’t up-front about his deal with Draco.”
“I’m no in love with Harry.”  Krum shot back immediately.  “Simply enjoying the
company of an attractive, intelligent, engaging wizard while I am in England. 
That is not the same as dating a boy in so clearly love with another.”
“You’re right.”  Blaise nodded shortly, arms folded casually across his chest. 
“It’s not.  And if I were anyone else I’d call them foolish at the very least. 
But I’m not anyone else.  And I know something you don’t.”
“Really?”  Viktor arched a brow.  “What’s that?”
“Draco and Harry will be together, that’s a foregone conclusion.  But Draco
will never be first in Harry’s life.  Not in the long-term.”  Blaise shrugged. 
“And if I know anything about Draco Malfoy, it’s that he’ll never accept
playing second-place to anyone or anything, whether another lover, another
friend, or even the entire wizarding world.  He’ll get tired of it eventually. 
All I have to do is wait and in the meantime: show him that I do put him
first.  He’ll return to me.  I just have to be patient.”
“That’s rather understanding…and conniving of you, Zabini.”
“Slytherin.”  Blaise smirked.  “What, did you expect some rant about true love
and meant-to-be?”
He rolled his eyes and gave an elegant snort of derision for the very idea. 
Oh, he…felt for Draco, and was admittedly attracted to Harry.  However, when
push came to shove, it became a simple matter of logistics…and there simply
wasn’t a better match for him than Draco.  At least, that was what his mother,
a granddaughter of Aphrodite, had told him from a young age.  And if anyone
would know a good match, a possible love match, it was the Black Widow.
“Please.  Love or not, Draco won’t stay with Harry forever.  His pride and ego
won’t allow it.  All I have to do is wait.”
Viktor shook his head, not sure whether he was impressed by what was coming out
of the mouth of a fourteen-year-old wizard, or incredulous.
“And you’re set on doing so at fourteen, are you?  That sure of your future
plans and goals and dreams?”
“This is Hogwarts.”  Blaise tossed back over his shoulder as he went back to
making his way to the owlry.  “Unfortunately, being wishy-washy children isn’t
really an option when they expect us to have our entire future planned by
twelve and we’re judged each and every day based on a loose personality test
administered by an eight-hundred-year-old talking hat.”
Disbelieving, incredulous, or not, there was nothing Viktor could really say to
argue with that, having heard similar sentiments from his boyfriend for the
last six months.
…
In the midst of the drama surrounding himself, Draco, and the Tournament at
large, Frey still insisted on taking his end of year exams, though due to the
date of the final Task he would end up missing two: History of Magic and
Transfiguration.
Which put him in the same boat as the other two Champions, if only due to his
own (and his father’s) standards of academic excellence, as since both Viktor
and Fleur were seventh years they each would still be expected to take their
individual countries’ versions of NEWTs following the end of the Tournament…so
long as they don’t do anything ridiculously idiotic…like die.
Or worse, get expelled.
Which would be quite the feat considering there was only one last night before
the Third Task and they all entered the Maze.
A night that Frey spent with Viktor, both of them feeling a sense of urgency as
with the end of the Tournament came the end of their affair, though they both
were determined to remain friends, if only through letters and at a distance
save for the few times a year Viktor had matches in Britain.
Honestly, the Quidditch star’s upcoming training and game schedule didn’t leave
much room for anything except Quidditch and public appearances set up by both
his manager and the team’s PR agent.
Forget having a meaningful relationship, Frey thought to himself, Viktor would
be lucky to have enough time to sleep let alone go on dates or even hook up for
a one-nighter while he was – rarely – in the country.
A grumble from the object of his thoughts preceded one thickly muscled arm
winding itself around Frey’s trim waist, hauling him back and into Viktor’s
strong body.
They were in the Room of Requirement for one last night, and had already
alternately celebrated the end of the Tournament and mourned the looming end of
their affair.  It was after that second, slow and heavy round of Viktor
thrusting into Frey with heartbreaking gentleness that the broader wizard had
fallen into a short sleep, allowing Frey’s mind to roam hither and yon.  Frey
had arranged for them to be gone all evening and night with their friends who
would cover for them, then set up the RoR in an exact replica of the room he’d
summoned their first night together.
Sighing softly, Frey turned and rested his cheek against one smooth slab of
pectoral muscle, Viktor obligingly wrapping him up in his arms fully and
stroking one hand through his hair as he watched his younger lover with soft,
sad eyes.
“When do you leave officially?”  Frey asked quietly, craning his head up to
lock eyes with Viktor’s own nearly-black orbs.
“The day after tomorrow.”  Viktor told him gently.  “Exams have already been
postponed at Drumstrang for the upper years, and the younger ones who came with
us must make up their own at our Ministry’s education department.  We’ll have a
banquet for the victor tomorrow night and then we leave first thing in the
morning, Beauxbatons too.”
“And then you’re off to training camp with the Vultures as soon as exams are
finished, right?”  Frey asked to confirm as he sat up and moved to straddle the
reclining Viktor’s leanly muscled hips, nestling firmly over the Quidditch
star’s quiescent manhood.
“Mmm.”  Viktor nodded, running his hands over Frey’s gold-kissed skin with
delicacy that gave credence to his Snitch-catching skills.  You couldn’t be a
prized Seeker and be a cack-handed brute at the same time.  “What are you doing
for the summer?  Perhaps I could send you tickets and see you again?”
Frey bit his lip as those devilish stroking hands teased his pale pink nipples,
his own excitement rising in time with Viktor’s own hardening member against
his downy arse.
“Back to New York once school is out.”  He panted out between gasps as Viktor
set to his task with feverish purpose.  “Siri arranged for me to spend at least
August with him and Remy in London, but I might some out sooner depending on
how things are with my guardian.”
Read: whether there’s some dire threat or quest Chiron, Luke, Silena, or one of
the other younger campers like Annabeth needed his help with.
“Hmm.”  Viktor hummed under his breath as he used his cobblestone abs to
leverage himself up, nipping lightly at the lip Frey was currently abusing with
his Crest-white teeth, setting the taller-but-slimmer wizard back onto his
haunches then fully onto his back as he carefully but resolutely reversed their
positions.  “Perhaps we can see each other again, after all.  So long as your
Malfoy doesn’t object to me stealing you away for a night.”
“Not my Malfoy.”  Frey protested weakly as his brain began to shut down under
Viktor’s assault.  “Not until next school year, if then with how he’s been the
last few months.”
Pleased, despite knowing that they don’t have a future together, Viktor set to
work eagerly, wiping all thoughts of Draco, summer, and the Tournament from
their minds for the rest of the night.
…
“My beautiful Queen.”  Odin greeted Frigga, chivalrously offering her his arm
as he joined her on the way to the Viewing Pools.
Much excitement had once again swept through the Aesir nobility over the young
seidrmadr who battled monsters and braved great trials, not the least of which
was this Tournament that the foolish mortal adults had foisted off onto their
young ones.  As a result, the royal family had had to become a bit creative
when it came to the viewing of the Tasks.  Loki, as usual, with help from his
mother had solved the dilemma, creating a spell to project the contents of a
Viewing Pool up onto a prepared blank canvass.
Thor and his friends had arranged the rest with the servants, helping them set
up a dais and rows of benches and seating for the other nobles who wished to
watch – and of course wager – the contest.
Naturally, such an entertainment required the presence of the royal couple,
despite Frigga’s – and to an extent Odin’s own – distaste for using mere
children in such an unseemly manner.
Why, even Thor had had to wait until he’d come of age to battle his first
monster and go on his first quest.
And they’d set a youngling up against a dragon no less!
Shameful.
But then, what did one expect from mere mortals?
Even ones not of their own universe.
Odin studied the lovely diadem resting upon his wife’s golden head with a
discerning eye.
“Has someone taken to wooing my queen away from my side?”  He probed, jesting
lightly.  “I do not remember gifting you with such a fine piece – mithril and
white and blue diamond goblin workmanship, I believe?  Nor do I remember
receiving what would have been an extravagant bill from Brokk for it.”
Brokk being the head dwarvish craftsman who provided almost all of the weapons,
armor, and jewels for the Asgardian King and Queen.
“Pish.”  Frigga waved an airy hand, a soft smile crossing her lovely face.  “A
tribute from Loki’s young acolyte.  It was years ago, but do recall husband,
that his mother the fierce Lily was one of mine.  Young Harry seems to be set
on honoring both of his parents’ patrons, though he seems to favor his own of
Thanatos most of all.”
“That is only correct.”  Loki commented as they approached the viewing pools
where he and Thor – and Thor’s slavishly devoted Sif – were already arranged. 
“After all, the young wizard is a descendant of Thanatos.”
“A true Warrior-Mage, foresooth!”  Thor pronounced.  “And one who I am wagering
a month’s horse grooming that will defeat this Maze utterly!”
“I’ll take that bet, my prince!”  Fandral, Thor’s cousin shot back.  “And up it
a week’s kitchen duty!  The beauteous Fleur will take the day!”
While a rash of bets were called out and answered, Heimdall noting each down as
was his duty, Loki let a glow of pride suffuse his body and gleam in his eyes,
avoiding his mother’s curious gaze until he could bring the outpouring of
emotion under control.
There was no higher praise for a magic-user in Asgard than that of Warrior-
Mage, indeed, it was one that Loki himself had only received most sparingly and
not until his second century of life.
For Frey to receive it at not-yet-fifteen, and from Thor no less…!
There couldn’t be a prouder father in all the realms.
Never would his son be subject to the same askance glances and derision-filled
comments as Loki had parried and received all his life.
Not with the golden Crown Prince himself championing him.
Loki smiled briefly before wiping the look from his face as the crowd hushed
with the Champions’ arrival at the dais just beyond the Maze entrance.
It was about to begin.
…
The morning of the Third Task, Frey watched with no little amount of amusement
as his fellow fourth years grumbled and groaned as they filed out of the Great
Hall to their History of Magic test, only to be startled when a pair of hands
clasped his shoulders from behind.
Whipping his head around, Frey gave his dogfathers a mock glare as they stood
behind him smiling smugly – Siri – or contented – Remy.
Though anymore, it was rare for Remus to be anything but content, happy, or
joyous considering he had his mate and cub back, he was gainfully employed, and
Severus had continued to brew the Wolfsbane.
Two years of not tearing himself to pieces or being caged by silver every full
moon had done wonders for Remus’s quality of life, even leaving aside
everything else.
“Why are you guys still here?”  Frey askes with a suspicious glint in his eye. 
With the remnants of the Marauders as well as the Weasley Twins in the same
castle, being suspicious was the key to remaining safe and unpranked.  “Don’t
you have exams to proctor?”
“Nope.”  Sirius’s smug grin turned devious.  “All the Champions get to spend
the day with their families.  So…”
“Severus and other teachers are proctoring for us today.”  Remus told him
quickly before Sirius could finish, and likely piss off Harry in the process. 
“As well as a couple of Board members who are here for the last Task.”
Frey buried his face into his hands with a groan.
Sev was so going to make Frey pay for this somehow.
Sirius being so delighted by the turn of events had made any chance of Frey
getting out of it unscathed non-existent.
 “He’s going to murderme.”  Frey muttered with a sigh, as he glared up at
Sirius’s beaming face, the prankster obviously tickled pink over getting one
over on both Frey and Sev at the same time.
“Maybe.”  Sirius smirked.  “But we have a surprise to make up for you oncoming
doom.”
In unison, Siri and Remy stepped to the each side, revealing the hidden form
from behind them, a petite blonde haired woman who was smiling brightly in her
acromantula silk witch’s dress, a light set of robes tossed on top.
“Heidi!”  Frey cheered jumping to his feet and pouncing on the sight for sore
eyes, swooping his former guardian and long-time companion up in his arms and
twirling her around with a joyful laugh, Sirius and Remus darting out of the
way before they could get hit with her feet and legs.
Harvestmaiden Heidi Lothbrok reached up and cradled a beloved face in her
gentle hands as her little lord set her back on her feet.
“Little lord.”  Heidi smiled beatifically.  “Not so little anymore.  You are a
sight for sore eyes.”
“Heidi.”  This time it was a sigh as he hugged her tight, cheek pressed to the
top of her braided head.  “What are you…?”
“Your Remus.”  Heidi told him as she pushed him out to hold him at arm’s reach,
inspecting him from the top of his ebony head – hair still loose as he had
hours before the Task – to the tips of his dragonhide boots.  “He wrote your
guardian, who passed on word to my love, and here I am.”  She beamed up at his
sun-kissed face, drinking in emerald eyes.  “You’ve grown so.”  The look on her
face turned arch and knowing.  “Look more like your father every day.”
Frey blinked, hearing the implication loud and clear.
Heidi had put the pieces together; she knew where so many others never even
guessed.
“You’re glowing yourself, being with your sisters and love has been good for
you.”  Frey reached over to her hand still resting on his shoulder, gently
grasping it and bring it up for a light buss on the back of it, giving her a
short bow, then tucking it into the crook of his arm.  “Let me show you where
you’ve sent me off these last years…”
…
Hours later, after showing Heidi around with help from Remy and Siri – and
dodging a thunderous Severus, Frey found himself in the bathroom of his dorm as
Heidi waited for him patiently in his dorm room to walk with him down to the
Great Hall where they would rejoin Remus and Sirius, his dogfathers having to
go and lock away their test sheets for grading later.
Frey had no idea what to expect from the Maze the way he had for the other two
tasks, other than knowing that historically the third task was always a type of
maze or labyrinth, and more worrisome, that Hagrid had been involved in
stocking it with monsters and dangerous creatures.
But he also knew that monsters and dangerous creatures couldn’t be all of it,
likely spell traps and other things of that nature were hiding around every
other corner, resting cheek-to-jowl with Hagrid’s monstrous Skrewts or
acromantulas.
Which left Frey in a bit of a quandary as he didn’t quite know what to prepare
for – other than preparing for any and every thing.
With that thought at the forefront of his mind – and still irritated that his
rites-of-passage had made him too large for his basilisk hide armor until he
stopped growing and the enchantment his Far had placed in them could be
activated so they adjusted to his final size – Frey had decided on his set of
graphite-grey dragonhide trousers and tunic, with his wand tucked up his sleeve
in a holster and a short gladius with a goblin-forged blade hidden between his
shoulder blades in a disillusioned sheath.  Basilisk-hide boots were strapped
to his feet and lower legs, and around his hips was another many-pocketed belt,
this one in a matching dragonhide to his outfit, the belt once more containing
anything and everything he thought might be useful including his father James’s
Cloak.  Per Heidi’s orders, he’d left his hair untouched, his primary caregiver
wanting to fix it herself, the same that a mother might have done in Ancient
Scandinavia for a son too young to have a lover or wife to see to the loving
chore.
And he was right, no sooner than he’d stepped fully-clothed and ready from the
bathroom than Heidi gestured him to take a seat on the end of his bed, as she
wielded both brush and magic to weave his wild ebony mane into an even wilder
array of tiny warrior’s braids which she then twisted back into another thicker
braid, creating almost a faux-mohawk on the center of his head to his nape.
“There.”  She said at last satisfied, and with little time to spare as she
stepped back and eyed him with proud approval.  “My little lord, all grown up
and fierce.  Ready and willing to do battle.”  Heidi’s smile was bittersweet. 
“I find it’s no easier to send you out now that you’re nearly grown than it was
when you fought and defeated your first monster.  At least then, you had help. 
It wasn’t until later when you faced that hydra alone that I knew the true
meaning of a mother’s fear, whether I was with you as a matter of service and
pride or not.  You’re as much mine as anyone’s, save perhaps my lord’s and your
own father.”
“I know, Heidi.”  Frey smiled down at her as he wrapped one strong arm around
her shoulders and ushered her from the Tower.  “I know.  And I love you just
the same as I do my blood-mother.  I always will.  You were never just a
servant or a caregiver to me.  You were my family and one of the only constants
in my early years.”
She sniffled a bit, waving off his offer of a hanky as she sucked back the
tears that wanted to form.
“Well.”  Her voice only waved a bit under the upswell of emotion…and the mirth
from her now-teasing words.  “I suppose with the tales my brothers Hector and
Alexios tell that I can’t really see you as my innocent lamb anymore…”
“Heidi!”  Frey’s outburst was filled with embarrassed shock as a hot blush
crested his sharp cheekbones, his oldest friend cackling a little as they
reached the side of Remus and Sirius, the two Marauders eyeing them with
interest.
Interest that remained unappeased as Heidi was too busy laughing at Frey’s
spluttering and Frey too embarrassed to say a word all the way down to what was
the Quidditch pitch and now housed a massive hedge maze.
Joining Viktor as he stood near the dais, they shared a brief kiss accompanied
by whispers and the flashes of cameras while bluff Ludo Bagman cast a
Sonorousand began the introduction of the Task, Frey’s dogfathers having
already departed to the stands with Heidi in tow.
“Good luck.”  Viktor murmured, which netted him a slightly-regretful smile from
his soon-to-be-former boyfriend.
“I’m afraid I won’t need it.”  Frey told him honestly, as he reached into one
pocket and removed his Firebolt, a gift from Sirius that he rarely used lest he
incite the wrath of Zeus, and with a tap of his wand had it full-sized.
Bagman had just announced that Frey as “Harry” would have five minutes before
Viktor was released, and then Fleur five minutes after Viktor.
No matter.
All he really needed was a minute or two and then it wouldn’t even matter.
“But thank you, anyway.”  Frey continued, mere moments before Bagman shot off
the signal spell.  “And likewise.”
At the sound of a bang, Frey took off on his Firebolt, hovering a few feet
above the ground but going an hair-raising 150 km/hour, wand pointed at the
ground as he rapidly circumnavigated the exterior of the Maze.  Coming back to
the start, he stepped forward a scant foot and turned so his back was to the
Maze itself and his face to the bewildered audience and the other two
Champions.  With a jaunty wave, he shot a golden beam at the etched circle he’d
cast, activating the wards he’d carved in the weeks since the Maze had been
announced, just under the surface of the grass and concealed.
It was rampant cheating.
But clever cheating nonetheless as no one would ever be able to prove when he
carved the Runes…and it was a cheat that was more for the protection of the
crowd than it was a help for himself, as was shown by his next action, once the
glowing golden dome had covered the Maze completely, including over the top.
“It’s a barrier spell.”  Bagman called out.  “Champion Potter has raised a
barrier spell over the Maze.”  The sportsman reached out gamely and gingerly
nudged the viscous appearing barrier, deeply relieved when it didn’t shock him
or anything otherwise nasty.  It simply kept him out.  “A clever move from our
Hogwarts’ Champion, I daresay!  Now Champions Krum and Delacour must bring down
the barrier before they can even enter the Maze!  Bravo, Potter!”
Sweeping a mock bow, Frey spun and tucked his wand away before slapping his
hands flat to the surface of the hedge, breathing deep and steady as he called
up the power within him.
…
“What in the worlds?”  Frigga asked on Asgard as they watched.
Then before their eyes – and those on Midgard – frost began to pour out from
under his palms, freezing every leaf and branch and root it touched.
“He’s freezing the hedge.”  Loki breathed out, eyes wide as he smothered the
shout he wanted to hurl at his foolhardy son.  “That’s why he put up the
barrier.  He’ll freeze the Maze and bring it down.  Releasing all the monsters
at once.”
“Are you certain, brother?”  Thor asked with a soft frown of consternation. 
“That seems…foolhardy from such a clever seidrmadr.”
“I’m certain.”  Loki said grimly.  “And it’s perfectly in character.”
Loki was, of course, referring to Frey’s insistence on hunting and then slaying
the basilisk beneath the school.
I’m going to skin him alive.  Loki swore to himself as he held onto his
composure with the edge of his fingernails.  When I get my hands on that boy…!
…
It was a sentiment shared by many as others began to realize what Frey might be
up to, Severus in the lead of the pack.
The ice had picked up speed, and with every coated inch another mind cottoned
onto Frey’s ploy, breaking out into shocked and excited whispers.
Finally, after several long minutes, Frey stepped back from the now-frozen-
solid hedge, leveled his wand at the Maze, and called out casually: “Reducto.”
And down it went, the spell for all its quiet and calm casting, rather
obviously overpowered as Frey supplemented it with wordless spells and wandless
power, powdering the hedges to dust.
Leaving behind a gleaming Cup, and a plethora of monsters newly freed from
containment, the crowd shouting at the sight as the air cleared.
“For Thanatos, Loki, and Frigga.”  Frey said under his breath, offering up the
monsters he was about to slay in an even split before setting his shoulders and
setting to work.  The spell of choice one that was impressive beyond measure
but beastly to master: a fire whip.  Though not any fire whip.  Not at all. 
Frey’s was pure white with licks of bright blue and purple, hot enough to melt
stone or cut through steal, let alone the carapace of a Skrewt, as he proved
within seconds of the hedge coming down, the nasty cross-breeds charging him at
the head of a veritable stampede of acromantula.
“Flagellum ignis maxima!”  Was the incantation, Bagman repeating it for the
benefit of the audience, many not recognizing the spell beyond its deadly and
devastating elegant beauty.  “A maximum powered Fire Whip, look at that!  Both
Blast-Ended Skrewts are down within moments to the Master-Level DADA spell! 
And now onto the acromantula!  The hatchlings don’t stand a chance, Potter
takes the first wave out with a wandless Reducto before finishing the remainder
with the Whip!  Oh ho!  Now he’s facing a real challenge!  A full-grown
acromantula!  Word has it that the creatures have a grudge against Potter for
him pruning back their territory in the Forbidden Forest and the way that full-
grown adult Queen is going after Potter, it must be true!”
For his part, Frey wasn’t paying a lick of attention to Bagman, knowing that he
had a matter of seconds to take out the Queen sentient spider before the real
horror of the Maze reached him: a Dementor.
They’d chosen three XXXX-classified creatures for the Maze from what Frey’s
quick sweep of the area before the Skrewts were on him told him.
A Queen acromantula, which was at that very moment squealing in pain as he cut
off all her legs on her left side, a sound cut off as he took her head next; a
Sphinx, and worst of all: a Dementor.
Someone really didn’t like him and had done their research.
Frey had had a disgust for the soul-sucking creatures ever since Sirius had
been released from his unlawful stay at Azkaban and had revealed what living
under the creatures’ dominion was like.
And, well, as Bagman had noted, the acromantula colony in the Forest really
didn’t like him following his slaying spree last year that he’d kept up between
Tasks and dates and homework, just enough to keep the massive carnivorous
creatures from creeping too close to the Forest edges once again.
Not that it made any difference to the nasty things.
It hadn’t made him Hagrid’s favorite person either.
Spinning on his heels as cold and dread began to coast up his spine with
chilled, slimy fingers, Frey brandished his wand crying out: “Expecto
Patronum!”
“A fully corporeal Patronus Charm, ladies and gentleman!”  Bagman shouted
excitedly, the crowd roaring in approval.  “And what is the form…”  He squinted
a bit, “…a Stag?”
…
Loki snorted in derision.
“What is it, my son?”  Odin asked, leaning over to view the glowing white
protective more clearly.
“It’s a male Reindeer.”  Thor said, head cocked to one side.
Frigga hummed, knowing that her acolyte Lily had been a doe of a white-tailed
deer in her animal form.  “Not completely unexpected.”  She decided.  “It is a
symbol of male fortitude, virility, and the search of wisdom.  Quite
appropriate.”
Loki steadfastly did not look at anyone lest his emotions show on his face.
James had been an Animagus Stag, Lily a Doe.
But Frey’s most common animal form to shapeshift into was a black jaguar.
While Loki preferred a male Reindeer with a massive spread of antlers.
His son saw him as his protector, even above James, or Lily, or even Thanatos
or Chiron.
Him, above all others.
“Watch, he’s doing something else.”  Sif hushed them, all but dancing on the
edge of her seat as she hoped for something, anything that would prevent Loki
from winning their wager, an all-but-foregone conclusion at this point as her
chosen Champion, the other wizard, had yet to bring down the barrier spell,
though it seemed he was close at least.
It would just prove to be too little too late.
…
“That’s not Prongs.”  Sirius muttered in an aside to Remus, the werewolf nodded
slightly, eyes narrowed on the sight of his cub facing down a Dementor, his
mate’s hand digging into his arm belying Sirius’s seeming unconcern.
There was little of this earth that rattled Sirius Black.
And even less that truly frightened him.
On the top of that list was losing Harry, just under that was losing Remus
himself.
And coming in a close third were the soul-sucking prison guards of Azkaban, the
Dementors.
Still, despite his soul-crushing fear, Padfoot kept his arse planted on the
hard wood bench, his hand on his mate’s arm, and watched as his pup faced down
a Dementor in a horrifying mishmash of his worst-and-third-worst nightmares.
This was his pup, his Harry.
How could he do anything less?
…
Minerva McGonagall watched in horrified pride as her finest student gave a
complex motion of his wand, transfiguring a Dementor of all things by Godric’s
knickers!
She didn’t know whether to call is ingenious usage of elementary
transfiguration – animate to inanimate being first-and-second year material –
or a horrible abuse of her precious field as the soul-hungry fiend went from a
figure in any wixen’s nightmares to a small, round, black marble.
…
A marble that almost no one save a discerning few (Severus, the Marauders,
Minerva) saw Frey summon and pocket with an effortless slight-of-hand as he
prowled forward, taking his steps measured and slow in an attempt to recharge a
moment.
That had been a bit of a stretch of his skills to saw the least, forcing him to
finally cancel his fire whip before conjuring the Patronus and then using a
twist on animate-to-inanimate to deal with the Dementor.
Honestly, if the things weren’t mostly mist, hunger, and shabby cloaks, there
was no way that would’ve worked using a simple spell for reasons of mass
conversion.
Still.
It worked, not forcing him into Plan C (Plan A being it was scared off by the
Patronus), setting Fiendfyre to the bloody thing.
As he padded up to the patiently waiting Sphinx, he noted the barrier spell
giving a worrisome pulse of magic.
Viktor was almost through, leaving Frey little time to solve the Sphinx’s
puzzle before Viktor could take advantage of Frey’s destruction of the maze and
its monsters to swoop in and snatch up the Cup while Frey was otherwise
occupied.
“You must solve my riddle to pass by me peacefully, or dare my claws and
jaws.”  The Sphinx told him in a calm and soothing alto that was at odds with –
her, he supposed – words.
“Very well.”  Frey nodded, and she began to speak.
“First think of the person who lives in disguise,
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.
Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,
The middle of middle and end of the end?
And finally give me the sound often heard,
During the search for a hard-to-find word.
Now string them together and answer me this,
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”
Finished, she sat back on her haunches, eyeing him with patient calm as Frey’s
quick, trained intelligence, far beyond that of others his physical age thanks
to his father and his childhood training, sorted through the key words and what
he knew about the Third Task in general.
“Spider.”  He said briskly, wincing as he felt the backlash of the barrier
spell falling almost send him crashing to his knees.
They’d be sprinting to the Cup any second.
“Correct.”  The Sphinx nodded regally before bounding away to intercept the
other contestants and inadvertently buying Frey the precious few moments he
needed to run to the Cup.
The crowd roared all around him as he reached it, smiling and waving up at them
before gripping one of the handles in his loose grasp.
Then a fishhook snagged him behind his navel and whirled him away.
A Portkey.
The Cup was a Portkey.
…
A rumble went up from the crowd, growing in volume and confusion as Bagman
turned to stare at the other judges in confusion, the bumbling – and soon to be
replaced if the polls were any indication – Minster Fudge giving voice to the
question burning through the minds of every person present.
“Well?”  Fudge demanded, turning on Dumbledore.  “Where is he?  Where’s the
Champion?”
…
Where indeed.
Frey knew he was in trouble when it took more than an instant for the Portkey
to drop him off at the dais.
He hadn’t been certain that the Cup would be a Portkey, but he knew there had
to be spell on it to indicate who one so that part hadn’t been a shock or
surprise.
But when it didn’t instantly drop him off, he knew that this, whatever it was,
was the purpose behind his unwilling entrance to the Tournament.
Portkeys were closer to the Floo that way than Apparating, the longer the
distance involved the longer the trip, where no matter what Apparating from one
place to another only ever took a moment.
No, he was going to land somewhere much further away than the judge’s dais.
The only question was, what was going to be lying in wait at the other end of
his Portkey?
Well…other than Voldemort.
Frey just knew his manky, undead ass was going to be there.
…
Internally, Loki was freaking the fuck out over his son being kidnapped from
Hogwarts, most likely by an undead Dark Lord.
On the outside however…
“A bolt of undyed acromantula silk versus three months of palace duties that 1:
” Loki announced, snark filling his tone as he held up elegant fingers ticking
off the terms of his bet.  “Our young Warrior-Mage lands in a trap.  2: It was
set by this Dark Lord Voldemort.  And, 3: The lad somehow escapes alive and
mostly intact from the confrontation.”
“Loki.”  Frigga and Thor chided him in unison for his seeming “lack of
empathy.”  Odin simply thought it over and gave a nod.
“I’ll take that bet.”  The god of Knowledge decided.  “Agreeing with your first
two points but on the last I must lay odds on him being at last maimed,
mentally if nothing else.”
“Done.”
Now all his son needed to do was prove Loki’s words true and he’d have the All-
Father himself covering for him while he disappeared for a season, a season he
most desperately wanted to spend unhindered with Frey as soon as possible but
that he knew he would need later in his son’s life once he froze into his
immortality and had acquired all of his non-godly powers.  Frey would need
training, unless Loki wanted him to blow like Mt. Vesuvius from the influx,
training that Loki wouldn’t be able to supply without a window where he could
be missing from Asgard, no questions asked.  He just wished that that window
wasn’t – possibly – being supplied by Frey getting fucked over by fate…again.
…
While those extra few seconds of time lapse due to the distance between
Hogwarts and wherever Voldy had picked as their newest confrontation spot were
excruciating, they were also a very bad idea…for Voldy.
Giving Frey time to prepare, even seconds, was always a bad idea…for the other
guy.
Something even the Basilisk had learned in the end and that the acromantula
colony kept on learning every other weekend.
Frey, like every other demigod in existence, thrived on danger and split-second
decision making.
And since he’d taken a Portkey before, it wasn’t a difficult matter to know
that he was about to land and roll, avoiding a jet of red light shooting over
his head as he hit the ground and took refuge behind…a tombstone?
Yeah.
Huh.
A tombstone.
Voldemort had picked a fucking graveyard for his latest trap.
Whatever, that just meant lots of places for him to hide, run, and dodge.
Thinking rapidly, remembering things in the back of his mind without having
them take over his in-the-now reactions to danger, Frey shrunk the Cup and
tucked it under his tunic, sticking it against his side with a sticking charm.
He knew it would reset – it would have to – in order for it to return to the
center of the now-demolished Maze and carry back the second and third place
contestants when they reached it.
It was his ticket away from this fucked-up plan of Voldy’s…whatever it was.
He just had to be patient and wait.
Not his best qualities when it came right down to it, which probably explained
why he was holding his wand in his main hand and taking out his sword with his
off-hand before peeking over the tombstones towards where the light came from. 
Narrowing his eyes, he restrained the urge to let out a vicious hiss – followed
by an even more vicious curse.
Wormtail.
Motherfucking Wormtail.
Frey had seen the weasley little bastard in enough of the photos Remy and Siri
had shown him to recognize him, even older and much more beat to shit.
“Alecto!  Capture the boy!”  A thin, reedy voice with a distinct hiss cried
out, cluing in Frey that there was at least a third involved in this little
party, if not more.  The hissy order was followed by an actual line of hisses,
the Dark Lord commanding his familiar.  “Nagini, scent him out!”
“Yes, Master.” The massive green and black snake responded, Frey eyeing it as
it uncoiled from a tombstone near the giant cauldron Wormtail and his – ewww,
ugly baby thing – hunched over.
Alecto, who Frey thought might mean Alecto Carrow per Sev’s stories of who were
actual Death Eaters who lived for the “cause” and who were more opportunists
like Lucius, didn’t respond making Frey believe that she had at least a modicum
of intelligence by not giving her position away.
Not that it would help her much, as a quick dive into his belt had Frey swathed
in his father’s Cloak.  Nagini would still be able to scent him, and someone
could feel or hear him if he wasn’t careful, but at least he wasn’t visible to
the naked eye.  At the moment.  As soon as he wanted to fight the jig would be
up.
Still.
Time buying.
A very important skill in any demigod that wanted to live to see twenty.
There was slight crunching sound which came from two tombstones over, Frey
controlled his reaction to spin, instead turning his head slightly to get a
look while he kept track of the slithering-and-scenting form of Nagini.
It was the witch, Alecto, a witch of middling-age who was young during the
first Rise, now left with the remnants of her beauty from taking one-too-many
Crucios from Voldemort.  Her face was lined, her skin tight and a bit leathery,
and her shoulders slumped a bit on one side.  Frey was sure that if one looked,
they would find a scar – curse damage or otherwise – on her left shoulder which
caused the witch to list to that side.
A silent snarl was the only tell – though there was no one to see it – as Frey
gave a brutal slash of his wand, his Sectumsempra, curtesy of his private
tutelage under a pragmatic Severus, neatly severing her wand arm and sending
gaping wounds crossing her chest and lower neck.
Alecto was numb with shock for a long moment as her arm slid away, taking her
wand with it and sending her into a near-magicless state as her magic attempted
to heal the damage before she bled out.  Crying out wordlessly she screamed in
terror and pain, not even seeing the vivid beam of red that sent her into
unconsciousness.  Not that it would save her.
Without even sparing a glance for his downed enemy, Frey strode towards the
cleared circle of headstones, where the cauldron was still bubbling away, the
drag of his long Cloak sweeping the ground the only warning that preceded him.
“Alecto!”  Voldemort screamed out in his hissy voice.  “Seize him!  Wormtail,
Nagini, seize the boy!”
Why wasn’t anyone seizing the boy?!
He was only one brat!
“Wormtail, my wand!”  He demanded, the rat-like man rushing to hand it over to
his master as Nagini hissed a warning as she darted to coil around her Master
in his weakened state, Wormtail setting him down at his imperious gesture.  “I
shall deal with the brat myself!”
A decision that proved to be too little, too late in the wake of Frey’s usually
well-controlled streak of savagery, riled by the prospect of revenge against
his parents’ betrayer and murderer, all thoughts of aught else banished from
his mind save punishing their wrongdoers.
And he knew just how to do it.
After all, didn’t everyone say that revenge was a dish best served cold?
In an eerie, and vastly more deadly, display of his elemental powers, a wave of
ice broke over the prepared ritual space, freezing everything in its wake in a
matter of moments: the fire, the cauldron, Nagini, even Wormtail and
Voldemort.  Though, wanting them to realize to know what was coming, Frey left
their heads free.  He was a vision of instinctual wrath, all plots and plans
and higher thought absent.
Dismissing his sword and wand – for the moment – as he came to a stop mere feet
from the almost-entirely frozen forms, Frey lifted his elegant hands and
removed his hood, allowing the Cloak to part and reveal him fully as it rested
against his back.
“Wormtail.”  He said simply, poison green eyes firing with an unholy light. 
“Tom.  Fancy meeting you here.”
If looks could kill, Voldemort would have him flayed, stuffed, and mounted on
his decrepit hideout wall.
With a flicker of his fingers, Frey released the ice over Voldemort’s mouth,
morbidly curious over what the – homunculus? – would say.
“Insolent child.”  The Dark Lord hissed, infuriated.  “You will pay for this
indignity!  No one…”
He was cut off as Frey sighed and replaced the ice, this time wrapping it all
around the front of his face, only leaving his ears free.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Tom.”  Frey told him with exquisite
gentleness.  “But I’m not a child.  Despite my years, I haven’t been one for
ages.  You would have done better with trying to convince me to join your side
or promised me some empty platitude than going straight for the threats. 
Still.  Live and learn.  And you will live from this, Tom.”  He added, arching
a brow at the clear surprise in the bloody red eyes watching him with equal
parts hate, rage, and a growing hint of fear.  “Oh yes, you will.  I’m not
foolish enough to think that you’ll die this easy after you’ve hung around this
long.  But remember.”  Frey smirked.  “The one with the power to vanquish the
Dark Lord approaches…”  A twist of his wrist summoned his wand once more.  “I’m
simply not ready to do so…yet.  Consider that while you’re floating around the
aether searching for some new weak-willed fool to possess, won’t you? 
Reducto.”
Frey held up one arm, protecting himself from the flying shards of Voldy-ugly-
baby and Nagini.  He blinked a moment later when not one but two black wisps
scattered, one to the four winds and the other vanishing in a flash of death
magic that he easily recognized from the Horcruxes he’s cleansed thus far.
“Well, well, well.”  Frey cocked his heads as he cast a Fiendfyre to clear the
remains of the two small bodies, melting down the noxious concoction in the
cauldron while he was at it.  He was taking no chances that a piece of Horcrux-
snake remained to cause problems later.  “Nothing but surprises tonight. 
Wouldn’t you say, Wormtail?”
In an echo of his actions a few minutes before with Voldemort, who was even now
casting for a new form to take, Frey removed the ice gagging the terrified and
sobbing Animagus.
“Now, we’re short on time, that Portkey is going to take me away any moment
now.”  Frey told him with frightening ice in his voice.  “So, we’ll have to
pass on repaying you for whatever pleasantries your master no doubt was going
to inflict on me.  Let’s jump to what I need to know…and maybe your death won’t
be as unpleasant as freezing to death would no doubt be, yes?”
Wormtail whimpered an agreement, certain that whoever had raised sweet Harry
had twisted and tainted him far worse than even a Death Eater would have
managed.
“Who is masquerading as Alastor Moody?”  Frey demanded calmly.  He knew that
had to be the person who fiddled with the Cup.  Karkaroff didn’t have access to
it as one of the competing school’s Headmasters and Moody had both been
rejected entrance to the castle by the Hogwarts wards and in-charge of security
for the Tournament.
“A-a-amycus C-c-carrow.”
“Thank you, Wormtail.”  Frey nodded.
“H-h-harry, you don’t have to do this, your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to
be this…person.”  He tried to reason with the youth.
His words were met with an enraged snarl, the Potter Heir’s eyes nearly aglow
in the dark.  “You don’t get to speak about what James and Lily Potter might’ve
wanted for me!”  He shouted, losing his grasp on his cold sense of purpose.
In the back of his mind, Frey realized that his cold, his rage and viciousness
didn’t seem quite right.
But it was too late for that, his emotions were controlling him instead of him
them, a situation that didn’t seem to have relief or remedy in sight.
Taking out his sword, Frey spared one last glance for the whimpering man, then
spun in an elegant move and cleanly sent his head tumbling from his still-
frozen body.  Feeling the Portkey heat up and sensing incoming magic – likely
due to his use of several Dark-classified restricted spells in a short time,
Frey cast another Fiendfyre,this one in no way controlled, trusting that the
DMLE would easily be able to put it out before it reached the distant town.  He
spent a moment entranced by the roaring flames, then tossed his wand and sword
– the only evidence of his actions, into the fire to be consumed along with the
bodies of Carrow and Wormtail.
There was work yet to be done – a mole to root out – when he reached Hogwarts
and the cause of his dark actions to confront.
But that was a worry for another moment as the Portkey latched onto him and
whirled him away as Frey tucked James’s Cloak away once more.
 
***** Twenty-One Sundered *****
                                    Lokison
                         Chapter Twenty-One – Sundered
“…massive blasts of Dark Magic in Little Hangleton…”
“…but they have to have a way to track the Portkey!”
“Let me go Snivellous, I’m going after my pup!”
“Contain yourself you idiot mutt and let those who are actually capable of
finding the boy do so!”
To say that Frey’s return Portkey dropped him down into chaos would be
understating the matter.
“…aurors deployed to the site of the Dark Magic.”
“The Minsters of Magic safe inside the school…”
“Cub?”
“Pup!”
“HARRY!”
Back on Hogwarts’ grounds, with the safeguard built into the now-cleansed
wards, Frey felt a large part of the emotional extremes he’d been feeling
dissipate…only to be nearly crippled as the reality of his actions sank in.
Shaking it off as he was dog-piled on by his friends and dogfathers, Heidi and
Sev watching with clear concern and other more-official-type people looking on,
Frey shoved it away.  He’d deal with making himself a judge, jury, and
executioner twice over later.  Right now there were more urgent matters to see
to.
Like the still-present Amycus Carrow in the guise of Alastor Moody.
Frey let everyone have their moment clamoring him, of ensuring he was alive and
mostly well, all the while watching the hunched form out of the corner of his
eye, the Death Eater obviously shaken by Frey returning both alive and
relatively unharmed aside from some dirt, blood, and the rampant sent of
scorched hair.
Dumbledore parted the crowd around Frey like Moses through the Red Sea, the
movement apparently service as the straw that broke the camel’s back of
Carrow’s ability to wait and see, spectators gasping and shouting as “Moody”
brandished his wand and shot off a spell at the powerful pair of Dark-Lord-
Defeaters.
Still very much in battle mode – and kinda expecting it given that it was
pretty clear to anyone who was aware of the trap that “Harry” escaped
practically unscathed – Frey reached out and snapped up the closest available
wand.
Blinking a bit at the rush of power, he nonetheless shoved the Headmaster out
of the way of the sickly-yellow spell, yelling “Death Eater, down!”
An ingrained response to the danger – and likely death – those words implied,
took hold of all the adults, everyone hitting the ground and taking the teens
with them, all but Severus, Sirius, Remus, and a few of the battle-hardened
aurors who hadn’t been called out to deal with the emergency in Little
Hangleton.
“The Dark Lord will rise again!”  Amycus shouted in Moody’s gravelly voice. 
“No matter how many times you foil us, the Dark will prevail!  Morsmorde!”
Conjuring the Dark Mark over the remnants of the Maze, Carrow attempted to
Apparate away, only to be stymied by a combination of the wards and a slew of
spells from half-a-dozen wands, including Frey’s own Levicorpus.
Together with two body-binds, a stupefy, and a few unrecognizable hexes, all
present were treated to the strange sight of an insensate and bound – and being
attacked by Bat-Bogey’s? – Alastor Moody being dangled in the air by his ankle.
“What is going on!”  A witch of middle age – and wearing an infamous monocle –
burst out as she climbed to her feet.  “Has Moody been Imperioused?”
“I am uncertain, Madam Bones.”  Severus said, eyeing the now-bashful Frey who
ducked his head at all the attention being lavished on him.  “However, I
believe our new Tri-Wizard Champion holds at least some of the answers we
seek.  If Mr. Potter would return the Headmaster’s wand, then perhaps we can
begin to get to the bottom of all this, hmm?”
“I am afraid.”  Dumbledore said sourly, no sign of his usual twinkle present on
his pinched features.  “That particular wand is lost to me now, my boy.  It is
the same which I won from Gellert all those years ago, and has now been won in
turn.  No matter.  I still have my original wand.”  So saying, Dumbledore
removed the eleven inch, oak and dragon heart-string wand from his sleeve.
The loss of the Elder Wand was a devastating blow, one that Dumbledore was
desperately trying to keep hidden from his audience.
He’d felt it break from him when young Harry snatched it from his hand to turn
on the form of not-Alastor.
Head heavy and thoughts muddled from all the events of the night – a condition
trebled by the influx of power he’d felt on winning a wand of all things – Frey
gestured towards Moody weakly.
“That’s not Moody.”  He explained, weaving in place a bit as his exhaustion
threatened to have him collapse.  “It’s someone named Amycus Carrow according
to Peter Pettigrew.”
“Peter?”  Two voices shouted with a nearly-identical growl.  Frey’s dogfathers’
hackles going up at the sound of the traitor’s name.
Frey nodded, giving Viktor a soft smile of thanks as the Bulgarian came to his
side and slung Frey’s arm over Viktor’s shoulders, his own arm wrapping around
Frey’s waist, thoroughly propping him up.
“Pettigrew, and a witch named Alecto, they were the ones with Carrow who rigged
the Cup and tried to trap me.”  He shuddered.  “Spouted off crazed ramblings
about bringing back Voldemort.  Then one of them shot a fire spell that was
darker than anything I’ve ever seen before at me and the Cup’s Portkey
reactivated bringing me back here.”
“And in the process of their scheme,” Madam Bones, the head of the DMLE
questioned the weary young wizard gently.  “They mentioned Alastor being
impersonated.”
“Yes, ma’am.”  Frey nodded obligingly.  “There was a snake there too.  They
called it Nagini.  But I managed to freeze and shatter it the same way I did
the Maze.  That infuriated them and they bound me to a headstone then started
ranting at me.”
“Very well, Mr. Potter.”  Madam Bones nodded, gesturing to her Aurors to take
the bound form of “Moody” into custody.  “We shall get to the bottom of this
matter; don’t you worry about that.  Now, I believe the gallant Mr. Krum would
be best served by escorting you to the Infirmary.”
…
Heidi broke off from the other adults as they gathered inside of Dumbledore’s
office, the foreign ministers and important officials had all returned home in
a flurry, while the British higher-ups were all trailing along with Madam Bones
as she had sent her Aurors ahead to bind Carrow and Severus to retrieve a vial
of Veritaserum.
None of that was Heidi’s concern, nor really her affair.
She cared about exactly one thing in this drafty old castle: her little lord
and him alone.
So, it was with her unerring memory that she made her way to the Infirmary
where Frey was no doubt waiting for the next round of questions from both the
adults who were part of his life and the Ministry officials.
At the very least, Frey was certain to need to give and sign an official
statement, even if it meant it had to be dictated to one of the younger Aurors
the stern head of the DMLE had in her entourage.
A soft smile tugged at the edge of her mouth as she came into view of Frey’s
hospital bed, the young half-blood currently holding court – there was no other
way to describe it – over his friends, with two in particular having claimed
the choice seats at either shoulder, his boyfriend Viktor and his best-friend –
despite current difficulties – Draco.
Frey caught her eye with a relief-tinged grin, then shooed his companions away.
“Madam Pomphrey only gave you lot a couple minutes.”  He reminded them,
shamelessly using the dragon of the infirmary against them.  “You better go
before she comes back.”
Most of the dozen or so students agreed with varying degrees of resignation,
save for Draco and Viktor.
The blond just folded his arms across his chest with a mulish expression,
settling back firmly into his chair in a silent statement of stubborn intent.
“Dray.”  Frey turn towards him as best as he could with his arm in a sling and
tender ribs.
Rolling about in a graveyard to avoid spellfire wasn’t the best situation to
avoid things like bruised ribs and sprained shoulders.
“I’m not going anywhere.”  Draco told him succinctly.  “Not with imposture
Death Eaters and who-knows-whom wandering around the castle trying to discover
how Carrow managed to change the wards to allow that Portkey to take you off
the grounds.  No.”
“Dray.”  This time it was more of a sigh than a name as Frey reached out with
his uninjured hand and stroked the back of one fisted hand gently.  “I really
do need to speak to Heidi in private.  Please.  It has to do with my guardians
and their reactions to everything.”
Draco scowled at that, knowing full-well Frey was referring to his father Loki
at the very least, as well as his patron Thanatos and likely even his actual
active guardian Chiron.
Gods trumped best-friends no matter how you really looked at it.
Especially since while Draco could be dangerous in a deviously clever way, he
wasn’t about to smite anyone, as proven out by Krum still being among the
living after putting his grimy Bulgarian paws all over Draco’s Frey.
“What about him?”  He cast a dark look at the Quidditch player.
“Viktor will be leaving in the morning, Draco.”  Frey reminded him, ruthlessly
suppressing the grin that wanted to break across his face at Draco’s return to
near-normal behavior for the spoiled blond.  “We’ll say goodnight and then
he’ll go back to the ship.  He’s not staying but a minute longer than you are.”
Grumbling but appeased – and with plans to sneak back into the infirmary later
– Draco finally took his leave, giving Heidi a gallant bow when he came even
with her post standing at the end of the bed, moving just fast enough that
Viktor’s first words carried to him as he opened the infirmary doors.
“I’m never sure if you’re quite sane for wanting to get involved with him next
year or not.”  Was all Draco could hear – riling him back up – before the doors
closed at his back and cut off the rest of the conversation.
Frey eyed his boyfriend amused, knowing that Viktor had said as such purely for
revenge on the blond for making a fuss over Viktor remaining for a scant minute
longer than himself.
“Well he’s spoiled but he has a good heart under all that swagger.”  Frey told
him half-seriously.
“And that he’s a pretty blond doesn’t hurt much either.”  Heidi tossed in with
a mischievous grin, well-aware of her charge’s on-going on-again-off-again
affair with the golden god of a Harvestman Alexios, the pair often joined by
Alexios’s partner and longtime lover Hector.
Indeed, after the “lessons” Frey received from Aniki and the two ancients, more
than one of her brothers and sisters would be more than willing to join Alexios
when the Myrmidon visited Frey.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”  Viktor asked, ignoring the woman who watched
them.  “I could wait in the hall, stay the night with you?”
“No, that’s ok Viktor.”  Frey assured him with a soft smile.  “It’s just a few
bruises and a sore shoulder, not anything to make such a fuss over.  Come and
see me before you leave tomorrow, yeah?  I’d like to say our goodbyes in
private.”  He tossed the last at the amused form of Heidi.
She responded with a wave of her hand, not about to leave until she spoke to
him about what really happened.  She didn’t believe his version of events for
the public for a second, and anyone who knew him wouldn’t either.  His
godfathers for certain would be asking more questions, as well as Severus and
Chiron when he left for Camp in a week.
Chuckling under his breath, Viktor leaned over and stole Frey’s breath with a
heated snog before Heidi’s cleared throat had him ending it with a light blush,
brushing his hand lightly down on scraped cheek, Viktor bussed Frey softly on
the forehead and took his leave, knowing that come the morning it would be time
for him to do so for perhaps the last time unless by some miracle their
schedules meshed over the summer.
“He’s handsome.”  Heidi said with genuine appreciation as she sat on the edge
of Frey’s right hip, gingerly taking one of his hands and stroking her thumb
over his barked knuckles from an unfortunate slash of the giant acromantula. 
“And very much in type for you, little one.”
“I have a type?!”  Frey gasped with mock shock.  “Since when?”
“Male, attractive, and built.”  Heidi said bluntly, taking none of Frey’s
nonsense.  “Which – if your Draco knew of your other lovers – would do much to
explain his insecurity.”
Frey shrugged, looking away from her knowing face with a sigh.
It didn’t surprise him in the least that his former caregiver had been – and
likely would continue to – watch over him from Thanatos’s hall.
“Draco is Draco.”  He said simply.
“A class of his own?”  Heidi arched a brow, a considering look crossing her
face as she hummed under her breath.  “Now that I could easily believe with the
way you used to talk about him before your Rites.”
Heidi had of course returned to Thanatos’s active service, including living in
his halls, once Frey had undergone his Rites of Passage at thirteen.
As a result, it had been over a year since the last time they were able to talk
without an audience.
“That all aside.”  Heidi pinned him with a firm stare, the same one she used
often during his childhood, especially when trying to unearth information about
his more dangerous adventures.
Like that hell-spawn of a basilisk.
“I know you’re troubled, little one.  More than can be dismissed as part of
your ordeal as you explained earlier.  Tell me.”  She studied him from intent
eyes.  “What really happened tonight?”
Removing her hand from his, Frey reached over and removed a small object from
within his belt, the belt itself as well as his new wand and a few other things
had been removed from his clothes – which Madam Pomphrey had sent to the elves
for cleaning and repair – and piled on the bedside table.  It was a small orb,
inky black, and emitted a strange and forbidding sensation of ice and soul-
stealing cold.  Heidi’s eyes shot wide as he offered it to her, knowing the
second it touched her skin exactly what it was and where it had come from.
“The Dementor.”  She breathed, leaning back from the marble-sized object in her
hand instinctively.  “You did keep it.  I thought you had.  Why in the worlds
would you ever risk having one near you?  You know what a Dementor is capable
of, both from my teachings and your godfather’s stories of his imprisonment.”
Shuddering she flinched as she felt the trapped and transfigured being try and
reach out to her, effecting her emotions and higher brain functions much like
it would in its natural form.
If it could do that in a matter of moments…what effect might it have had on
Frey?
And what might he have done while under its influence.
Gasping a bit at the effort it took to set it down on the scrap of raw silk
Frey had taken from another pocket and laid out on the bed between them, she
quickly wrapped it up tightly with shaking hands, tying it off with the bit of
leather that had been binding Frey’s hair before Pomphrey removed it with a
spell to club his hair well out of the way.
“Tell me.”  She demanded, eyes fierce.  “Everything.”
So he did.
From the moment he felt a qualm over the enchantments on the cup but ignored
them, all the way up to and including casting a vastly dangerous and nearly
uncontrollable spell as the Portkey brought him back to Hogwarts.
Every spell, every act, every word that he had cast or done or said.
Everything, exactly as she required from him.
First though, he cast a silencing spell that would protect him from anyone
eavesdropping save divine peeping-toms.
Feeling emotionally scraped raw and turned inside out – but also, strangely at
peace that he’d gotten it all off his heart – Frey waited, every part of him
tensed and waiting for her judgement.
There were so many other things he could’ve done, steps he could’ve taken, ways
he could’ve brought Carrow and Wormtail in for questioning.  But he didn’t. 
And influenced or not, that would always be on him.
He told her that as well, almost bursting into speech when he couldn’t take the
suspense of her castigation anymore.
“So my sweet little one.”  Heidi whispered, a tear tracking down her cheek as
she wrapped him in her arms, burying his face in her soft chest, Frey clenching
his arms around her without care for his injuries as he soaked up the maternal
comfort she offered without hesitation or reserve.  “I’m so sorry that you had
to do all that, that you were put in that position.  That you were put in a
position to come into contact with a Dementor at all, let alone with your
parents’ betrayer and murderer both.”  She looked down into his tear-stained
face as he stared up at her, feeling punch-drunk, as if he’d gone rounds with
all of Ares Cabin.  A dozen times.  Without breaks in between.  “None of that
ever should have happened.  Bringing a Dementor around impressionable youth,
even if two of them were seventeen?  Madness.”  She scoffed at the very idea. 
“As for everything that happened after…”  She trailed off, thinking hard on how
to word her next statements.
It was a delicate thing.
What she said next, especially because of the position she’s always held in his
life, could very well dictate his actions for years to come.
As a hero, a prince, and most of all, a future god, he couldn’t afford the
insecurity about his decisions that could come if she brushed them off.
But worse, he couldn’t believe that causing death was without consequence
either and could be done without hesitation or remorse.
“I think.”  She said finally.  “That you’ve been bruised and scraped up a bit. 
You’ve got some mud on your face and some blood on your hands.  And you know
what?”  She leaned away a bit to look back down at him.  “That’s a good thing. 
Next time you’re in a position like the one with Pettigrew, you’ll take an
extra moment or two of consideration instead of going with whatever simply
feels good at the time.”
“What about Alecto?”
“What about her?”  She arched a brow.  “Little love, you’re a warrior, not a
doormat.  She was an enemy combatant who wanted to capture you and use you for
Thanatos-knows-what at the end of which you would’ve likely been dead.  Murder
is one thing.  Self-defense is another entirely.  And self-defense was exactly
what happened when you’re a fourteen-year-old teenaged half-blood up against a
fully-grown and dangerous witch.  You did what you had to, to survive, the same
with Nagini and destroying Voldemort’s vessel.  Did you make mistakes?  Yes. 
But they were yours to make and you’ll be better for them.  End of story.”
…
Loki shoved down his horror and worry, allowing only smug pride to show on his
face as he turned toward his adoptive father.  All of them had remained,
watching every moment in the infirmary and interaction in an attempt to decide
his bet against the All-Father.
“Well?”  He arched a brow.  “I believe that decides it.  I win, the young one
is neither dead nor maimed, not even in a mental or emotional fashion.”
“He’s right, my love.”  Frigga agreed with a sigh and a nod.  “If anyone has
the authority to decipher the young one’s mental or emotional state, it would
be the Harvestmaiden who raised him.”
“Oh very well.”  Odin grumbled.  “Though I would like to know more about that
creature they discussed, Dementor?  Perhaps I will open up a discourse with
Zeus to learn more of them…”
“I wouldn’t bother.”  Loki told him dryly, hiding the fear and dismay that the
thought of Odin with a pet Dementor did to him.  “Dementors are a singular race
from all I’ve read and seen.  They don’t exist in any other world but that
controlled by the Titan-Olympus pantheon.”
Thank Ymir for that.
It was enough to give him hives, Odin with his hands on one of those damned
things.
…
                                 Daily Prophet
                                June 25th, 1995
                             Death Eater Disaster!
                        Imposture Infiltrates Hogwarts!
                   TriWizard Champion Kidnapped and Injured!
                          How Did Dumbledore Mistake
                           Death_Eater_Amycus_Carrow
                 For Old Friend Auror Alastor “Mad Eye” Moody?
 Is This A Sign That The Headmaster’s Tarnished Reputation Has Given Way to a
                                 Faulty Mind?
         An Investigative Report by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter
                     All this and more beginning on Page 2
…
“Do I even want to know what you were thinking, keeping a transfigured Dementor
on your person?”  Loki demanded fiercely, holding his son out at arms-length
and staring down into his face – a bit scraped and bruised even in his dreams.
They’d already been through the smothering-loving hugs, Frey holding onto his
Far as tightly as he’d been held in turn by Loki.
It had been tortures of the damned, being condemned to merely watch and do
nothing, not even able to truly react as he would under the eyes of the Aesir
nobility and elite warriors, as his son was faced with yet another life-
threatening situation.
The god of Mischief honestly couldn’t understand how the Olympians did it, sire
or bear child after child and then be forced to watch them either rise or fall
according to their traditional heroic Trials.
After a long moment of staring into eyes that mirrored his own, Frey finally
answered.
“A foolish, selfish desire.  Nothing more, nothing less.”  He sighed.  “In
hindsight, at least.”
“Explain.”
“No one knows how to kill a Dementor.”  Frey answered.  “I wanted to know.”
“You were going to cull them.”  Loki said, eyes shooting wide, his genius mind
rapidly connecting the dots.  “Or wipe them out entirely once you discovered
the secret from the one you transfigured…weren’t you?”
Knowing his son, and the close relationship he had cultivated with Sirius, the
latter seemed much more likely than the former.
“They’re monsters.”  Frey growled, eyes flashing.  “They serve no purpose to
the natural order.  Destroying them would be the right thing to do.”
“The same could be said about goldfish.”  Loki told him dryly.  “And if you’d
cared to ask either myself or Thanatos you would have learned that Dementors
did and at time still do have a purpose in the natural order.  It was only once
the wizarding kind bound them to Azkaban Island that their purpose was
subverted and they fell into a starved decay.  It’s not their fault that they
seem monstrous to you and everyone who has been effected by them or lost a
loved one to them.”
“What?”  This was boggling news to Frey.  How on Earth could soul-sucking
fiends serve a purpose in the natural order?  Thankfully, it didn’t seem that
his Far was going to make him fess up and ask Thanatos.
“They don’t steal souls, my little prince.”  Loki told him with gentle care,
well-aware that it was a sensitive topic with his child.  “They reap them,
yes.  But the souls reaped – when they were free to roam – were those that were
tainted, usually by having committed the most evil of acts.  Murderers,
abusers, pedophiles, and the like.  Once the souls had been reaped – and
digested, though processed might be a better word for it – they were released
back into the cycle of life and death, completely cleansed and eligible for
rebirth.”
“Then…”  Frey thought hard on that explanation for long minutes, turning it
over and over in his mind.  “The Ministry corrupted them somehow?  Or since
they’re starving they just take whatever souls they can find?”
“More the former than the latter.”  Loki shrugged.  “If you want to do what is
right with the Dementors, you will figure out how to heal them and break their
bonds to Azkaban.  That, my son, would be a far nobler and distinctly kinder
act than taking the easy route of causing the extinction of an entire species.”
Frey hung his head, ashamed for the crime he almost let his selfish desire for
revenge drive him too, as it had already driven him to crimes this night.
“Heidi took the transfigured Dementor to Thanatos.”  Frey nibbled at his lip,
ready to do what he could to atone for his actions.  “It’ll be hard to find an
answer without access to one.”
“I’m certain you’ll manage.”  Loki told him with a quirk of his lips.  “All
that aside, there was something else I wanted to discuss with you, Frey.”  Loki
folded his son back into his embrace.
“My control.”  Frey whispered brokenly.  “The Dementor broke it, letting out a
part of myself that scares me, Far.”
“That’s what happens when control is rigid.”  Loki advised him, speaking from
experience.  “When immortals of all kinds are young and growing into their
powers, their control over their powers and themselves is paramount, especially
when they’re raised around those more…fragile than themselves.  In your case, I
believe that both myself and your other teachers have done you a great
disservice, teaching you to suppress your emotions, your darker instincts and
inclinations, to the point of rupture.  You can’t lock parts of yourself away,
little one.  Eventually – as happened tonight – your control will fail and you
have the potential to lose yourself utterly in a dark rage.”
“The Berserkergang.”  Frey breathed looking up at his father with wide eyes. 
“It grants strength but an inability to differentiate well between friend and
foe.  That’s a type of what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”  Loki said plainly, with a grimace thinking of his adoptive brother
whose ability to fall into the berserker rage was infamous.  “It’s no
coincidence that those who have to project certain personas are the most
susceptible to mental breaks like your vengeance stalk tonight or Thor’s
berserker rage.  You’re under a frankly insane amount of stress.  Something
like tonight was bound to happen and would have likely occurred sooner if you
didn’t have the ability to, ah, channel some of your suppressed emotions and
desires through training and bedsport.”
“Ewww.”  Frey wrinkled his nose up at Loki.  “I do not want to talk about my
sex life with you, Far.”
“Good because I’ve no desire to hear of it.”  Loki grimaced once more.  “But,
the issue of your fragile control still exists.  If you had already gained
immortality I would simply whisk you away for training until you learned a more
flexible way of dealing with emotions and impulses that you can’t always act
on.  At least immediately.  But I’m afraid we don’t have time for that.”
“How much time?”  Frey cocked his head to the side intrigued by the prospect of
a training trip with just his father.
“Decades.”  Loki laughed at the forlorn look on his son’s handsome face.  “Oh,
what a look!  Don’t be so dour, we’ll go eventually and I’ll teach you all I
know.  It just must wait until you no longer age as mortals do, that is all. 
In the meantime…”
Frey sighed, then spoke almost in unison with his father, well aware of what
his most stern of taskmasters was going to say.
“More meditation.”
…
 
***** Twenty-Two: Playing and Politics *****
Chapter Summary
     This is an Uncensored chapter.
                                    Lokison
This chapter has censored (Fanfiction) and uncensored (Archive of Our Own)
versions available for your enjoyment.
                   Chapter Twenty-Two: Playing and Politics
Frey spent the last few days of term with the sense of a looming dread hanging
over his head.
His godfathers and Sev barely let him out of their combined sight, with Draco –
and Blaise by extension – right there alongside them hovering.  He had one last
goodbye with Viktor, then the Quidditch star was gone – much to Draco’s relief,
thought with the events of the graveyard Frey would be in England more often
than originally planned, opening up an avenue of them seeing each other – at
least this summer – that had previously been very narrow.  Heidi and his Far
had both had their say, leaving only one person in his life – outside of Chiron
and his half-blood friends – who had yet to lecture him or otherwise take him
to task.
Thanatos.
He was very much not looking forward to what the Avatar of Death had to say
regarding his half-arsed plan for the captured and transfigured Dementor, nor
what had come to pass in the aftermath of it…though he knew that Thanatos would
be pleased by the destruction of another soul-leech if nothing else.
Still.
It was with no-little amount of relief that Frey boarded a plane for New York,
only to shadow-step into the cool comfort of his cabin at Camp Half-Blood once
the private jet had taken off to keep up appearances.
His Cloak had become something of an open-secret among the school staff
following the events of the Tournament and the Graveyard, so his not being
there to disembark would be shrugged off as him utilizing it – if they even
bothered to tail him that far.
Dumbledore had tried – and been categorically shot down post-haste – to
convince Heidi and his godfathers that “Harry” should be kept “safe” in England
rather than return to his summer home with Voldemort once more making an
appearance.  An argument that held little weight given that the Headmaster
still didn’t know where Frey’s summer residence was.  He’d managed to pin it
down to the States, and was assuming that it was in New York – but had no
evidence to support the claim.
Owls went astray, and his actual address seemed to still be hidden by a strange
– and powerful – magic.
If the Headmaster couldn’t find him, then he had little hope of convincing
anyone that Voldemort could…and that was very much that…for the moment.
Frey had no doubt that with losing the Wand to his most infuriating chess-piece
that Dumbledore would be rather more meddling – and irritating – than normal
during the coming school year.
But he had a summer of nominal freedom first…and he intended to enjoy it and
recover from the blow he’d taken from his actions in the graveyard.
…
“Do I even need to get into how utterly foolish your actions were?”  Thanatos
asked icily, arms folded over his chest as he stared – still down, Frey hadn’t
quite topped his own height yet – down at his protégé.
“No, thanks.”  Frey answered drily, looking up from where he’d been idly
sharpening his House Potter sword – the same one he’d used to slay the basilisk
and that was imbued with her venom – waiting for Thanatos to appear.  He’d
sensed him before the deity had manifested in Frey’s cabin, as his ever-
evolving spikes of power and growth had warned him of the incoming power that
Thanatos carried with him everywhere.  Frey’s magical senses regarding all
things to do with Death and Darkness had continued to grow since his first
power surge back when his Far had broken the bindings on his wizarding power. 
“I’ve heard just about every version of that song and dance from Far, and
Chiron, and Heidi, and and and.”  He rolled his expressive green eyes.  “And
gotten reams of reading and homework assigned along with meditation and
Occlumency practices besides as punishment.”
“Good.”  Thanatos told him simply, arching an inky-black brow, his normally-
cowled head bare in the privacy of Thanatos’s sheltering wards that he’d put up
immediately upon entering.  The Avatar was a handsome being, quite striking
with his dark hair and burnt-gold eyes, but it was a flawed handsome marred by
the scars of battles from ages long passed.  “Then I won’t.  Instead I will
skip right to your punishment.”  He drawled, smirking as Frey winced.  “As well
as giving you a reminder of the pact that led to your creation.  Where before
your quest was without a limit, you now have one: I want the last soul leech
delivered to my keeping before you return to school.  Thereafter you will have
until Lughnasadh of next summer to defeat Tom’s shade.  I tire of having
him…flittering about.”
Frey restrained the need to groan.
That just effectively put paid to his free summer.
Well…free besides his homework and practices anyway.
Luke was going to be pissed.
To say nothing of Silena and Annabeth.
“Now for the reminder.”  Amusement crept into the dark voice.  “When I agreed
to allow the pact between the Potters and your father to go through, offering
up my blood and blessing for the ritual, it was under the oaths of all involved
that the wizarding lines that allow my interference in the wizarding world
would continue.  An agreement that has come to rest on your shoulders.”
“I know.”  Frey grimaced, having been informed by his Far during the three
years they spent out-of-time to train him after removing the bindings on his
magical core.  “Far told me.  Two heirs, who I will eventually have to leave
when I ascend.  I know.”
Knew and hated everything about it, especially since all the signs and
divinings point to him freezing into his immortality sooner rather than later.
He was just too powerful not to undergo his Becoming in the next few years,
though he could – and would – put off his actual ascension until at least when
his children entered Hogwarts…which was probably why Thanatos was bringing up
the subject.
The longer Frey put off his ascension, the more dangerous it became.
And no one – not even the Avatar of Death – wanted to deal with the fallout
from Loki that would occur should anything…untoward happen to Frey as a result
of him delaying his accepting his godhead.
“Three, now.”  Thanatos told him, gaining him a glaring pout from his protégé. 
“Your godfather made you his Heir, making the Black Lines encompassed by the
original agreement between myself, James, and your father.  And since your
dogfathers have no intention of risking Remus’s lycanthrope being visited upon
their potential offspring, you, I’m afraid, must provide for the Blacks as well
as the Potter and Peverells.”
Frey groaned softly under his breath.  He’d been afraid of that.  But he had
been holding out hope that his dogfathers would get over their hangups and do
their duty to the Black Line…but with Sirius as the Black in question that was
likely never going to happen.
“I’m familiar,” he admitted after a long moment of silent mental ranting. 
“With the necessary ritual since I won’t be fulfilling that obligation the
natural way.  And I have a witch to carry that owes me a life debt so that’s
taken care of…but.”  He sighed.  “I have a Dark Lord to finish first.  Any
hints as to how I’m supposed to off Tom if he doesn’t manage to get himself
reembodied before my time’s up?”
“There are weapons that can trap a soul, young one.”  Thanatos arched an
unimpressed brow.  “I suggest you look into them.  And into a second actual
parent for your children…as I don’t believe you’ll be so lucky as to live out
their entire lives with them before the matter of your godhead becomes
critical…”
Reaching out, Thanatos brushed one long finger against the inside of Frey’s
right wrist, just below the wand holster holding his gift to Antioch in ages
past, the sign of the Hallows appearing in gold-edged black with only the
merest hint of pain on the receiving end.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Frey rolled his eyes as Thanatos disappeared in a swirl of
gold-edged black shadows to match his new mark – the mark of the Master of
Death.  “Show off.  Also – assisting in the creation of your own foretold
master, and making him someone whose life belongs in another universe – that’s
cheating.”
He knew who he wanted as his handfasted spouse for a year and a day to make his
heirs legitimate, and to donate the other half of their genes beyond that taken
from his measly one-percent of James he carried.  The ritual would access that
fraction and draw out the Peverell, Potter, and Black heritage from it.  But he
still needed a second actual parent as well to keep the ritual from latching
onto his divine heritage to complete his children’s genome.
That was the catch you see…
They had to be fully wizarding, without the “taint” of his divine parentage.
It was the sting in the tail of Thanatos’s agreement.
And a built-in protection against them having to deal with the divine political
games that came with a divine parent…such as being harried by monsters or
debates over whether they even belonged in their birth universe.
Still, Frey had hoped he would have a bit more time…for all of it.
But the Fates – nasty bints that they could be – had meddled well and truly
with his life before Thanatos had had a chance to put a stop to it.
And they waited for no one.
Not even a god, let alone a mere godling.
The heifers.
…
“Okay, Luke, breath in for me and relax.”  Frey coaxed his friend through
clearing his mind – as much as a demigod with ADD and a problem with sticky
fingers could clear his mind anyway – in preparation for Frey taking a look
around his mindscape to see if he could figure out, for certain, what had tried
to tamper with his friend.  “Good, that’s good.”  He praised the older teen
lightly, their eyes – bright blue and emerald green – locked on each other,
allowing Frey to slip in as Luke focused on keeping himself and his thoughts
calm.
Things had been…strange to say the least at Camp ever since they came back from
Luke’s failed quest.
Tense.
Anxious.
Like the whole world had taken a deep breath in preparation for taking a
blow…which had yet to arrive.
Seekers still went out to find new half-bloods, who arrived in droves this
summer, more than any summer before it that Luke could remember.  And there
were more campers staying year-round as well.  He’d come to agree with what
he’d heard Frey say more than once – to him and Silena as well as Chiron, the
centaur agreeing reluctantly as well – something was coming.  The signs and
portents – according to Chiron – point towards a prophecy being set into
motion.
Though whether it was one of the ones surrounding his friend, or another major
prophecy like that of the Big Three, not even Chiron knew.
There had been a shift in the campers as well in the last few years.
They were younger as a whole, most of the campers that Frey grew up with were
gone, graduated with their monster-draw muffled, able to live out mostly-normal
lives that didn’t involve things like running gauntlets in the mornings and
swordplay or archery in the afternoons.
None of them had stayed, Frey now being the most-senior camper – as far as
years living at Camp goes – with only a handful who were older around, Luke and
Silena included, along with Beckendorf from the Hephaestus cabin and an
unclaimed named Ethan who mostly sulked around during the summers and didn’t
talk much, carrying around a chip on his shoulder not unlike the one Luke had
hefted around for more than a few years after arriving, and more than a few
before that.
Frey appeared in the center of Luke’s mind’s eye, turning his incorporeal form
around as he tried to orient himself in the midst of what looked like a massive
version of Luke’s room in the Hermes cabin, a giant TV on one wall, with stacks
and stacks of game consoles under it, and towering bookshelves containing
“games” that likely stood for Luke’s memories.  It was rather organized,
especially for someone with little actual training in the mind arts and only a
book given to him by Frey to work off of and Silena to help him.
Luke trust rarely, preventing him from allowing Chiron to assist in this
matter.
That he let Freyinto his mind was a sign of just how highly the demigod valued
him and their friendship.
Having an inkling of what he was – possibly – dealing with, Frey moved to sit
on the shabby soft in front of the haphazard arrangement of games, resting idly
as if having a visitor in Luke’s mind was an everyday occurrence, and tickling
at the curiosity – and hubris – of whoever had set-up shop inside his best-
friend, their hooks so deep that even Frey’s amulet against outside influence
hadn’t completely taken care of the problem, Luke reporting issues with his
temper flaring out of control at odd times or feeling a seething resentment – a
lingering grudge – that was out of character for a soul that tended towards
bright mischievousness and the occasional theft.
Timeless moments passed, with Frey believing that the being wasn’t going to
take his bait and force him to do this the hard way – rooting it out root and
stem memory by memory – when a flicker of movement just out of view pinged his
consciousness.
Gotcha.
It tested him again, then third time, unaware that with each probe and stab at
his incorporeal form that it gave away far more than it discovered, all the
while Frey silently set his magical traps in the quiet of Luke’s mind.
The presence gathered itself, frustrated from the lack of reaction from what it
knew by now was an intruder, and shot fast and hard at the form.
A mistake, a deadly one, as doing so revealed itself for just a fraction of a
moment – but in a timeless place like a mind, a fraction of a moment might as
well be an eternity when up against someone well-versed in the mental
arts…despite his own recent struggles applying them to himself.
Like a cell door slamming closed, the net of entwined magic and shadows snapped
closed around the invader, holding it still as Frey stood – sort of…being
incorporeal and all – and wandered over to see what he’d caught.
“A trap was set for a peasant boy.”  He quoted, unable to help himself, his
sense of whimsy in full-force as a front while inside his own mind he was
thinking furiously as he cursed himself for being right.  “And ‘lo, I catch a
prince!”  He smirked cocking his head to one side, crossing his arms over his
chest.  “Or a Titan rather.  Kronus…I presume?”
“The same might be said of yourself.”  Frey shuddered on the inside though he
gave no sign of it to the fallen Titan King.  Even his voice dripped with
malice and evil.  Let alone his presence.  It was no wonder Luke had had
problems all year despite the little help Frey had imparted before having to
leave for England.  “A Greek I thought…but an Asgardian I find, one of Jotnar
descent no less!  Tell me, giantling, how did one such as you come to be within
my realms?”
“Your realms?”  Frey arched a brow as his raised his hands, fingers flicking in
rapid-fire motions as he began the spell that would cast an intruder – even one
this strong – from Luke’s mind, the effort to do so exhausting him before he’d
barely begun.  But nonetheless, he persisted.  Over his dead body would he
leave even the smallest sliver – which this approximation of the Fallen Titan
was – within Luke to twist and taint him.  He had no doubt – especially with
the prophecy hanging over the Big Three – that Kronus would yet make a bid to
break out of Tartarus…but it wouldn’t be wearing his best-friend as a cheap
suit.  “I believe your son might have something to say about that.”  He tsked
mockingly.  “You remember him, right?  Beloved by your wife, freed his
siblings, cut you up in little itty bitty pieces and cast you into the deepest
darkest pit he could find.  Zeus?  Ringing any bells?”
The shade of Kronus hissed at the blatant mockery from the Jotun spawn.
“When I return…!”  He began to rant, only to be cut off, trebling his rage.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Frey shrugged, leaning forward as if imparting a secret. 
“I was raised by a Harvestmaiden with the blessing of Thanatos big guy.  You
don’t scare me.  Your wife on the other hand…”  He shrugged, then with his
hands extended out at his sides raised them together in a resounding clap of
power, the shade extinguishing as if it had never been, smothered by his net of
power.
Shaking his head, weakened considerably from the act – a weakness magnified by
having to give a show of being unaffected by the sheer effort and power it took
– Frey launched himself back into his own head, his kneeling form wobbling as
he fell over onto his side, panting.
“Frey!”  Silena, their spotter for the endeavor, launched herself at him,
propping him up as Luke blinked and came out of the trance, feeling – in
contrast with his best-friend – energized and more himself than he had for
months.  Leaping to his feet, the strong seventeen-year-old demigod helped his
girlfriend assist their friend to his feet, sharing a loving look over his head
as the demigoddess easily spied the change in her lover, the two ushering Frey
over to his massive bed and laying him down to rest.
“It’s done.”  He told them, weary down to his bones.  “And I need Chiron.  It’s
worse than I thought…”
…
“What can be done?”  The wise old centaur and trainer of heroes asked the
godling, Luke and Silena having gone off to celebrate Luke’s newly-cleansed
mind after a stern warning from Frey not to remove the amulet.
Kronus had Luke’s mental signature now.
So long as the Titan King was awake and growing in strength, the son of Hermes
would never be safe, nor would those around him if he were to falter, such as
Silena and Annabeth who still had more than a bit of hero worship for the older
half-blood.
Frey moved around his cabin, quick hands reaching for books even as they flew
from the shelves at the demand of his magic.  He’d rested – for as long as his
friends were present and watching him with worried and thankful eyes – then
gotten up and started researching the moment they left, one Pepper Up down the
hatch all he’d needed for a second wind.  Books opened and closed, pages
turned, all as if they themselves were possessed as Frey used the inherent
quickness of his heritage to process the information in search of what he
sought.  All of the tomes were familiar to him, all of them having been read
before, at times more than once during his education.
He just had to find it…
The tome he was looking for on –
“Wards.”  He said, words clipped not out of distemper or disrespect but sheer
distractions as he puzzled out the solution to a very massive problem.  “Luke
was his best bet – one of the oldest, most powerful half-bloods around.”
“And one with a score to settle.”  Chiron told him knowingly, one hoof stamping
against the obsidian floor of the Thanatos cabin.
“That too.”  Frey shrugged.  Family drama wasn’t his business until someone
made it his business.  Thanatos knew, he had more than enough of his own. 
Still, from Luke he at least knew the bare-bones of the beef the older teen had
with Olympus in general and Hermes in particular.  “He’ll be looking for
another host now, another servant.  I have to try and stop him before he makes
much – if any – headway.”
“That’s assuming.”  Chiron pointed out.  “That he hasn’t done so already. 
There’s no way to tell if my…father,” he bit out with distaste.  “Has already
poisoned another mind with his empty promises.”
Frey snapped his fingers, pointing at the centaur in wordless concession of the
point.
“Wards will at least make it harder for him to take another host the way he was
trying with Luke from what I found in his mind and what he’s told me about the
last year or so.  All of it reeks of an attempted possession, but with my
amulet in play Kronus couldn’t make a strong enough connection to solicit
Luke’s agreement – and Tartarus-bound Titan King or not, he needed that the
same as the rest of the deities in this universe.”  Frey looked up at the
centaur with burning eyes.  “This may be the beginning of a foretold series of
events…but the fates have never been high on my list thanks to their meddling
with my life.  I’ll fuck them over if I can.  And setting wards around the camp
to stymie Kronus is the best I can do at the moment with having to leave for
England and deal with events that are unfolding there as well.”
“Language.”  Chiron sighed, shaking his head as he clip-clopped over to the
massive doors of the cabin…one of the reasons he was able to come and discuss
the matter in true privacy and in his true form.  “You’d do it anyway…even if I
declined, wouldn’t you?”
Frey just gave him a grim smile and bent his head back to the tome that had
found its way to his hands in wordless answer, Chiron tossing back over his
shoulder.
“Do it in secret…as best you can.  If it were discovered the Council would be
in an uproar…especially if your unique origins were revealed in the wake of the
discovery.”
…
Two nights later, a pleasantly exhausted Frey stepped back from the Camp
archway, satisfied at last with his work.
The whole of the first day he’d spent researching wards that would keep out
Kronus…at least as much as possible.  In the end, with being unable to ward-out
anything Titan, Frey had gone with a ward that would keep outside influences
from intruding on the dreams of anyone inside the existing wards, much like the
amulet he’d given Luke and the earrings he’d spent most of the year enchanting
– with tips from his Far – for Silena, both of which he’d added Notice-Me-Not
enchantments to once he’d cast Kronus from Luke.  He couldn’t – wouldn’t –
count on Luke being the only one Kronus had attempted to get his hooks into.
It was little enough that Frey could do, both for his friends and the Camp as a
whole, but at the least it should curb Kronus’s ability to twist the campers
into serving him.
Any that had already agreed…well.
The time would come to deal with that issue, with them, but it wasn’t time yet.
Though if his dice were right, it was coming, soon.
Never before had Frey felt so torn between his two lives.
They needed him here, to deal with the threat of Kronus, one greater and vastly
more terrible than Voldemort could ever be.
And yet, Voldemort was the more immediate concern, especially with the quest
now hanging over his head like a Damocles blade.
Frey couldn’t abandon his friends and loved ones in the wizard world either,any
more than he could have left Luke to face the shard of Kronus alone, even if
Thanatos would let him.  Which left him rather at-odds with himself.  Nothing
was forcing him to help the Camp, nothing other than his own sense of duty to a
place that sheltered him, trained him, and kept him safe for all these years. 
This wasn’t a prophecy that was his, not like the one forcing him ever back to
England.
No, this was his own choice.
He chose to involve himself rather than turn away.
Frey rolled his shoulders then cast the spell that would link the anti-dream
interference ward to the existing anti-monster warding and the wards that kept
the gods and goddesses of Olympus away from the Camp…except for Mr. D and
Hermes who was allowed to come-and-go on official business only…so long as he
stayed away from Cabin Eleven and his half-blood children anyway.
Part of his decision to help with the coming upheaval was selfish after all:
the fate of Olympus determined the fate of this world.
And his unborn children would be solely of this world.
He wouldn’t let them be enslaved and tormented by Kronus and his cohort.
For he made no mistake: with Kronus stirring that was exactly what was at stake
– nothing less than the fate of the world.
“You know.”  A deep, silky voice threaded with power spoke from behind him,
mere feet beyond the wards – and boundary – of the Camp.  “When I came to
investigate the surge of power that came from here a few days ago, I wasn’t
expecting to find the shade of my very unlamented father.”
As the being – for he knew even without looking that this was no mere mortal –
spoke, Frey slowly turned with heavy trepidation to face it, already knowing
from the threat hidden in the silken voice that he’d been made as something
more than a half-blood.
What he found wasn’t quite what he was expecting, nor even who he was
expecting.
The Olympian King didn’t often come down from Olympus.
Moreover, all reports of Zeus fashioned him as a middle-aged male with grey-
threaded black hair and a beard, with sparks of lightning crackling in his dark
eyes.
This didn’t look much like that…but from the aura surrounding him and the bolt
in his hand, Frey knew it could be no one else but Zeus come down from on high
to – as he’d already stated – investigate events at Camp Half-Blood, which as
most of the power of the wards Frey had just finished adding to was drawn from
the Olympian Throne, the God-King could likely do without stepping one sandal-
shod toe over the boundary line.
Zeus – in this affect anyway – was younger than usually portrayed.  Late
twenties or early thirties if Frey had to guess, with short-cropped brown hair
that curled wildly around his golden-laurel crown.  His eyes were indeed dark
and crackling with stormy power, little shards of light streaking from pupil to
sclera through the fathomless iris and back in an endless circuit of
electricity.  Golden-brown skin covered cut musculature, a creamy tunic edged
and belted at waist and one shoulder in gold did more to reveal the perfection
of form than it did to conceal it.  The face was a bit stern – but still
handsome in a classic way.
And rather than a full beard, the barest of goatees surrounded full lips that
were currently cocked in an amused smirk.
“I never expected to encounter another surge of power, one somehow familiar to
me, let alone find a Jotun of all things tinkering with the wards of the
Camp.”  A dark brown brow arched in wordless question when Frey’s eyes shot
wide with panic, then realizing the issue, an arm clad with a golden bracer
waved, its twin with the bolt staying quiescent at the God-King’s side. 
“You’re not the only one in need of privacy now and then, Frey of Asgard.  None
can hear or see us…which I imagine is making your father more than a bit
panicked at the moment.”
“How do you know…?”
“Who you are?”  Zeus laughed, the humor doing much to turn his stern features
from severe to gorgeous, Frey finally getting an answer – beyond the attraction
of power – for the god’s many affairs.  “The wizarding core does much to block
it, I’ll own, and Thanatos’s blessing still more.”  At this Zeus shook his
head, holstering the bolt at his back.  “But I remember well your father, Frey
Lokison, and you’ve much the look of him and a similar aura – one that grows
more powerful by the moment.  The time will come where nothing can hide you,
not even from the most blind of my siblings, children, and other assorted
relations.  My two most powerful brothers would know you at a glance, as would
my,” here he grimaced, as if the very word pained him.  “Wife.  For an
Asgardian if not for your exact parentage – you need to work on your shielding
if you intend to stay much longer.  Still, I am curious: just how did one such
as you come to be here?”
The “without my permission” went without saying.
“Thanatos.”  Was the answer he was given – and indeed, it explained much.
An Elder God, the Avatar and god of Death had little need to seek out Zeus for
anything, let alone to do as he willed.
And as Zeus owed this particular godling – and yes, he knew what he was, much
like he could tell Frey’s origins at a glance, Zeus was randy, not blind or
stupid – owed him a great debt, precluding Zeus from trying anything with the
young one who was nearly overflowing with power.
That wouldn’t stop him if he thought the boy an actual threat, but the
fingerprints of the Norns – with the barest touches of the Moirae – were all
over the young one.
Zeus wasn’t suicidal any more than he was stupid, and fucking around with the
fates was a good way to find himself on the wrong side of a prophecy.
“You’ve made yourself an enemy in my father, Frey of Asgard.”  Zeus told him
solemnly.  “For that alone, I would call you my ally, one that I may find
myself in dire need of if he is indeed stirring.  My debt to you stands, I will
go another step and propose a pact: my help in concealing your nature in
exchange with yours against my father.”
Frey nodded, stepping forward and clasping arms with the God-King.
It wasn’t anything he wasn’t already planning on doing anyway.
And if he played his cards right, he might be able to wrangle additional
protections for his unborn children and their children, and so on through the
ages, much like they would have the favor of Thanatos.
“Come.”  Zeus commanded, taking firm hold of the godling’s arm and taking up
his bolt once more.  “There is much to discuss.  I would rather do so over cups
of wine and in comfort rather than in the sticky New York night.”
Frey shot the infamously promiscuous god a knowing glance from under inky
lashes at that.
Oh, yeah.  He bet they had loads to “discuss in comfort.”
After all…a handshake was only one way to seal a pact…
…
Alexios shadow-stepped into the area where his senses told him Frey was,
letting out a laughing snort at the scene before him then speaking loudly,
waking the three figures sprawled out together on the massive silk-draped bed
in the palatial room.
“You know…” he drawled in unknowing imitation of Zeus the previous night. 
“When Thanatos stopped being able to sense you, Frey, he panicked a bit, just
at first.  Only for your aura to come back on-line in Olympusof all places for
you to be.  So, he sends me to check on you, knowing that of anyone I’m least
likely to get faced with one of your rages…and least likely to start a fight
with whoever you’re with.  Only, I arrive to find you cuddled up with both Zeus
and Ganymede…because of course you are.  Your Father is supposedly losing his
shit per Thanatos…and my love still won’t tell me who that is.  Get your peachy
behind out of the God-King’s bed before my love comes to drag you home
himself.”  He finished on a hiss, the figures on the bed having startled awake
at his voice, Zeus and Ganymede watching Frey scramble for his clothes with no-
little amount of amusement.
Alexios didn’t judge, knowing the story with those two.
Zeus hadn’t chosen to marry Hera, it was forced upon him by his mother, part of
the price he paid for both powerful females to back him in the war against
Kronus.
But he’d never said he’d keep to his vows to her, taken under duress as they
were, and other than Ganymede, he never truly flaunted his affairs…though that
didn’t stop Hera from spying on him on a near-constant basis and becoming
enraged whenever she found him with another.
Seriously, if she’d wanted a faithful husband, she should’ve married someone
who actually gave two shits about her instead of the King of the Gods.
Ganymede was also the only lover of Zeus who was safe from Hera, being
protected with every iota of Zeus’s power in sigils tattooed onto his very
skin, much like the marks from Frey’s Rites and the newest mark on his inner
wrist from fulfilling part of his destiny.  Of course, Ganymede was powerful in
his own right, serving as the minor god of Homosexual Love and being Zeus’s
cupbearer, and being descended from Oceanus.  He was sacrosanct as far as
payback went, and unlike many of Zeus’s picadilloes, not a jealous lover, as
proven by him joining Zeus and Frey as they “sealed” their pact.
Once Frey had dressed, shrugging into his dragonhide pants and stamping his
feet into his boots, his shirt well and truly lost some when during the night,
Zeus reached out and snagged one lean wrist, tugging him back down onto the
bed.
Ganymede leaned over first, taking that pretty mouth in a wet, tongue-twining
kiss before giving up his prize to his king, Zeus repeating his action only
whilst cupping the back of Frey’s ebony head, controlling the kiss while
Alexios watched in interest, having never seen – in person at least – Frey with
anyone but himself and Hector.
It was just as hot as a pure-bystander as it was as a participant, an opinion
which Ganymede’s hot glances and rising arousal gave credence to.
Releasing his captive, Zeus nipped lightly at a kiss-reddened lower lip, as his
hand moved to cup his left ear with his controlling hand.  A glow – seen
shining from underneath the gold-skinned hand – and a pulse of power later and
he lowered it, revealing what he’d done, fingering the adornment with thumb and
forefinger before releasing Frey entirely.
“My end of the bargain.”  The King of the Gods – the Olympians at least – told
him, gesturing to the new piercing and ear-cuff that were connected with a fine
chain, the cuff a simple circle wrapping completely around the top of Frey’s
ear and engraved with Zeus’s symbol while the piercing on the lobe was a
lightning bolt, the entire piece made of finest gold.  “As long as you wear
that, not even the most powerful of gods will be able to distinguish you from
any other demigod – albeit a powerful one.  You need to learn to conceal
yourself without a prop…but this will do until you can manage it.”
“Thank you.”  Frey nodded, moving over to Alexios’s side and allowing his
sometimes-lover to wrap his arms around his nearly-taller form from behind.  “I
will do what I can on my end.”
“And I on mine.”  Zeus tilted his head as one arm curled tightly around a quiet
Ganymede, intending to take care of the problem Frey’s goodbye had left them
both with.  “You can return at any time Frey…Blessed of Thanatos.”  He went
with in lieu of revealing the godling to Thanatos’s Myrmidon general.
…
“Seriously?”  Alexios arched a brow as he unwrapped the shadows from around
them on the other end of their shadow-step, having taken them directly to the
cabin at Camp Half-Blood, where Frey could feel his father’s eyes peered down
at him from Asgard and Thanatos from his Halls.  “Zeus?  Should I have Heidi
come and test you for whatever passes as divine STD’s?”
“Oh shut up.”  Frey rolled his eyes as he sauntered over towards the bathroom
after turning in a circle for the perusal of his peeping-toms.  The feeling of
being watched faded away, but he knew he’d hear about it that night in his
dreams, especially thanks to Alexios’s letting that kingly cat out of the bag. 
“He’s useful if nothing else…and knows his way around a bedroom.”
“Of course he does.”  Alexios scoffed as he stripped off as well.  He’d managed
to pry Frey away from Olympus faster than he’d thought it would take, helped
along by Zeus not kicking up a fuss.  That meant that they had a bit of time to
play as well…once he decontaminated his young lover.  “He’s fucking Zeus.”
“No.”  Frey snarked back.  “I’m fucking Zeus.  You remember him?  King of the
Gods?  Just gave me a gift to hide my aura from other gods?  Partner in
whatever coming upheaval Kronus is plotting?  Comes with the most delicious
plus-one I’ve met in my life – including you and your lover which is saying
something.  That Zeus?”
“Ganymede is something special.”  Alexios had to concede on that point.  It was
the reason he’d been snatched away by Zeus in the first place, after all.  “I
can see the attraction there.  But still…”  He shuddered as Frey quickly
scrubbed himself off under the massive shower then joined the Myrmidon in the
Roman bath.  “Zeus.”
“Want me to take your mind off of the icky, icky thoughts dirtying your mind?” 
Frey offered dryly, boxing in the blonde with his strong arms.
“Oh, yes please.”  Alexios agreed salaciously, eyes tracking up and down the
built body that just kept getting better and better as time passed, as he
lifted himself up onto the edge of the pool in wordless demand.  “I was
starting to think you’d never ask…”
Smirking, Frey teased him, mouthing at cut pecs and cobblestone abs, all the
while refusing his warrior what he’d been wordlessly asking for.
Making a despairing sound, Alexios flattened his palms on Frey's back. His arms
were quivering with restraint, but his fingers kneaded the warming skin,
dragging through the drops of water puddled there, moving down just to the
curve of Frey's ass, then back up again.
"So good, feels so..." He twisted, wanting more of that wonderful feeling of
Frey's mouth on his chest, torn between needing him where he was and wanting to
feel the sensation on his aching cock, which had been hot and hard ever since
coming across the demigod splayed between Zeus and Ganymede on a silk-draped
bed.
"Yes, Alexios, I'll give you what you need," Frey murmured, his voice a
velvety, dark purr promising everything one could imagine. With a final hard
suck on the nipple in his mouth, he drew back, allowing his teeth to scrape
over the upstanding nubbin, and slowly slid down more, his tongue trailing down
Alexios's torso to his navel. He dallied there for a moment, nibbling on the
hard, rippling flesh, then moved a little lower. He paused to eye the rigid
erection already dripping with precome, and he licked his lips hungrily despite
having spent long hours under the attentions of a pair of randy gods.
His expression almost pained, Alexios relaxed back onto the cool tile of the
floor beside the Roman bath.
Was he finally... Oh, gods, he was. Biting his lip to keep from screaming when
Frey's mouth wrapped around his erection, Alexios gave a muffled shout, at the
same time fisting his hands deep into the wild ebony locks, Frey’s typical
braids or club having come undone during the previous night, the demigod not
bothering to put the heavy mass back up when he’d been anticipating a
bath…hopefully with company.
Frey hummed with pleasure at Alexios's reaction, prompting another cry of
pleasure. For a time he concentrated on the head, nibbling gently, licking and
sucking, then gradually, so slowly that at first Alexios didn't realize what he
was doing, he began to swallow more of him, more and more until Alexios's full
length was inside Frey's mouth, the head in his throat as he swallowed him
whole, the training of two years ago having been refined and sharpened under
the attentions of his lovers since – Alexios included with Hector joining them
much more rarely not being as overly hedonistic as the blond lover he shared
with both his Lord and now his Lord’s protégé.
Alexios whimpered, lost in the overwhelming sensations. He thrust up blindly,
wanting to bury himself in the warm, sucking wetness, to lose himself and never
find his way back because it felt so right whenever he was with Frey, though
missing a certain emotional connection he enjoyed with Hector and their Lord
and love Thanatos. He felt his body tighten and tried to gasp out a warning,
but it was too late. Giving a bellow muffled by the arm he managed to throw
over his mouth, Alexios came, the ripples of Frey's throat muscles contracting
around his erection when Frey swallowed drawing another round of tremors from
him.
Frey eagerly swallowed every drop, sucking until Alexios had nothing left and
was whimpering softly at the continued stimulation of his sensitized flesh.
Only then did Frey release him and setting his hands on the tile, lifted his
body from the water in a show of effortless strength to take his mouth again,
letting Alexios taste himself while Frey rubbed into the cradle of his sprawled
thighs, desperate for his own climax.
“Let me.”  Alexios whispered into Frey’s hot mouth, tongue seeking out every
last drop of his own taste on that naughty tongue.
Those words made Frey shudder and groan as he stilled. "Oh gods, yes, please,
touch me, Alexios." He pressed against him, moaning throatily as his arousal
sparked through him.
The sight of Frey's straining cock hit Alexios like a blow to the stomach, and
he bit his lip again before deciding on a plan of attack, maneuvering Frey
until they’d switched positions and the demigod sprawled on the cool tile of
the floor while the shadow warrior slipped into the heated depths of the bath.
Leaning in, he stroked his hands over Frey's chest, following their path with
his lips, getting lost once again in the feel of Frey's skin.
Frey shivered, feeling Alexios explore his body, with the sure hands guided by
familiarity even as Alexios sought out the new brand on Frey’s wrist or the new
scar on his chest curtesy of recent battles.
"You taste so good," Alexios whispered, hardly aware that he was speaking as he
worked his way lower, brushing his lips over Frey's nipples before moving
lower, grazing over his ribs.
He trailed off when Frey groaned, almost asking if Frey was all right, a bit of
worry over Zeus remaining, before recognizing the sound for what it was - need.
Sliding down, shifting so that he was truly between Frey's thighs, Alexios
licked his lips, took a deep breath, and dipped his head downward, the next
sweep of his tongue moving across the silky-smooth skin of the head of Frey's
cock.  Flavor exploded over his taste buds, and he groaned, able to taste the
sheer power contained in that still-growing body.  It was like nectar and
ambrosia combined – no wonder Zeus gave him an open invite back to his bed – it
also made him easy to scent out as a becoming-god if you knew what the signs
were, like Alexios certainly did.
Frey's eyes fell shut again, the pleasure overwhelming him as Alexios seemingly
tried to eat him whole. The butterfly sensation of his skilled lover's lips
moving along his shaft nearly made him scream, and a strangled moan did force
its way past his lips when Alexios reached the head and began to push the tip
of his tongue into the slit.
"Gods, Alexios, gonna come..."
Pausing, Alexios looked up at Frey again, taking in the clenched muscles that
showed just how tightly he was trying to keep himself in control.
Frey's hands suddenly released the sides of the bath and combed through
Alexios's slightly long, blond hair, clutching the curling strands as he
stiffened and arched upward, crying out Alexios's name as he exploded. His
universe narrowed to the hot, sucking mouth enclosing his cock and the white-
hot ecstasy tearing through his entire body, radiating outward from his center
to his very fingertips and toes.
“Seriously, Frey.”  Alexios broke the afterglow to snark.  “Zeus?”
“Oh, shut up.  Like you’ve never taken an ill-advised lover, Achilles.  At
least I’ve nabbed Zeus’s protection and help to ease the inevitable
consequences of mine.  How’s your heel holding up anyway, do I need to get you
a brace…?”
“Hey!”
…
Sirius yelped and darted out of the way when the overpowered Accio had his pup
summoning an entire shelf of books instead of just the one he’d been meant to
summon.
Well.
At least it was progress.
When Harry had arrived from England – with a glow he did not want to know the
cause of – he’d accidentally summoned half the library before canceling the
spell and staring down at his wand – taken from Dumbledore a couple weeks
before and rarely used since – in horrified fascination.
Remus had taken one look at the mess and decreed that further diving into the
mental arts could wait until Harry had gotten mastery – and subsequently
control – over his wand.
Which brought them to the current state of affairs – Harry only summoning a
shelf of books instead of an entire library, but still massively overpowering
his spells.
“Better.”  Severus decreed, a smirk edging his mouth at the sight of Black
jumping out of the way like an idiot.  His help had been enlisted by the wolf
to get Harry’s power under control.  For some reason, he wasn’t surprised that
an already powerful wizard was having problems controlling what he’d found out
through a few discrete listening charms in Dumbledore’s office was the
legendary Death Stick or Elder Wand.  That he’d gotten away with his spying was
both a testament to his skill and Dumbledore’s hubris.  “But still disgraceful
for a wizard of your age and ability.  Again.”
Frey grumbled under his breath and flicked his wand, the silent casting – which
required increased concentration from the caster – putting the books back in
their proper places with ease.
He had gotten better, Sev was right about that, but his verbal casting was
still all over the place unless it was a spell that required a surplus of power
to work in the first place like the Patronus or Fiendfyre…and yes, Severus had
tested him on both, knowing that he was definitely capable of the former and
likely capable of the latter, the white-washed story he’d given the Aurors
after the graveyard having been met with nothing but skepticism by the spy.
Thankfully, neither the Aurors nor the Wizengamot were as canny as the Potions
Master…which was good since he still had to give his testimony of events before
the Wizengamot in a couple of days.
Time in a cell wasn’t exactly on Frey’s agenda for the summer, though he could
easily shadow-step out of Azkaban, he’d rather not be a wanted felony while
searching out both the Cup of Hufflepuff and a weapon capable of killing a
shade.
Which in light of recent events, might be even more useful than just for taking
out Voldemort as Thanatos demands.
“Better.”  Severus repeated when this time his charge’s Accio only pulled down
the targeted tome.  “Now – do it again.”
“How many times?”
“Until you’ve done it perfectly every time without fail – or I tell you to
stop.”
Frey groaned, cursing vindictive honorary uncles who were punishing him for
Frey frightening him with his little trip to Olympus.  Apparently, Heidi had
been sent to check on his connections in England to see if he was anywhere to
be found there.  When he wasn’t…well.  They’d all worried.
And Sev did not handle worry well, especially when told that the cause of it
had been a glorified booty call…though he’d not been told with whom.
Yeah.
The rest of Frey’s summer was going to suck…though Viktor was due in England
soon, and his lovers – both old and new – of the immortal kind were more than
capable of coming to visit him…or summoning him to visit them.
So there was a bright spot on the dreary English horizon.
…
Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom, Chief Witch of the Wizengamot in the wake of
Dumbledore’s disgrace in previous years that ended with him being slapped with
severe sanctions and fines, only hanging onto the position at Hogwarts by the
very tips of his fingernails, struck the gavel against the wooden base at the
precise stroke of noon on the Twenty-Fifth of July, Nineteen Ninety-Five.
“A reminder for both our officials and the audience.”  The severe witch
announced, folding her hands with sedate grace before her on the wooden ledge
of the Chief’s seat.  “That this is a mere inquiry, wherein we will be hearing
from both investigators and the victim,” a gimlet eye ran over those in both
the Wizengamot gallery and the auditorium seats who might try and turn one of
her inquiries into a sideshow or witch-hunt.  “Regarding the events at the
Little Hangleton Graveyard, Twenty-Four June, Nineteen Ninety-Five.”
A few of the more…fractious members of the Wizengamot shifted, particularly
those such as the sitting Minister Fudge and his toadies who were most anxious
to dismiss all the claims made by both young Lord Peverell-Potter and the
investigating Aurors.
However, the Grand Dame had seen the reports of all involved, including the
investigation done by the Department of Mysteries, and the evidence to support
the Young Lord’s account were most compelling.
Though granted, the report from the DoM hadn’t gone any further than her own
desk, the Lady using it as her ace-in-the-hole as it were against the more
inane and sheep-like members of the governing body.
She might despise Dumbledore with every breath in her body, but even Augusta
Longbottom wasn’t above using one of his favorite tricks – knowing something no
one else did – when it came to making the veritable children of the Ministry
behave…since many a time that was exactly how they behaved.
As particularly annoying and stubborn children.
“At precisely Seven Thirty-One in the evening on the night of June Twenty-
Fourth, Nineteen Ninety-Five,” August read off the synopsis of known events
that were not in question.  “One Harry James Peverell-Potter-Black,” she arched
brow as the crowd – both Wizengamot and audience – erupted in startled murmurs
at the sound of the “official” name of the Peverell-Potter Lord and the Black
Heir, Sirius Black having finished pushing through the paperwork with both the
ministry and Gringotts to designated the Young Lord as his official Heir the
week prior.  Many forgot that James Potter’s mother was Dorea Potter neé
Black.  Augusta Longbottom was not one of them.  “Lord of the Houses of
Peverell and Potter and Heir of House Black, was transported from the grounds
of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry via a Portkey.  Three minutes
later, a massive wave of Dark Magic registered to have been cast in the village
of Little Hangleton, with an epicenter of the local graveyard near the
abandoned Riddle Manor.  Two minutes thereafter, the wounded form of Mr.
Peverell-Potter-Black was returned to the grounds of Hogwarts via the same
Portkey, whereupon he was attacked by who has been confirmed as the now-
confirmed Death Eater Amycus Carrow.”  She took a deep breath, face schooled
into implacable lines.  “These are the facts of record and are not in
question.  The purpose of this inquiry is to ascertain – without question – the
source of the Dark Magic cast in the graveyard of Little Hangleton, the method
of a Lord’s removal via Portkey from a ward-protected space, and the truth of
the charge that not only was wanted wizard and Death Eater Peter Pettigrew
present in said graveyard but also the missing and presumed dead Alecto Carrow,
assumed Death Eater, as well as the shade of the Dark Lord known as Voldemort,
known to this body as the half-blood Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
Another roar of gossip – and denials – swarmed through the auditorium in the
bowels of the Ministry at that last revelation, one of those secrets that
Dumbledore had long hoarded like dragon’s gold, forgetting perhaps that he
wasn’t the only one who knew Tom Riddle.
“Now to the stand to give testimony regarding this inquiry the Wizengamot calls
Lord Harry James Peverell-Potter, Heir Black.”  She announced, setting off a
new round of titters, the Dame barely restraining the need to either roll her
eyes or sigh.
Such children.
…
Frey was ushered into the packed auditorium, it wasn’t a courtroom despite it
being on the same level, rather a large open oval-bowl shaped room with the
Chief Witch – in this case Nev’s grandmother – or other presiding official at
one point even with the first row of seats, while the witness or presenter was
directly below them in a wooden railed-in on three sides seat that put them a
head shorter than the Chief.  Galleries on either side of the elliptical room
contained either the Wizengamot or the audience, while at the point opposite
the chief and witness were the auditorium main doors.  The Chief and Wizengamot
seats each had their own doors, separating them from both each other and the
gathered crowd at large.
The seat Frey took was spelled to be comfortable, and was only one of several
in case there was more than one person called to present before the Wizengamot
at a time, such as a team of Aurors or Unspeakables.
And there wasn’t a shackle or Dementor in sight.
“Lord Peverell-Potter.”  Lady Longbottom began.  “Please narrate the events of
Twenty-Four June of this year for entry into the record, beginning from the
moment you reached the Triwizard Cup until the moment you were safely ensconced
in the school’s infirmary, if you please.”
Here Frey had to be careful, drawing on his training in the mental arts to
recall precisely what he’d told Madam Bones, Dumbledore, and the other assorted
adults and spectators upon his return to Hogwarts that night.
“Yes ma’am.”  Frey nodded politely to Nev’s Gran.  “As soon as I took the Cup I
knew something wasn’t right.  I’d taken Portkeys before, and knew that for as
short a distance as from the – former – center of the maze to the podium the
travel should have been nearly instant.  So, when it took several long moments
– I couldn’t say how long, I was very tired from dealing with the Final Task –
I knew something wasn’t right.  When I landed, I was a bit disoriented, I think
that I had either hit something during landing – like one of the tombstones –
or I’d been injured while battling the maze monsters.”
Here Lady Longbottom held up her hand to pause him, reading off from a long
roll of parchment before her.
“Let the record show that Lord Peverell-Potter’s examination by one Mediwitch
Poppy Pomphrey following the events of interest included a head-wound
consisting of deep bruising and a possible concussion from a strong blow to the
head.  Continue, Lord Peverell-Potter.”
Frey drew in a steady breath, eyes clear and face calm, then did as he was bid.
“Almost at once – less than ten seconds I’d say – from landing a red streak
shot passed my crouched form on the ground.  A high, thin voice was shouting
orders, whoever it was didn’t sound pleased that – what I believe was a Stunner
– failed to strike me.  It told ‘Wormtail’ and ‘Alecto’ to ‘seize the boy’, to
which two voices – one male the other female from what I could tell – responded
‘Yes, My Lord.’”  Frey looked off, blushing a bit as if shamed of what came
next.  “I was exhausted…I…it didn’t take them long to catch me and bind me to
one of the tombstone.  There was a short, fat man that answered to Wormtail
that the witch – she was holding a wand – called Pettigrew, who was holding a
very ugly baby-ish thing, that looked like it was part snake with red eyes and
slits for a nose.  That was what was giving the orders and yelling at the
others.”
There was a sharp sucking in of breath from both the Wizengamot and the
audience, many of those present remembering – indeed it had been ground into
their collective psyche – what the creature calling itself Voldemort had looked
like during the years of turmoil in the late sixties, the seventies and the
beginning of the eighties.
Frey paid them no mind, continuing on with it, making his voice tremble and
shake convincingly, playing to his audience – knowing that only the veracity of
his performance and the heft of his Name were the only things standing between
him and either having to supply memories for review or undergoing truth serum.
“Pettigrew, and Alecto, they were started arguing and rambling once the ugly
baby-thing had been placed in this massive cauldron, paying no attention to the
magic it was giving off, they were the ones with who they called either Amycus
or Carrow who rigged the Cup and tried to trap me from what they said, that
according to Pettigrew Carrow was playing Moody, but that the castle wouldn’t
let him into Her because of his Mark.”  He shuddered.  “Spouted off crazed
ramblings about bringing back Voldemort – the ugly baby, but one of them was
supposed to give ‘flesh of the servant’ to do so.  Then one of them shot a fire
spell that was darker than anything I’ve ever seen before at me and the Cup’s
Portkey reactivated bringing me back here.”
“The homunculus was added to the cauldron first, is that correct Lord Peverell-
Potter?”
 “Yes, ma’am.”  Frey nodded obligingly.  “There was a snake there too.  They
called it Nagini.  But I managed to freeze and shatter it the same way I did
the Maze.  That was what infuriated the homunculus and distracted me enough
that they bound me to a headstone then started ranting at me.”
“Very good.”  Lady Longbottom ticked something off on the parchment in front of
her.  “Now, what happened once you reached the school?”
“I was nearly incoherent from shock.”  Frey reported.  “I’d just been through
the Maze, and used a lot of power, then was kidnapped by a crazy duo and what I
had reason to believe was a misshapen Voldemort.”  He gave no sign that the
shudders in the gallery – either gallery – bothered him, smirking a bit over
the fear of a name.  Unless Tom had somehow become a god in the time he’d been
a shade, he couldn’t do anything about those using his name.  Not unless/until
he was reembodied and was able to put a taboo back on it anyway.  “I was
clamored by my godfathers and Uncle Sev.  Moody – the impostor Moody – was on
the fringes of the crowd that included several Aurors, the Minister, and Madam
Bones.  But it was Dumbledore that set him off.  He shot a spell at the two of
us and I – well I’d just been in fear for my life, hadn’t I? – I grabbed the
first wand I saw, since I’d lost mine when I’d been captured.”
“Let the record show.”  Lady Longbottom halted him once more to enter facts
into the official record, seamlessly adding to the veracity of his statement. 
“That analyses of the site have confirmed that several wands were destroyed in
the fire which consumed much of the graveyard of Little Hangleton.  Continue,
Lord Peverell-Potter.”
“Right.”  Frey blew out a breath, taking a minute to put on an act of
marshalling his thoughts, the way any normal nearly-fifteen-year-old would need
to in the same situation.  “That’s when I grabbed the nearest wand, which
turned out to be the Headmasters and shouted for people to get down.  I think I
hit him – Carrow – with a body-bind but I just used the first spell that came
to mind so I could be wrong.”
This time Lady Longbottom barely had to lift her hand before he stopped for her
to enter the scan taken of his wand – the Elder Wand, though that wasn’t
entered into the record – which confirmed that he had used a body-binding spell
on Carrow, then gestured for him to once more carry on with his tale.
“After that I told Madam Bones what had happened, what I could remember at the
moment at least, and Viktor helped me to the infirmary along with several
others after the Headmaster confirmed that his wand had been “won” by me when I
took it away from him, causing it to switch allegiances.  We tested it the next
day to check, but he was right the first time: it was my wand after that.”
“Thank you, Lord Peverell-Potter.”  Lady Longbottom nodded to her grandson’s
best-friend genially.  “You may step down.  The Wizengamot calls Aurors
Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Williamson to give testimony regarding the events of
Twenty-Four…”
…
In the end, Frey’s story was “verified” at least as best they could given the
massive damage done to the sight by his Fiendfyrecurse.
The ace-in-the-hole, the Department of Mysteries investigation, confirmed the
magical signatures of three wizards and one witch as being present that the
graveyard, as well as evidence that confirmed the confirmable parts of his
story: the cauldron with the remains of a homunculus being one such thing
confirmed.
“Harry’s” magical signature was found, and written off for being as saturating
as found due to his use of elemental magic to freeze Nagini, while the DoM
confirmed that the other signatures belonged to Peter Pettigrew, Alecto Carrow,
and Tom Riddle.
Frey had had no idea that the DoM was capable of using magical signatures in
such a way, and was beyond relieved that he wasn’t warming a cell in Azkaban
given their capabilities.
Pettigrew and Alecto were considered “missing, presumed dead,” while Amycus had
been Veritaserum’dto within an inch of his life, which convinced the public –
if not the Minister – that he at least believed the homunculus to have been
containing the shade of Voldemort.
Amycus Carrow was given the Dementor’s Kiss the very next day.
 
***** Twenty-Three *****
Chapter Summary
     Uncensored version of Chapter Twenty-Three: Advanced Dueling and
     Defense
                                    Lokison
              Chapter Twenty-Three: Advanced Dueling and Defense
“Presents!”  Sirius Black barged into his pup’s room at the Black Manor, the
reappearance of Voldemort convincing the obstinate Animagus to move house to a
place more secure than his beloved penthouse.
And Moony was happier with having more “territory” to roam, which in turn made
Remus happier, so everyone was happy.
Most importantly, dreary realities of why Harry was spending so much time with
them this summer, their Harry-pup was there with them and it was his birthday,
and Sirius had pulled off one hell of a sneaky political maneuver to get his
pup a gift that he knew would go over well.
He didn’t know the full story, and he didn’t want to know, but his pup had been
trying to find a way to get his hands on a certain artifact…and old Padfoot had
come through by taking shameless advantage of the Ministry of Magic seriously
owing his arse after throwing him away without a trial all those years ago.
“Presents!  Presents!”  He chanted, jumping on Harry’s bed to wake him fully
before darting back out of the room to avoid a nasty hex, having learned from
experience that some pranks were not worth the punishment when it came to the
revenge Harry could think up.  “Presents!  Cake!  Ice cream!”  He finished
shouting and chanting from the safety of the hall before thundering back down
the massive and ornate staircase to the “family” dining room where they were
set up for a sugar-high inducing breakfast with presents before some of the
pup’s friends came over for a joint Harry-Neville party, the first year they’d
managed one with the amount of time Harry tended to spend in the States during
the summers.
Frey groaned and rolled over, rubbing his eyes.
Seriously.
Morning people.
…
Whatever negative thoughts or feelings Frey had had for his abominably perky
godfather for waking him up at the unholy hour of dawn for sugared breakfast
and presents, was washed away when he saw just what Sirius had managed to
acquire for him…saving Frey the hassle of trying to figure out how the fuck to
break into – and out – of Gringotts.
Sitting innocuously on a bed of raw silk – to dampen the waves of Dark that
wafted off of it no doubt – inside a now-open wooden casket was none other than
the Cup of Hufflepuff.
Looking up with wide eyes at his godfathers, Frey wordlessly demanded to know
how it was managed – or even how they even knew about his quest or what it
entailed.
“We’re not stupid, cub.”  Remus told him, a bit amused at the age-old ability
of children – even those like Harry – to believe their parents and/or guardians
to be completely oblivious regarding their activities, those they work to keep
secret in particular.
“Occasionally idiotic and foolish.”  Sirius added with a smirk for his mate,
gaining himself a smack to the shoulder for his efforts.  “But not stupid.”
“Right.”  Remus rolled his eyes.  “Anyway.  We know you’ve been charged with
some sort of quest by your family Patron.  The texts you’ve been searching, the
items you’ve researched, even your new tattoo all speaks to it.”
With that one word, Frey felt the breath leave his lungs, the world stopping
for one endless moment.
They knew.
He didn’t know how, or worse how long they’ve known, but if they could put
together him having a quest – and at least part of what it entailed – from just
keeping track of what he was reading and researching then there was no earthly
way they wouldn’t recognize his markings…especially being acolytes of his Far.
“How long have you known?”
He didn’t bother to deny it or try to dodge the implication.
They’d found him out, and honestly, as much time as he spent with them it was a
wonder they hadn’t done so sooner.
Only the wizarding world being unaware – for the most part – of what his Far
looked like had kept the knowledge from being commonplace, he barely looked
like James after all, mostly just in the jaw, while his resemblance to Loki on
the other hand was striking, especially following Laufey’s claiming of him
during his Rites.
“The whole time.”  Sirius told him simply.  “We just didn’t know how…present he
was in your life.”
“Very, as much as possible.”  Frey jerked a shoulder in a very-teenaged gesture
even though by his count mentally he was already turning twenty. 
“It’s…difficult.”
“I imagine it would be.”  Remus hummed understandingly.  “With what we know
about…those in your situation, a quest wasn’t much of a logical leap to make. 
And while we know we can’t actively complete it for you…there was nothing
stopping Padfoot from laying claim to Bellatrix’s Vault through a series of
legal maneuvers having to do with breach of contract – her marriage contract
specifically as she failed to provide an heir within the specified time.”
“And if I want to give my godson who enjoys artifacts a unique one that was
found in said vault…”  Sirius gave a roguish wink.  “Well, that’s my business,
now innit?”
Shaking his head, mind blown over the secret they’d kept – even from him – for
all these years, Frey moved to the bar, leaving the Cup alone for a moment as
he gathered what he was after.
His godfathers had done the legwork, it was only right they got to see what he
was going to do with the fruits of their endeavors.
An unopened bottle of Sirius’s best firewhiskey, an empty crystal punch bowl,
and his pouch of herbs later Frey was once again seated facing his godfathers
with the cleared-off coffee table between them, on which he set the bowl, then
filled it with the entire contents of the firewhiskey, much to Siri’s
consternation, though a warning look from Remus kept the Animagus from voicing
his protest.  The proper herbs for cleansing the Cup went on top of the
offering to Thanatos – which wasn’t required but with his Patron being less-
than-pleased with him at the moment was a good idea nonetheless – which Frey
leaned forward and set fire to with a click of his fingers, the herbs and
whiskey going up in a whoosh.  Handling the silk-wrapped cup with all-due-care,
Frey tossed it into the cheery flames, saying the words in Ancient Greek to
give the soul leech to Thanatos…and the Cup he kept, placing it back in the
wooden chest once the flames had gone out with their customary flamboyance.
Well done, whispered once more in his mind, and where the Cup had been in the
center of the bowl a heavy tome that dripped with menace appeared in a swirl of
black-and-gold mist.
Through all this his godfathers remained silent, even as Frey closed the hinge
on the small chest containing the Cup and handed it back over to Sirius.
“I think this belongs on display in the school.”  He said, giving no
explanation for the scene or the book, though they could safely assume that
both had to do with his quest.  “Don’t you?”
…
The return of the Cup of Hufflepuff to Hogwarts once more had “Harry” on the
front pages of the wizarding news, as Sirius and Remus had turned the priceless
artifact over to the goblins for authentication, stating only that they’d found
it in one of the Vaults and that “Harry” had insisted that it belonged on
display in the school rather than moldering away in a Vault.
A tizzy was thrown by the Smith family, as the last known legal owner of the
Cup was the late Hephzibah Smith, who was killed by her House Elf – supposedly
– and the two prizes of her collection were thereafter found to be missing,
against supposedly the Cup of Hufflepuff and the Locket of Salazar Slytherin. 
The problem became that while the current Head of that House could provide
documentation to confirm legal ownership of the Locket – which was still
“missing” aka, hanging around Loki’s neck – none could be provided by the Lord
regarding the Cup.  In which case, “Harry’s” suggestion won the day, as while
Sirius couldn’t prove how Bellatrix LeStrange came to be in possession of it,
neither could the Smiths prove that it was their rightful property.
Draco called him a noble-headed-ninny and all manner of other epithets when he
heard of what he did with the kingly-gift from his godfathers, having no
knowledge of his quest and therefore unknowing that Frey had already gotten
what he needed from the Cup.
Now his search turned towards a weapon such as the one Thanatos had spoken of,
though hindered by the rapidly approaching Fall Term.
And time turned onward.
…
“This year, students.”  Dumbledore beamed out over the shining – and not-so-
shining – faces of the returning and new students of Hogwarts.  Inside he was
seething over somehow being outstepped by that boy.  Once the Cup had been
ensconced in the tightly-warded – by the goblins nonetheless – display case in
the Hogwarts entry hall, he had taken the opportunity to examine it for Tom’s
taint…only to find no such traces, any more than he had found them on that boy.
Which all made no sense to the follower of the Moirae, Clotho the Spinner in
particular.
When he’d examined the child on that Halloween years ago, a shard of Tom was
already at work latching itself onto the boy, and giving Dumbledore notice of
which method the Dark Lord had chosen to anchor himself to life, also
enlightening him as to some of the meaning to Sybil’s prophecy.
But then…
The boy reappeared, nothing like Albus had planned, and worst of all without so
much as the faintest hint of Tom’s soul shard.
It was nothing less than maddening.
To have what he’d been certain was another Horcrux turn up empty…well.
It hardly improved his sour disposition that had been the norm underneath his
twinkling façade ever since that boy had won the Wand from him.
Though there was a chance, perhaps, to win it back with the end-goal of the
announcement he was in the process of making.
 “Our Professors Black and Lupin,” and wasn’t that a kick in the ass?  Sirius
Black had managed to beat the curse on the defense post…which likely had
similar origins as the castle refusing to allow either Karkaroff or imposter-
Moody entrance…not that Albus would ever admit to either thing having anything
to do with the now-mandatory power donations to the Hogwarts ward stones…ever. 
“Will be hosting an Advanced Dueling and Defense club for those fifth-year and
up to help prepare you for your OWLs and NEWTs.  Sign-ups will be posted in the
common area of each dormitory, along with more information.  Now, chop chop! 
Off to bed!”
“First Years.”  Neville called out in his calm and gentle way, the formerly-shy
teen having been chosen as the Gryffindor male Prefect with Parvati Patil as
his counterpart.
Other prefects that were new this year included Draco Malfoy and Daphne
Greengrass from Slytherin, Padma Patil and Anthony Goldstein for Ravenclaw, and
the pair of Ernie MacMillian and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff.
And based on the way Draco was eyeing up Frey’s latest growth spurt, the blond
already had dishonest intentions regarding the combination of the password to
the Prefect’s bath and his stated desire to finally bag himself his Harry.
Frey smirked challengingly at the lean teen, his own eyes dragging with heated
intent over his own new-and-improved physique thanks to his magical inheritance
and resulting physical changes, the trials of the summer having done much –
along with his dalliances with a handful of others including Viktor as well as
his immortal lovers both divine and shadow warriors – to cool Frey’s irritation
with the blonde’s antics from the year before.
Matching cocked eyebrows in blond and ebony stated one thing as their looks
clashed from across the vast Great Hall:
Bring it on.
Their joint friend – and this year’s Head Boy – Cedric Diggory was one of the
few bystanders to catch the exchange, the “Hufflepuff Hottie” snickering all
the way to his meet-up with his still-hidden (from their parents anyway)
lovers: the Weasley Twins, while the “wronged” party in the situation, Draco’s
newly minted ex-boyfriend Blaise, just rolled his eyes and leaned into the
consoling arms of the beauteous Daphne.
After all, as he’d told Krum…they would have their affair, whether for a couple
of weeks, a month, or a year or more, but in the end, Draco would tire of
sharing…and Blaise would be waiting with a comforting kiss and eagerly-spread
thighs.
“Twenty galleons says they’re shagging by Samhain.”  Severus muttered to
Sirius, his low words catching the attention of the Head Table.
Sirius snorted in response.  “As long as they’ve been holding out on it?”  He
arched a brow, countering: “Twenty on a month, tops.”
McGonagall echoed her protégé’s snort, having caught onto the gist of the bet. 
“Please.  Potter and Malfoy?”  She shook her head.  “Twenty and a bottle of
Ogden’s on week.”
“Done.”
“Done.”
“You’re supposed to be educators, you realize.”  Remus said sardonically. 
“This isn’t exactly setting a good example.”
“Please.”  That derisive chorus of snorts came from none other than Pomona and
Filius, with severe Aurora Sinistra providing commentary.  “We work in a
boarding school.  Betting on whose shagging who – and how loud the Howlers from
their parents will be when they’re caught – is one of the few joys that come
with the drafty locale and a sub-par stipend.”
The Howler, naturally, referred to the ongoing – and at this point long-term –
affair between Diggory and the Weasley Terrors.
Though even the meanest of the staff had to admit that in recent years – pretty
much since Remus and the Heads of House joined the Board, funnily enough – the
pay had improved and was no longer a mere pittance.
“You’re all going to Hel.”  Remus declared with a sigh, then added: “And I’m
going with you.  Twenty and a bottle of cognac that Draco hauls Harry off and
one or both beds are found empty during the night.”
Now that was a daring bet indeed.
“And how do you intend to prove your wager?”  Sinistra leaned forward with keen
interest.
“My dear, Aurora.”  Sirius smiled with his normal roguish charm.  “Have I ever
told you the tale of the Marauders Map…”
…
Frey was remarkably unsurprised when he failed to make it all the way to
Gryffindor Tower, a quick hand reaching out and snagging his shirt, pulling him
into a shadowed alcove not far from the Room of Requirement.
Honestly…he’d kind of been asking for it, teasing Draco all during the train
ride, with a shirt that kept riding up to showcase tight abs and dragonhide
pants that clung everywhere, he’d had the blond whipped into a froth before
they’d ever sat down to the feast.
He was a bad bad godling…and what’s more…he enjoyed it.
In his opinion, Draco rather had it coming given his behavior the previous
year, which had culminated in their indiscretion in the dungeons whilst both of
them were otherwise entangled.
But if he knew the gorgeous blond as well as Frey thought he did…Draco wasn’t
going to stand for his teasing much longer…especially since from a certain
perspective one could say that Frey had been teasing Draco for years…and vice
versa due to their agreement to wait until Draco had hit his magical
inheritance to do…anything really, above and beyond friendship.
Though his recent pact with Zeus was going to make for a much tenser discussion
to move them from friends and into something more than he could have ever
thought three years ago when they’d made their original agreement.
Frey had goals, he had a realistic view of the danger both he and his future
children would be in once his true parentage was revealed and a plan to defray
it as much as possible, and both of those things would be best served by
keeping Zeus…sweet.
Well.
As sweet as it was possible to keep an immortal god-king anyway.
And while Zeus was often ephemeral in his affections, he rarely left his lovers
– past and present – in trouble if his help was sought.
Granted, not many ever sought his help or favor, but it would have been
available nonetheless, even from his own wife, as he’d protected the mother of
Heracles and many of his other half-blood children, most recently Beryl Grace
with whom Luke had confided that Zeus had had two children, Thalia in his
aspect of Zeus, and Jason in his aspect of Jupiter.  Hera had wanted Beryl’s
head, only to be stymied by Zeus’s intervention and naming his son Jason after
Hera’s favorite hero.  According to Ganymede, Zeus had been enraged to discover
that Beryl had betrayed him by offering up their son to Hera as a “peace
offering” and vowed to never show such favor to a mortal again.
Which wasn’t to mean that he wouldn’t still have mortal lovers…after all, Zeus
was pissed, not a hypocrite.
When the woman had died earlier that year, Zeus had been vindictively pleased,
though he hadn’t had a hand in it, nor had any other gods or goddesses as far
as Ganymede knew.
Lean, elegant arms wrapping around his waist and neck pulled Frey back to the
present and away from the contemplation of just how badly the conversation he
and Draco needed to have could go.
“Yes?”  He asked with a smirk, the faint glow of a candle-sconce throwing soft
light into the shadowed alcove – one of the hidden ones that were covered by
heavy draperies and hid entrances to the secret passageways nonetheless, which
was likely how Draco made good enough time to surprise him – the light gliding
Draco’s aristocratic handsomeness.  “Did you need something?”  He leaned his
bent arm against the wall, leaning down into Draco’s space as the heat of him
had the blond catching his breath.
“Don’t play with me, Frey.”  Draco whispered, using his real name, silver eyes
flashing with inner fire.  “You’ve made me wait for years.  Don’t play around
now.  You know what I want.”
“And what is that?”  He leaned in further, dragging his nose and lips up the
silky length of Draco’s neck, exposed so prettily by Draco’s titled head.
His hot breath on the alabaster skin had the other teen shivering in arousal as
Draco pulled Frey’s much larger – both in height and breadth – body into his
own lean and elegant frame.
“You Frey.”  Draco said, with a hint of self-deprecation and more than a hint
of exasperation coloring it.  “It’s always been you.”
Emerald eyes stared deep into silver-blue, an ebony head nodding after Frey
found whatever it was he’d been searching for in the bright, nearly feverish
depths.
“Then come with me.”  Frey told him, linking their fingers together as he
stepped towards the darkest shadows, wrapping his power around them.  “Don’t be
afraid.”  He whispered when Draco shivered again, this time with titillated
fear at the touch of Frey’s cold-tinged power.  “I won’t let anyone hurt
you…not even me.”
…
Frey kept his promise, the shadow-step not even tarnishing a hair on Draco’s
silvery-blond head, and Draco found them stepping out of the shadows near a
familiar tapestry, Frey having shown him the fantastic room on the seventh
floor back in third year when they’d needed a new place to spar and duel.
A quick trio of paces by his – his! – soon-to-be lover had the door appearing,
and Frey once more held out his hand, Draco coming to his side and taking it
without even a moment’s pause.
Many would call him a fool for trusting Frey so readily – especially as Draco
knew the truth (most of it anyway) of who and what he was.
Draco didn’t give a flying fuck.
This was Frey.
And Frey was everything he’d ever wanted, even before he was old enough to
realize all that want entailed.
The Room was large, with a massive four-poster bed draped in light, gauzy silks
in ivory and gold, a fire in the fireplace on the adjoining wall painting it in
golds and oranges and reds.  Opposite the wide silk-draped bed was a massive
sunken tub, larger even than the one at Draco’s mansion home, the tiles
gleaming silver in the firelight.  Deep, soft rugs were piled three and four
deep, creating the softest of cushions in their elegant motifs, and candles
floated overhead, making the crystal of the wine decanter and stem wear on the
low-lying table before the fire glisten.
It was as beautiful a scene as any Draco had ever seen.
He loved it from the largest piece to the smallest detail – he would have loved
it no matter if all that the Room had done was present a simple bed and
candles.  Frey made it, imagined it.  So Draco loved it all the more, and felt
his heart soften another measure – if it was even possible for him to be any
softer towards Frey than he already was – at the thought and care the other had
put into setting the scene.
An other who even as Draco inspected the room had stripped himself bare, skin
glistening gold in the firelight, with only the barest of thin white silk robes
hiding all of him from seeking silver eyes.
“Come, Draco.”  Frey said, standing before him and his strong, steady hands
helping him over to the side of the bed, another piece of his shielding school
uniform vanishing under sure hands as they moved.  “I’ll take care of you – I
promise.”  Frey eased him down onto the silk sheets, the covers being pulled
back enticingly.  “But you have to let me know if I’m going too fast for you,
or do something you don’t enjoy.”  Strong hands urged Draco to recline on his
stomach, the same plucking up a bottle of massage oil from the bedside table
and opening it with a soft pop and the intoxicating scent of sandalwood. 
“You’re my boyfriend.”  Draco felt a deep tingling thrill at the words, rivaled
only at the sense of victory that came with them.  Frey wasn’t hedging,
hesitating, or fighting anymore.  Draco finally had what he’d had his heart set
on since he was eleven – Frey.
“I’m not a total innocent.  There was Antony, before Blaise.”  Draco admitted,
lashes lowered as Frey heated the oil between his hands and started with his
boyfriend’s massage, sure hands finding every bit of tension from the train
ride and soothing it.  “He was foreign, the son of one of Father’s business
partners.  We…played, a bit.”
“But you didn’t…?”  Frey stroked one hand down Draco’s quivering back in a
gentle, calming gesture.
The young man shook his head, eyes wide.
“And oral?”
Draco shook his head again.  “Not with Antony, either way.”  He admitted.  “I
wasn’t sure about that…not yet.  Blaise,” he blushed harder.  “Helped keep my
mind off what was going on with you and Viktor last year…”
“Mmm.”  The more experienced teen hummed as he kept stroking him, gentling him
not unlike they would a nervous filly, eerily reminiscent of his first
threesome with Alexios and Hector where the lovers had to gentle him every step
of the way.
“How far do you want to go tonight, Draco?” Frey asked against his lips,
ducking down to give him a soft kiss.  “We have plenty of time.  We’ll take it
at your pace.”
“All the way.” Draco replied breathlessly, arms coming up to twine around his
broad shoulders as Frey pressed against his back, the bigger man’s cock
branding the taught curve of his buttocks through his silk robe, clever and
elegant hands busily working to bare all of Frey – as Draco was already for his
easing massage.
Frey didn’t ask him if he was sure, didn’t advise him that maybe waiting would
be better, instead he just nodded his head and went right back to pleasuring
Draco, questions answered satisfactorily – for the moment.
Kisses and small nips to his belly as Frey pushed him back onto the bed, had
Draco writhing and wriggling before hot green eyes, making small noises that
were devoured by Frey.
Draco was hauled upwards and his neck whiplashed with the unexpected movement,
but Frey’s hands quickly cradled the back of his head as Frey pulled him to
lean against his front.
Frey nipped and suckled his way down Draco’s lean chest and cut abs while Frey
alternated between deep, tongue-dueling kisses and nipping and suckling on the
golden-ivory curve of the young man’s neck and collarbone, hands stroking and
searching out sensitive points all along the long line of Draco’s body.
“Ah!”  Draco nearly choked, eyes rolling back as a hot, wet, suction covered
his burning-hot cock, hands finding and burying themselves in long golden hair
as Frey gave him a refresher on just how amazing a hot mouth on hotter length
felt.
Frey nipped once at his thigh before growling something out in a language Draco
was familiar with but for the life of him couldn’t understand while he had a
beautiful man trying to suck his brain out through his cock.  A large, broad
hand palmed one downy cheek of his arse, squeezing lightly as he heard the
sound of a lid being removed from a jar.
Draco jerked and was about to ask what the hell was going on when a smooth,
lubricated finger pressed into his body. His head fell back with a breathy
moan, he tried to move on that finger as it caressed his inner walls, but
Frey’s arm wouldn’t move.
This.  This was new.
And wonderful.
Oh. Yeah.  With Frey’s arm pinning him in place and one of his fingers working
his inner walls while he simultaneously showed him what deep-throating was,
Draco was getting a whole new appreciation for his sexual orientation.
Draco moved restlessly as one finger became two and he moved insistently to get
those fingers deeper.
“Please.” He begged.  Damn it to the hells but that felt good especially when
he found that little walnut-sized gland.
“You need to be properly prepared.” Frey told him stiffly, lifting off his
shaft to speak, his voice rough from his activities.
Another finger joined its brethren and Frey scissored them inside of him,
stretching him as much as he could.  He wasn’t a small man, as his other lovers
could attest.  Crawling back up the bed, he gently lifted Draco up, fisting his
hands in the now-tangled blond locks and stealing his breath with a kiss.
Draco was jolted as his hips were gripped and he was pulled down on top of
Frey’s hard shaft, the cock slipping inside of him slowly as his insides
gripped at it tightly, Frey giving no quarter as he worked at ingraining
himself deep into Draco’s body.  The time would come when he wasn’t there for
Draco anymore, when he wasn’t welcome in the blonde’s bed.  But that wasn’t
tonight.  And tonight he was intent on making certain Draco, never, ever forgot
him.
Frey clenched his teeth and cursed in his prime language of Old Norse as he
lowered Draco down until there wasn’t enough space between them to fit a wisp
of silk. Draco turned and twisted, trying to get used to having Frey within
him, but those swordsman’s hands wouldn’t leave his hips.  Frey lightly bit at
the hollow of his throat and Draco gasped, rocking in his lap, which caused
Frey to let out a muffled shout of pleasure.
He lifted Draco slowly and carefully from his lap, before letting him slip back
down, Draco crying out at the blissful sensation and placing his hands on
Frey’s shoulders and experimentally moved himself down onto the large shaft. 
Frey’s hands on his hips still controlled the majority of his movements, but
Draco didn’t care as Frey finally found his prostate and stroked over it.
“Frey!” Draco moaned as he shifted his knees deeper into the mattress, arching
back into Frey’s body, finding the hot length of the other teen’s aroused body
with his own, making himself buck up again at the duel sensations.
They set a fast and furious pace ready to bring their release as quickly as
possible with the impatience native to young men, unable to stand the gut
clenching coiling much longer.  Draco released first helped on by Frey, who was
fisting his hard cock. The alternating speed of Frey thrusting into him hard
and fast and using firm, slow movements had Draco screaming his pleasure to the
ceiling.
Hot seed flooded into his body and Draco let out a soft moan as Frey slowed
down his movements before stopping completely holding Draco to him with gentle
pressure.
Before he could relax in Frey’s strong arms, he was turned around as Frey’s
arousal failed to quiet, even with the climax.
Frey kissed him with wanton desire, Draco kissing him back, arching his body as
a hand slid between his legs palmed his renewing erection.  Two fingers were
pressed into his stretched and leaking entrance and Draco gasped in pleasure
and shock.
His body quivered as Frey moved him to lay back, legs wrapped around trim hips
as Frey sank back into his slicked passage, having been dislodged by turning
Draco onto his back.  Draco had no control at all in this position as Frey held
his hands down on the mattress and stole his breath with his kisses while he
pumped into him in a rapid pace, grazing his prostate almost constantly.  The
weight of Frey’s body kept his lower half pinned while he occupied his hands
and mouth.
He let out a keening moan as he wrapped his arms around Frey’s shoulders and
let himself be moved, there wasn’t much else he could do in this position
except to feel and feel he did.
Frey’s thrusts started getting harder and deeper, rushed, and Draco knew now,
after being through this once, that he was close.  Draco had a hazy thought
tingle through him and clenched, bearing down on the prick moving inside him,
earning him a primal growl.  Draco looked into deep, lust filled green eyes
before a mouth claiming his had his full attention drawn to the rising tension
between them.
Draco quivered and arched as the tightening sensation in his gut coiled tighter
and tighter, he felt his body tense as he never looked away before his orgasm
took him over.
“Frey!” Draco managed to scream before his mouth was seized once again by the
ebon-haired teen, who gave out a muffled groan and emptied himself into Draco,
his release joining his previous offering.
…
“I win.”  Remus said smugly to the rest of the Head Table the next morning, to
a chorus of groans as the two lovers parted with patent reluctance, each head
for their own table.
Little did he know, in both Asgard and Olympus a similar scene of winnings
being announced and paid out were happening just the same, Loki as usual raking
in the favors and gold while on Olympus, Zeus paid his own forfeit to Ganymede
– the pair the only Olympians capable of spying on Frey thanks to Zeus’s gift –
though it was much more pleasurable a penalty than bottles of alcohol or being
relieved of chores for a set period.
…
With the drama – mostly – settled between him and Draco, Frey found the school
year progressing rapidly.
His classes were as boring as ever, his Far’s tutelage and expectations had
never gotten easier on him and he was far and away the top student in his year
– if not the school.  The only real challenge he had anymore it seemed was the
Advanced club that his dogfathers were hosting, often with help from a grudging
– but excellent dueler and Dark Arts instructor – Severus.  The lack of
challenge from the Hogwarts curriculum was in many ways a good thing, as it
gave him time to focus on a much more pressing – to Frey – matter: that of
finding what he’d managed to pin down as a “Cursed Blade.”
In other words…a blade that could trap or reap souls, also called a “Reaper’s
Blade.”  The latter name Frey found to be fallacious as he knew reapers,
several quite personally, also known as shadow warriors or Harvestmen, and none
of them had a blade that could capture or trap souls.  However, any time one
starts looking for a specific item that happens to be a weapon, whether in lore
or texts, it became like trying to find a specific color of silver needle in a
haystack of similarly colored silver needles.
Tiresome in the extreme.
And frustrating as hell.
Especially since the only one of the kind of weapon he was looking for that had
any kind of veracity or history that stood up to scrutiny was known as the
“Dragon Blade” and had disappeared from a Chinese monastery centuries before.
A dead end.
If it wasn’t for the lost blade, Frey would almost believe that Thanatos had
sent him on a snipe hunt in revenge for his thoughtless actions the previous
spring.
Gods knew that the Avatar of Death was vindictive enough to have done so,
regardless of how much he still favored Frey.
When he wasn’t chasing dead-ends through pages and pages and feet and feet of
texts, tomes, and scrolls, he was trying to puzzle out what was going on with
Dumbledore, the elder wizard being odd…even for him, but his oddness was tinged
with a hint of desperation and panic…not the best combination in Frey’s opinion
or when not occupied with that – or concurrently at times – he was being an
attentive boyfriend…as demanded by his very-much-more-demanding-than-Viktor
boyfriend or trying.
Though Frey did draw the line at rampant displays of public affection, having
been on the other side of said displays and having no desire to hurt Blaise…who
seemed to be attempting to work his way under each and every skirt from fourth-
year on up.  Blaise, it seemed, was a one-wizard wizard.  But not a one-witch,
wizard.
Draco rather than getting mad and throwing a wobbly the way Frey half-expected,
despite Draco being the dumper and Blaise the dumpee, and being happily coupled
up with Frey himself, had been instead viewing the entire spectacle of Blaise’s
sprint through the various female-occupied beds of Hogwarts with nothing less
than patent amusement…and by brewing a massive batch of contraception potion in
one of the spare potion labs.
Samhain passed, and Yule was almost upon them when Frey had a breakthrough in
his research…a maddening breakthrough…but a breakthrough nonetheless.
…
The twins and their sister were uncommonly animated that morning over the copy
of the Prophet that Lee had – as usual – passed over to his best friends once
he was done with it.
This year being their NEWT year, Fred and George were on-track to begin their
pranking business once they were seen as “fully-fledged and capable adults” as
proscribed by Wizarding Britain – a requirement including having passed at
least three NEWT courses each with a grade of Acceptable or better – mainly to
belay any attempts at lawsuits that might be levied their way by the
populace…especially considering the results of some of the pranking items that
were currently being tested on their cash-poor house mates, including the
Firsties.
A quick glance up at the head table when Harry felt a flash of
worryrageirritation that hammered through his mental shields showed that the
trio of redheads weren’t the only ones hopped up by the headline of the day. 
In the case of the gingers, their father’s friend being severely injured while
attempting to do something,which no one seemed keen to release even to Rita’s
ever-dangerous antennas, while apparently under the Imperius curse in the
Department of Mysteries where said father’s friend was employed.
If it wasn’t for the emotions pouring down on him until he snapped his mental
shields back into place – a constant state whenever he was within so much as a
hundred miles of the Headmaster – Frey would have thought it was a play by
Dumbledore to get him interested in whatever his scheme was this time, as it
included a friend of a friend sort of situation that he was sure to hear about
via the twins, if the headline wasn’t enough to catch his attention on its own.
Which meant it was likely the work of the other meddler in his life – though
Tom would likely be enraged by the description – and the idea of the Dork Lord
in possession of anything from the DoM gave him the bad-tinglies.
Finding a Cursed Blade had just become that much more important.
Thankfully, the twins didn’t only give him even more pressure to complete his
quest that morning, they also gave him inspiration on a different avenue to
explore as he was chatting idly with them once the uproar over one Mr. Gumboil
calmed down.
Cedric had come over to see what all the fuss was about, and was just in time
to watch as one of their experiments went wrong on one of the younger years who
turned an alarming shade of green – literally – before grabbing his stomach and
bolting for the nearest bathroom.
The twins had muttered to themselves, whipped out a notebook with a floating
quill that was taking dictation, and were prodding a piece of candy with what
looked like specially engraved tools such as tweezers, a probe, and a scalpel.
Hogwarts being Hogwarts – and the twins being thankfully on their last year of
tormenting staff and student alike (or so was the common thought anyway) – no
one even batted an eye at the strange sight.
“I don’t know how you do it.”  Cedric commented, eyeing up the tools.  “Finding
the tools you need, no matter how specialized.”
Fred snorted softly, even as a Quidditch-callused hand threaded through first
his then his twin’s hair in a soft caress.
“Didn’t find them.”  George said.  “Studied the ones Snape uses to grade
potions or identify shoddy love potions or whatnot.”
“Can’t afford the like.”  Fred put in his two cents.  “Especially the caliber
that we’d need for our work.”
“Made them instead.”  George smirked up at his – their – Hufflepuff hottie. 
Talking about their innovative spirit as Ced put it always got their boyfriend
hot for them.  A closet sapiosexual, that’s what Cedric was, once he stopped
chasing bints because that’s what Amos thought he should be doing.  Their
smarts – though used for pranking and not homework – always turned his crank. 
“Snog?”
Frey tuned out at that point the words made them instead ringing through his
ears as he closed his eyes with a soft curse in Old Norse.
Of course.
What had he done when he realized that nothing like the watch he was still
tinkering with and adding to existed?
He’d decided to make one.
What to do if you had a soul to trap and no more patience to try and hunt down
ghost stories about mythical weapons?
Make one.
After all…how hard could it be?
…
Staring down at the list of ingredients that went into making a Cursed Blade,
Frey cursed his flippancy.
The answer?
Not hard at all.
The problem?
Getting the shit he’d need to actually do so.
To make a Cursed Blade:
Ingredients:
The Blade:
Metal –
Equal parts: Stygian Iron, Celestial Bronze and Stolen Dragon’s Gold
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Unicorn Blood – forcefully taken
1 Ounce: Dementor Essence
1 Fluid Ounce: Basilisk Venom
The Guard:
Metal –
Equal parts: Purest Silver and Mithril
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Unicorn Blood – Willingly Given
1 Ounce: Phoenix Ash
The Grip:
Metal –
Equal Parts: Purest Silver and Celestial Bronze
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Dragon’s Blood
1 Ounce: Crushed Basilisk Scales
Unicorn Tail Hair: Enough to Wrap the Grip in its entirety
The Pommel:
Equal Parts: Purified Gold and Celestial Bronze
1 Unblemished Onyx cabochon
The Sheath:
Basilisk Hide
Dragon Heartstring
 
Instructions:
Forge blade, guard, and grip using Fiendfyre and a pure Stygian-Iron hammer and
anvil, add ingredients for quenching liquid to a basin carved from pure onyx
filled with neutral potion base.  Shape pommel around Onyx.  Engrave all metal
pieces with runes, wrap grip with braided unicorn tail hair soaked in solution
of Phoenix Tears and powdered unblemished amethyst.  Stitch sheath from
basilisk hide, using dragon heartstring for thread.  Allow blade to bask under
the light of a new moon and a blood moon before and between use(s).
Funnily enough some of the rarest parts he already had access to thanks to his
slaying of the basilisk several years before.
It was the rest of the extremely rare and hard to come by – especially when you
were supposed to be an innocent little darling of a wizarding Light child –
that was the problem.
Hells…Frey even knew how to forge thanks to his time at Camp Half-Blood and
could control Fiendfyre thanks to his Far’s tutelage.
Speaking of his Far…
He hoped he visited soon because now that he’d found a solution to one problem,
he’d run into another, one that his Far being Loki might have an idea of how to
work around.
He hoped.
Because honestly…stolen Dragon’s gold?
Unicorn’s blood – both willingly given and forcefully taken?
What the fuck had the original maker been smoking when he’d come up with this
thing?
At least a good two-thirds of the process was making sure that the handle of
the knife or sword or what have you protected the user from the effects of the
blade.
Seriously.
Someone had to have been high as shit when they came up with this thing.
No other explanation came even close to making sense to the godling.
Though with the ingredients…he could see why he’d found the recipe in one of
his oldest Peverell Grimoires and not one of the books available for broader
distribution.
Zeus – or any god really – would flip his shit if he ever found out that his
lover was plotting to create a weapon powerful enough to kill anything and then
trap its soul.
Quite literally anything at all.
…
Loki arched a brow at the list of – impressive – but very deadly substances or
very rare substances that his son needed to get his hands on to finish the
quest without letting Voldemort regain a body.
Frey was at a turning point.
If he managed this, then once he had children – likely with the pretty blond if
he knew his son – all of Frey’s obligations to the Wizarding World as well as
the pact that gave him life would be finished.
Over.
There would be nothing – save Frey’s rapidly expiring mortality – tethering
Frey to this universe anymore, other than the bonds that Frey allowed himself
to have instead of those placed upon him by others.
And wasn’t that an exciting prospect?
“I believe.”  Loki said with all-due-seriousness after a moment of considering
how to word his advice so that it didn’t infringe on the requirements of the
quest.  “That you know – and have given great service to – someone who has a
father who might be able to…acquire things that are rare or hard to find…”
Frustrated green eyes lit up without even a moment’s hesitation as Loki smirked
at his son and heir and handed the list of soon-to-be-stolen items back over.
It probably wouldn’t be the most difficult list that Hermes had been tasked
with finding over the course of the last millennia, but it would likely be one
of the more eyebrow raising ones.
Loki half-wished he could be there when his son called in the debt that Hermes
owed Frey for averting what had been foreseen as a most gruesome future for one
of his favored – and favorite – children.
…
“I have to go, Draco.”  Frey’s flat voice cut through the near-tantrum the
blond was throwing after hearing that he would be disappearing for part of the
Yule break.  “I don’t have a choice.”
Not if he wanted to pin down his contact that his Far had reminded him of to
get what he needed to make the Cursed Blade…and keep the whole thing low-key
and under the radar of Olympus.
Hermes owed his ass.
Luke’s future prior to Frey’s intervention was…less than pretty.
Now he was happy with Silena – albeit with being tied to Camp until the Kronus-
issue was settled.  Luke of all half-bloods was far too vulnerable without the
wards – both original and added by Frey – around the Camp.  Kronus had nearly
gotten him once.
It wouldn’t do to let him try it again.
The problem was keeping the Cursed Blade out of sight-and-mind of the rest of
Olympus, Hermes was enough of a rabble-rouser that he would probably find his
father’s newest acquisition running around with a dieumort entertaining as all
hell…though to be honest, if Frey wanted to take out anything short of a
disembodied shade, he probably already was capable of doing so without going
through the trouble of making and using a Cursed Blade.
What made it a true dieumortwasn’t that it could kill a god, but rather that it
would prevent them from reforming…the way Kronus had – likely – pulled himself
back together enough after Zeus scattered him into pieces and cast them into
Tartarus, by capturing their souls or divine essences instead of simply
destroying their current vessels.
Frey had worked too hard at allying suspicion – both in Olympus and Asgard – to
stumble in sight of the finish line because of being impatient.
None of which he could explain to Draco.
All the blond knew was that his boyfriend and lover was taking off for New York
on the Winter Solstice to attend a “meeting” on Olympus, one of the few times
of year half-bloods were allowed in the divine space.
Combined with Frey’s open admittance of his ongoing – if very sporadic and rare
– liaisons with Zeus and his cupbearer and…well…
Draco was hacked off.
“To spend one of the most important holidays of the year with your lovers.” 
Draco shot back, voice and eyes as cold as the arctic tundra in January.  He
folded his arms over his chest, sneering.  Frey had to “attend” an important
meeting on Olympus…riiight.
And Draco was born yesterday.
He was well aware that this was a fight he would never be able to win – nor did
he really want to as such a victory would likely put both Frey and him in the
negative books of the lightning-bolt-hurling King of the Gods.
Still.
He wouldn’t allow either Frey or Zeus to just push him aside easily – even for
just one day a year.
“Hey.”  Frey softened a fraction, moving over to his boyfriend who was standing
before the fireplace in what had become “their” version of the RoR.  He gently
placed his hands on tense shoulders and rubbed lightly, easing the blond with
his delicate affection.
That was something Draco alternately loved – and despised – about his Frey.
He always took such care with him…but he knew that at least part of the
motivation behind his gentleness was a genuine fear of breaking Draco with his
superior strength.
Frey never really let go with Draco, not even in their hottest and most heated
moments together.
Draco hated that Blaise was right.
He was happy with Frey…for as long as he could stomach the clear divide both
between them as mortal wizard and soon-to-be-immortal godling, and that between
their two lives: Draco’s as a pureblooded wizard and Frey’s as a “half-blood”
with “wizarding heritage.”  He snorted to himself.  Even Frey’s cover was as
strange to him as the dark side of the moon, let alone his real life as a
future god.
Draco loved him.
But it was an unequal love, more that of a supplicant than a lover – or at
least, that’s how Draco saw it now that he had what he’d thought he’d always
wanted, Frey both in his life as his “partner” no matter how unequal the
partnership was, and in his bed.
Emerald green eyes that had begun to shade towards Loki’s impossible bright
green as he aged and grew were solemn and serious as they stared into
despairing and almost hopeless dark silver.
“I didn’t want this, Draco.”  Frey told him honestly.  And that much was true. 
No matter what, he’d never sought to become who he was.  It was Fate…hateful
creature that she was.  “I never in a thousand years would have thought that
Zeus would put me in the position he has.  I entered into our agreement in good
faith, never imagining that things would become so very…complicated.”
“Will you ever be just mine?”  Draco answered him after a long moment of
silence, pale alabaster lids fluttering closed to shield eyes that even he knew
gave away too much to a careful observer.  The question was half amused –
knowing even as he asked it that it was a rather hopeless thing to ask – and
half broken…because it was a hopeless thing to ask of someone who had caught
the romantic interest of the King of the Gods…especially one in as delicate a
situation as Frey.
“Yes, Draco, yes.”  Hands moved from narrow shoulders that hadn’t broadened by
much during their magical inheritance to cup cheeks that had taken on an adult
– and distinctly aristocratic – hollow sharpness.  Draco’s prettily-elegant
face was still as baby-soft as ever, Malfoy’s apparently didn’t do facial hair,
but it was a softness sharply offset by the edges and planes of a young man and
not a growing boy.  Sometimes the difference between Frey and others – both
physically and that of his augmented mental growth – was startling when he sat
down and thought about it.  In time it wouldn’t be a challenge anymore to
overcome.  What was five years advanced acceleration in mind compared to a
hundred years of life?  To a thousand?  But when your body was fifteen – albeit
a large and mature fifteen – and your mind twenty…that five years made one
hells of a difference.  Frey took up hands that had grown to match their
father’s elegant length, pressing heartfelt kisses to the backs of each in
turn.  “We’ll handfast this summer still, and even Zeus will have to respect
that bond – if only for a year and a day.  I’ll be yours – only yours – for
that time.  You won’t have to share me, not with anything even Olympus.  I
swear.”
 
***** Twenty-Four *****
                                    Lokison
In a previous chapter, I put down or implied Loki was half-Jotun and half-Aesir
– which was the plan (I think) at the time or just an honest mistake.  He’s a
full-Jotun, as his heritage is explained in this chapter as well as his
kidnapping from the perspective of his birth parents.
Also, this was originally going to have a threesome smut scene between Zeus/
Ganymede/Frey but it didn’t fit well with the rest of the chapter and was just
a distraction so I cut it out.  I’ll post it up later in the next week or two
as a stand-alone one-shot in the Frey of Asgard universe on Ao3.
                       Chapter Twenty-Four: Divine Debts
“Hello, lovely.”
Frey turned his head from the proceedings taking place during the Olympian
council just a fraction to meet the smirking – but still so handsome – face of
Ganymede.
Proving the that Cupbearer himself wasn’t without power, it took only a split
second for Frey to note that none of the other half-bloods around him who were
likewise watching the Winter Solstice gathering – many with hopeful eyes that
their divine parent will be able to at least acknowledge them once everything
was over – had heard Ganymede nor could they see him as he stood far too close
to Frey for mere acquaintance or even vague interest.
Ganymede continued when he saw he had Frey’s attention.
“He’s…excited you’re here you know.”  Ganymede said, propping one bared
shoulder against the column Frey was likewise leaning against, paying no heed
to the rather awkward position his half-blood lover had to keep his head in to
maintain eye contact.  That didn’t keep him from pouting a bit when Frey turned
back to watching the Twelve argue over one point of law or new proposition or
whatever they were droning on about this time.  Leaning forward, he whispered
into Frey’s ear, his barely-clothed body in its soft silk kilt and golden
armbands and torq brushing against Frey’s back and sending spikes of heated
arousal through both of them.  “Not that he’d ever show it.  He’s been a bit
more foul-tempered than usual ever since you came to…visit, this summer.”  One
golden-skinned hand twined and burrowed into ebony hair, flexing and gripping
just a bit to tip Frey’s head back in a sensuous pull that had Frey biting back
a very – under the circumstance – inappropriate moan.  “Can’t say I haven’t
missed you either.  You’re much…more than I would have thought you’d be.” 
Ganymede chuckled darkly, shivers tingling up Frey’s spine at the sound.  “If
you were a god or even an immortal, I’d be terribly jealous.”
“I think you’re safe there, Ganymede.”  Frey said with remarkable calm
considering he had a half-threatening, half-enticing, and all-aroused god at
his back, pulling on his hair and stroking a knowing hand over whatever bit of
Frey he could reach.  “I’ve no designs on your position in the Olympian court. 
I’m not even really here to see you or him for that matter.  It’s just a handy
byproduct of my actual business.”
White teeth nipped at a still-flexed neck as the Cupbearer hummed under his
breath at that.
“We’ll keep that between us.”  He decided, chuckling a bit at the thought of
the temper tantrum Zeus was likely to throw if his ego was so abraded – to his
face.  “And you will come to see us after your business is complete…won’t you,
Frey, Chosen of Thanatos?”
“Of course.”  He agreed easily, even as he mentally apologized to Draco.  He
knew that Draco was expecting him to have to…entertain Zeus and his lover, but
he’d been hoping nonetheless that he might get out of it this time.  Stay under
the radar as it were.  No such luck, if as Ganymede’s very presence with him
suggested that Zeus already knew he was here.  “After I’ve spoken to who I need
to, I’ll come find you.  I think I remember the way.”
“Good.”  Ganymede released the half-blood and stepped back, mission
accomplished.  “See that you don’t get…lost.  Zeus’s temper is a terrible thing
to behold.”
…
In the wake of Ganymede’s proclamation, Frey mentally cursed, rearranging his
plans.
His window of opportunity to pass of the partial list of items he needed to
fashion the Cursed Blade had just been truncated significantly.
At least he didn’t need Hermes to track down and…acquire the entire list.
That would’ve been one hells of a giveaway of what he was planning behind the
collective backs of more than one pantheon.
He didn’t need the metals thanks to the stores collected over the centuries
between his wizarding vaults and his father’s travels, or the basilisk parts,
or even the onxy cabochon.  What he did need Hermes to hunt down were the
unicorn odds and ends, the phoenix ash (since he couldn’t just strut into
Dumbledore’s office on Fawkes’ burning day and help himself), Dementor essence,
and the stolen Dragon’s gold.  Dragon parts at least were available – if
expensive – through an apothecary, the same with the unicorn tail hairs. 
Hermes would know he was making something powerful, or several somethings, but
the most telling ingredients such as basilisk venom, Stygian Iron, and
Celestial Bronze were already in hand.
It curtailed the risk from involving a third-party…but it didn’t erase it,
leading to the secrecy he was trying to employ, which Zeus’s – and Ganymede’s –
apparent focus on him was threatening to shatter.
Frey had no intention of becoming Olympus’s – or Asgard’s, or Othrys’s, or or
or – most wanted because he failed to utilize a modicum of security around a
weapon no one was supposed to possess, let alone have the audacity to create
outside of the most ancient and powerful beings such as Lady Death or Lord
Chaos.
Not that the Primordials had genders per se…but those were the way those two
among them at least were described, the same with Lady Magic or Lord Time,
though to his knowledge Life and Necessity among the six Primordials had never
been given a gendered appellation.
When the power rose as Zeus began to adjourn the Council, Frey took his chance,
sending out his own power and magic under the cover of Zeus’s own to ram
through the protections surrounding a divine being.
We need to talk, was all he sent, not even giving his name.
There was no need as, now dismissed, Hermes immediately reached for his
Blackberry that contained any Iris messages or other communications the busiest
of gods received, arching a brow then looking over towards Frey, a flicker of
the god’s devious eyes the only recognition Hermes gave.
It was all that was needed as Frey melted back out of sight, wrapping the
shadows of the pillars near him around his form, seeming to disappear if one
wasn’t looking for him.
Another half-blood seemed to hedge out of sight, snagging Frey’s attention for
a split-second before Hermes’s steady movement towards him reengaged it.
Whoever it was trying to avoid the spot-light of being around the gods and
goddesses for whatever reason, that was their business not his, Frey not giving
it another thought, as he knew full-well how strictly enforced the security of
Olympus was.
Even the most devout of mischief makers – such as the Stoll twins who were
under the gimlet eye of Chiron at all times – would have a difficult time
making trouble here.
No, Frey had more important things to focus on.
Like how he was going to convince a god of Mischief – among many other things –
to honor the debt owed…and in an honest manner rather than engaging in a bit of
fun with him for daring to call it due.
Somehow he had a feeling that his puppy-dog-eyes-of-doom would be markedly less
effective on this god of Mischief than it would the other god of Mischief in
his life.
Still…hope blooms eternal.
“You rang?”  Hermes said mockingly with more than a hint of devilment in his
eyes when he finished greeting and speaking with his half-blood children who
had been allowed to come see him this Winter Solstice.
Luke – a remarkably not-angsting or angry Luke at that – among them,
practically glowing every time his eyes found those of a daughter of Aphrodite
from across the Council chambers.
At least he had good taste in women as his taste in friends was currently
suspect given the sheer audacity that Frey – parentage unknown, but favored of
Thanatos nonetheless – had shown in daring to summon a god.
If he were a less curious god, Hermes would’ve cut the bullshit and smote the
little blighter there and then.
But he wasn’t, say his brother Ares, and part of him honestly was impressed by
the kid’s sheer brass balls if nothing else, daring to summon a god under the
noses of an entire pantheon at that.
Frey inclined his head to the side, then clapped his hands once in a gesture
Hermes knew was familiar but that he couldn’t place – come to think of it that
went for a lot of things about Frey – and a privacy bubble formed around the
duo even as the shadows created a barrier between the corridor they were half-
hidden in and the greater Council chambers.
Hermes quirked a grin at the absent – but if he wasn’t mistaken, intentional –
show of both power and control, unusual to say the least in a half-blood, even
one of strange wizarding descent, more certain than ever that there was
something hidden just under the surface of Frey, favored of Thanatos, that had
nothing to do with the Death god’s patronage and likely everything to do with
his parentage.
This wasn’t an ordinary half-blood.
But then…an ordinary half-blood wouldn’t have captured his father’s attentions
as this one has, let alone be able to ward off the machinations of his dearly
departed – ish – grandfather.
“You, child.”  Hermes said quietly, doing his own part to prevent drawing
unwanted attention to their tête-à-tête.  “Are interesting.”
Frey restrained the urge to grimace at Hermes’s unknowing imitation of Zeus’s
interest in Frey.  He hoped this encounter ended differently than that one
did.  He didn’t think Luke would ever forgive him if he climbed into bed with
his dad.
“Still.”  Hermes changed tones abruptly, turning serious.  “You did summon me. 
What can the Messenger do for you, favored of Thanatos?”
“There is a debt between us.”  Frey spoke slowly, choosing each word dripping
like honey from his lips with the greatest of care.  “As great, some would say,
as that owed to me by Zeus himself, as the fate I saved Luke from – the fate
written for him and now undone – was perhaps greater an evil than the mere
death which would have befallen Thalia without my intervention.”  He smirked a
bit.  “Playing meat-puppet for Kronus isn’t a fate I would wish upon anyone,
let alone a half-blood with the possibility to do as much good as Luke.”
“How do you mean?”  Hermes asked – stalling and he knew it – giving himself
several long moments to think furiously.  The brat had him dead to rights – and
what was worse was that he knew it.  Someone had taught Frey Haraldr far too
well.  He couldn’t remember the last time a half-blood – any half-blood –
called out a god or goddess on the implicit debts owed them.  Though it did at
least explain a portion of Zeus’s interest in the young one.  If Frey had
pulled a similar line on his father as he was on him…well.  Zeus did like
shiny, unique toys to play with.
At least he hadn’t broken this one yet as he had so many before him, save
Ganymede and a rare few others.
Though granted, Zeus wasn’t the only god or goddess guilty of failing to
restrain their…abilitiesin the bedchamber with a mortal lover and breaking said
lover’s mind.
It happened more often than many would care to admit, especially when they were
young and lacking in anything resembling restraint – a virtue few of them
claimed even to this day.
“I don’t know Luke’s fate now that I’ve changed it.”  Frey told the god
honestly.  “But I do know some of his plans.  He wants to stay at the Camp and
help guide and train the younger half-bloods, even after his monster-draw fades
in the next few years.”  They never knew when it would fade, any more than a
godling would know when they would freeze into their immortality.  Just a
general guideline, which in the case of a half-blood’s monster-draw was
anywhere from sixteen to their early twenties, but rarely later and not often
sooner.  “Marry, settle down, give you a cabin’s-worth of half-blooded
grandchildren.  That plans of a young man in love.  None of which would have
happened if I hadn’t cast Kronus from his mind.”
“He would have died a hero.”  Hermes said, voice soft with grief even as it was
firm with certainty.  Luke’s mother might have gone mad from her visions of
Luke’s future thanks to Hades’s curse, but that much of her ramblings remained
unwavering.
“He would have died.”  Frey snorted rolling his eyes.  “That’s the key there –
Luke’s original fate had a certainty of heroism but just as certain was that it
was a dark path with nothing but an early death at the end of it.  I am owed
for averting it, Hermes.”
“You are.”  Hermes set his jaw, affirming the debt to matter how it grated on
him.  “And today was the first time he’s been willing to so much asglance at me
in years, let alone speaking civilly.  Something else I owe you, Frey?”
“Nope, I can’t claim that one.”  Frey negated with a snort and a smirk.  “That
was all Silena.”
“I do like that girl.”  Hermes sighed, shrugging and leaning back against a
pillar negligently.  “So what do you want?  That’s the purpose of all this,
yes?”
Snapping his fingers, Frey transported the edited list of ingredients to his
hand and gave it over to the god of Thieves.
“Some items I don’t have the time to hunt down myself that I need for a few
magical workings.”
“I’ll say.”  Hermes gave a snort of his own as his brows rose.  The list
niggled at something in the back of his mind, but whatever it was wasn’t clear
or present, being easily dismissed as unimportant in the face of such an easy
out for what had the potential to be one pain-in-the-ass of a debt to owe. 
Especially to a half-blood that clearly knew how to use a divine debt in his
favor.
Tricky little bastard.
Made it hard not to like him.
“When do you need all this?”
“Ostara.”  Frey told him.  “But the sooner the better.  I don’t care how you
get them, I’m no fool.  I just don’t want any attention drawn to it.  Bring me
the items on that list, in utmost secrecy and discretion, and our debt is
done.”
“Done.”  Hermes echoed Frey’s translocation with a snap of his own fingers, the
parchment getting sucked into the Blackberry tucked in the front pocket of the
simple cotton shirt he wore with jeans for the Council.
A nod for the god of Thieves and Frey pulled the shadows around him once more,
the privacy bubble going with them and leaving Hermes standing alone half-in
and half-out of the corridor, no sign of Frey’s presence lingering, not even a
hint.
“Interesting.”  Hermes murmured, eyes bright before turning back to the Council
chambers to bid his children and the other campers who’d come for the rare
visit goodbye.  “Very interesting indeed.”
…
“I will never be okay with this.”  Loki told Frey firmly, arms crossed over his
chest, as his son finally fell asleep in the heights of Olympus and visited his
dreamscape, which Loki had set up to be a mirror of his study in the Golden
Palace of Asgard.  Considering the topics under discussion – or soon to be at
any rate – the god thought it rather appropriate.
Frey sighed, running one hand through the length of his now mid-back hair as he
threw himself with his typical predatory elegance into one of the comfortable
arm chairs that were placed before the study fireplace, Loki in the facing
chair with a tafl set on the low table between them.
“It’s not my place to decide who you may or may not invite into your bed,
little prince.”  Loki continued, watching his simple cotton-clad and barefooted
son in clear concern.  “It never has been, not from the moment you gave your
first kiss to your beloved blond-haired wizardling or when you took shadow
warriors or half-bloods or even gods into your arms.  But…”  He trailed off
meaningfully, arching a brow when his son finally deigned to look up from
contemplating the flames with a ruddy blush high on the cheekbones he inherited
from Loki himself.  The shape of Frey’s eyes were Lily’s, the same with their
mortal color that Frey kept in place with a glamor more often than not these
days as his body changed in ways great and small as it began preparing to
transition into immortality.
His son was officially entering his Becoming, the stage which could last a week
or a decade or more depending on the immortal in question…and how they either
hastened it or slowed it down with their power.
“But.”  Frey echoed, inclining his head to the side in a repeat of a motion of
concession he’d learned from Loki himself.  “This time the ones I’ve allowed
to…enjoy intimacies with me are not ones that any parent would approve…if they
were aware of the underlying issues they brought with them.”
“To say nothing of your already precarious situation, child.”  Loki added with
exasperation.  “I understand – more than most would frankly – what you seek to
gain by…keeping him sweet to you and your unique situation.  You’re on the
razor’s edge, Frey.”  Loki leaned forward, bright green eyes piercing and
intent on his son’s ever-maturing face.  “One misstep and…”  He bit off further
cautions, knowing that nothing good would come of voicing them.
He’d done too good a job, together with the other involved in raising Frey, of
making him an intelligent and more an independent creature.  Loki wasn’t saying
anything to him that Frey likely hasn’t already thought of himself.  And as
there was no information he could impart, no long-held secret he could divulge
or dirty deed Zeus had long kept buried, there was no point in continuing in
this vein.
Frey knew what the risks he was courting were…and he’d allowed himself to be
taken into the Olympian King’s bed anyway.
Loki had to hope that Frey had a plan for getting himself back out of said bed
when the time came.
Reaching out, Frey clasped his hand gently over his father’s, the two of them
nearly equal in length and breadth as Frey rapidly approached his sixteenth –
physically anyway – birthday.
“I know, Far.”  Frey told him, voice calm and sure.  “I know.  But I’m
advancing too rapidly, and have yet to complete both the quest Thanatos has
given me or the pact between you.  I cannot be discovered beforehand or else
the punishment that I court from both Thanatos and the Primordials could be
unfathomable in its brutality.”  He quirked a knowing half-smile.  “Those who
meddle in things like a child’s birth – or a godling’s for that matter – tend
to…dislike having their gifts squandered.  And that’s exactly what would have
happened if I’d encountered a different god with a different agenda, one not so
focused on the endgame and more concerned with an Asgardianor a Jotun floating
around their universe uninvited…so far as they’re aware.”
“Speaking of which.”  Loki sucked in a shaky breath.  He was uncertain, even
afraid, of what he was about to impart…let alone that he had no idea how his
often inscrutable – even to him, who knows him best – son was going to take
it.  “You need to clear your calendar for Ostara.”
“But…”  Frey’s eyes went wide with shock.  His father knew that that was when
he was planning to go back to Camp Half-Blood and use the Hephaestus cabin
forges to make the Cursed Blade.  What could possibly be more important than
that?
The thought had barely crossed his mind when Loki enlightened him.
“Your grandparents have gotten in touch with me.”  Loki waved his hand at his
son’s sudden worried look, the change abrupt considering the consternation that
had been on his face a moment before.  “It was…strangely peaceful of a message,
and rather elegant in its delivery…not what I would have expected at all.”
“Well…”  Frey noted with a wry arch of an ebony brow.  “You were raised to
consider your bearer,” from what Gringotts had been able to tell them, Laufey
was Loki’s bearer, not his sire as Loki had assumed when Frey originally
informed him of the results of the inheritance test.  It had been risky for
Loki to visit the bank himself, but this world’s goblins were better as such
blood-magics than most species Loki knew of – and much more willing to keep
silent than any other…for the right price.  “The monster under the bed.  I
imagine most anything Laufey would put in place to see you at this point would
be a surprise from an Aesir’s perspective.”
“Point.”  Loki sighed.  Undoing several thousand years’ prejudice and engrained
racism wasn’t exactly easy.  But all it took was one glance at the hidden cache
of pictures he kept in his quarters under his strongest magics, pictures of
Frey from infancy to the strong warrior across from him, including more than
one where he’d turned blue while working ice magics, to set his mind back to
staying the course.  He could no more despise his son for being half-Jotun than
he could tear out his own heart.  Which made making peace with his own Jotun
status – and acceptance of their Jotnar relatives – of vital concern. 
“Regardless.  They have made contact and wish us – both of us – to visit at
first opportunity.  Ostara would be best as you were already planning to be in
New York, the arrangements for you to be gone have already been widely aired. 
And the Spring Festivals are always a time where Asgard is much too busy with
other affairs to bother watching over a single hero in a distant universe. 
There quite literally will not be a better time, especially if you do indeed
slay your enemy and gain true heroic status in the eyes of the Aesir.”
And that was before they toss in the complications Kronus’s rumblings were sure
to make for Frey, as Loki rather doubted that his son would leave his half-
blood friends to face that danger alone.
So the Wheel turned.
“Okay…”  Frey hummed under his breath, eyes narrowed with thought.  “Okay.  I
should be able to still do what I need on Jotunheim I would think, even if the
two of us have to completely fabricate a forge from scratch, it’s not a
complicated forging just expensive in materials and magic.  This doesn’t have
to derail what’s already in motion.  I passed off a partial list, everything
else I’ve already collected or have sent out orders to the various suppliers. 
Everything should be here in time to leave for Jotunheim…so long as he comes
through.”
“He will.”  Loki waved an elegant hand.  “In many ways, Hermes is my own
counterpart.  And while both of us often are discounted among the more
blatantly powerful gods and goddesses, that often works to our advantage.”
“Gee.”  Frey snarked, already knowing that that ability to be underestimated
wasn’t something he was likely to inherit from this father once his heritage
and parentage is public knowledge.  “That must be nice.”
“It is.”  Loki chirped with mock-cheer, smirking at his disgruntled offspring. 
“Thank you.”
They shared a laugh before Loki turned serious again, unknowing that Frey had
just plotted a new addition to the presents he was going to send to his
father’s chambers in Asgard.
“It isn’t only the Olympian pantheon that is starting to undergo a Turn of the
Wheel, little prince.”  Loki warned him, his own worries for Frey mixing with
his worry – and his duty – to and for the peoples of Yggdrasil.  “Things are
starting to occur, little things, small portents but…”  He shook his head,
nibbling a bit at his lower lip – though whether he’d picked that telling
gesture from his son or his son from him it would be hard to say.  “I worry
that you will no sooner come out the other side of Olympus’s turmoil than
become embroiled in that of Asgard.”
The Wheel – every universe and each realm of reality had one though it was
known as different things in each.
It was a system of checks-and-balances that ensured neither mortal, immortal,
or divine life outgrew the abilities of their universe to support them, an
important measure when you look at the numbers of lives populating a human-
populated Earth or the vastness of the half-blooded children produced by
Olympus every year.
Some universes called them apocalyptic events, others cataclysms, Loki’s people
dubbed it the Wheel, and the worst of them Ragnarok, when the Wheel no longer
sufficed to keep the Yggdrasil universe in check, wiping the slate clean and
starting over again.
One particularly interesting universe called it the Ascension, and ran it like
a war with one faction defeating the other for prominence during the next lull
between Turnings of the Wheel.
They came at different intervals – Yggdrasil hasn’t had one since the Jotnar-
Aesir war, the Asgard-Svartlheim war coming before it during the reign of Bor
Burison.
In others they were every fifty years – or fifty thousand – or only had one, a
true apocalypse, every cycle of life.
The universe controlled by Olympus was currently in the upswing of a Turn,
things being set in motion as the Wheel turned faster and faster and events
were sent into motion, though what the outcome might be often not even the
Fates were certain.
Though that didn’t keep the nosy parkers from spouting off about it through
their Seers, now did it?
Bitches.
Worse, interfering bitches, who took far too much interest in the lives of Loki
and his children.
“Is it Odin you’re worried about?”  Frey asked.  Growing up, even before the
depths of Odin’s treachery were discovered, Odin had very much been an ominous
figure, more a stern deity than a loving father to his own or a potentially
loving grandfather, especially given that Frey’s presence hiding among the
wizarding world and the Olympian half-bloods was specifically to keep him safe
from said false-grandfather.  So it was an expected question to come from Frey,
as his father had spent years engraining caution when it came to his father –
and then once he knew the truth, the King of Asgard – into his son.
And that was before you took into consideration that as one of Asgard’s main
diplomats and ambassadors, Loki had spent century after century trying to keep
his “father” from laying waste to whatever world he’d sent his eye on within
their universe at any given time.
There were more worlds than just the Nine Realms that were accessible from
Asgard after all, they were just so small as to be insignificant when speaking
to anyone from the Realm Eternal.
“Worse, Thor.”  Loki joked a bit, though he wasn’t really joking at all.  At
least Odin had some semblance of control after living for millennium after
millennium.  Thor had yet to reach that state of caution and control, his
temper as the Thunderer often just as feared as Odin’s wrath.  “As in the time
since the last Odinsleep, both of us have gained enough years and experience to
be eligible Crown Princes to serve as King Regent while Odin sleeps, rather
than Mother taking up the position or one of Odin’s brothers.  I fear the
damage he might do, the wars he might usher in, even if Odin merely sleeps for
a week or a month rather than the year or more he is capable of…”
…
The next morning, after sending his belated Yule gifts to his son – due to Frey
being gone they’d decided to exchange gifts once he returned to England, which
ended up falling on Christmas Day – he smiled and then laughed uproariously at
the simple cotton T-Shirt his son had added to the parcels of small tokens he
normally sent, often a picture of the two of them, or something he’d fashioned
with his magic or hands.
Rarely was it store-bought, but given their recent conversation, Loki could
definitely understand what had driven his son to send this present to him.
The shirt was a simple black, and on the front across where his pectorals would
be once worn in Loki’s signature bright green that matched his eyes were the
words: Underestimate me.  That’ll be fun.  Written in Frey’s elegant script.
Grinning, Loki tucked it away along with his many other treasures to do with
his son, and prepared himself to once more join the winter revels taking place
in Asgard’s Golden Palace.
…
Draco batted absently at whatever was tickling across his lips.
He was aware enough as he came slowly awake on the cold winter’s day that he
didn’t freak out or think it was a spider or other creepy-crawly, but not awake
enough for the sensation to really register.
A low chuckle caught his attention – not the least of which was because no one
really came into his rooms at the Manor, not even his parents.
No one that is…except for Frey.
But Frey was still in New York, screwing his way through the Greek Pantheon –
at least he was in Draco’s uncharitable first-waking thoughts.
A thought that he quickly retracted when he cracked open an eye and saw the
subject of it leaning over him with brightly dancing eyes that were crinkled at
the corners from his brilliant smile, the tickling sensation explained as
quicksilver eyes darted down and spied the simply gorgeous white rose held
loosely in one pampered-but-callused hand, Frey using the petals to dust
lightly across his lips and ease him from sleep.
“There you are, love.”  Frey said, his voice still vibrating with his good
humor.  “I thought for a moment there you’d never wake, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Would you have kissed me awake, then?”  Draco asked, his voice gruff from
sleeping…and maybe a few nights crying himself to sleep because of where his
lover was…and what he was likely doing.  Frey had been out of contact ever
since arriving in New York, which hadn’t helped Draco’s very fertile
imagination over what the godling was involved in.
Reaching out he sat up, the sheets and comforter slipping down and exposing his
bare torso to the fire-warmed air, the sound of crackling flames reaching him
from the wide fireplace across the room.
Frey must have lit it whenever he arrived.
Draco held in a gasp as he finally saw what had been hidden by Frey’s large
palm:
Wrapped around the rose stem was what might be the prettiest necklace – for a
male – that Draco had ever seen.
A simple mithril chain that had been engraved and faceted to look like
sparkling diamond, coming to a point from which hung an emerald of dazzling
clarity and size, much bigger and unblemished than any Draco had ever seen. 
The green stone often came in large sizes but often had inclusions and other
issues.  Ones of perfect clarity and cut were rare, and often hoarded, being
rare than most diamonds save for the rare red or purple stones.
And glancing up at the eyes that Frey never needed to glamour when they were
together, an emerald that was a dead-ringer in color as the color of his
lover’s eyes.
“This doesn’t get you out of trouble, young man.”  Draco told him, aping
McGonagall’s stern lecturing tone.  “I’m still very wroth with you.”
“I know, love.”  It was as close to an apology Frey could bring himself to
utter over how abominably he’d treated Draco thanks to Zeus’s…affections
towards himself.  He was doing what he had to.  That didn’t mean he had to like
the toll it took on someone he’d loved before he completely understood what
that word even meant in the context of someone he was also attracted to.  “I
know.  And it’s not a bribe, I’m not trying to buy my way out of trouble. 
I…ah…had it commissioned last year when I was still rather hacked off with you,
on the off chance you’d still want me after you’d dated Blaise for a year.” 
Clever hands had the chain unwrapped from the rose and the pendant settled
against Draco’s breastbone in a matter of moments, one hand cupping it and
shielding it from view, a lean, elegant hand of Draco’s coming up to link their
fingers together over the gem as silver eyes stared intently up into those that
matched the jewel.  Frey’s voice became a broken whisper.  “He can give you so
many things I can’t, promise you things I never will…”
“He’s not you.”  Draco cut that line of thinking off.  Or tried to anyway, Frey
was a stubborn ninny when he wanted to be.  “And he never can be, either.”
“No.”  The corner of Frey’s mouth ticked up a bit from where it’d settled into
seriousness.  “He won’t.  But he’d be able to stay with you, really bond with
you not just handfast for a period of time that seems far too short.  Be your
one and only.  And I…”
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t do or be any of those things.
Not to or for Draco.
Someday he hoped he might be that for someone…but he wasn’t trying to fool
himself or Draco into thinking it would be for him.
A soft kiss stopped whatever declaration or denial Draco was going to try and
spout, Frey shaking his head in mute negation of the mere attempt.
He knew who he was.
More importantly, he knew who he wasn’t.
And among those things he wasn’t, was Draco’s one and only, something he was
slowly coming to terms with now that it was being shoved in his face and riding
his conscience, rather than being some murky issue to tackle someday.
Someday had come, and it couldn’t be put off any longer.
“I can only give you little pieces of me, when you deserve the whole thing.” 
Frey sighed, brushing one finger lightly over a piece of flyway blond hair,
Draco being spectacularly untidy upon waking for a person who was always
conscious of being well turned out the rest of the time.  It was a sight he
never got tired of.  Draco in the morning.
“Hey,” Draco reached up with his free hand, catching Frey’s own and bringing it
down for a soft kiss to the knuckles.  “I’m happy with what we have.  I may not
be satisfied with it, but I am happy.  Happier than I think you understand. 
You never lied to me Frey, I knew what I was getting into, being with you.  And
I didn’t hesitate to jump in with both feet, not even for a moment.  I love
you, Frey.”  Silver eyes had turned stormy with fervency.  “I love you.  And
I’ll keep saying it until you start believing it.  Not some imaginary dream of
you, some perfect prince or epic hero.  Just you.  The same boy who bought me
perfect dragonhide boots after knowing me a matter of months or who went out of
his way to befriend my friends so I wouldn’t be the lone Slytherin in our study
group.  You’re even nice to Blaise, haven’t even given him so much as a glare
or a snarky comment when you know what I’ve done with him.  I’m not a child
anymore, Frey.  I know you’re not perfect.  And I love you anyway.  Just like
you love me despite my shitty behavior last year or that at time my whining
gets on your nerves, or that I’m never as sweet to Neville as I am to you.  You
except me and love me for my flaws, why are you so insistent that I can’t do
the same for you?”
“Okay, love.”  Frey breathed out heavily.  “Okay…does that mean you don’t want
the rest of the presents I got you?”
Draco snorted, arching a brow.
“I love you…but I’m still a Malfoy.  Gimme.”
…
Frey had never been so glad for his father’s insistence on Frey following an
advanced schedule of magical studies than in the time between Yule Break and
Ostara.  With so much else on his mind, it was a relief not to have to worry
about burying himself in masses and masses of revision as the professors heaped
piles and piles of essays and readings and revision booklets and worksheets on
them.  He and Draco spent less time alone in that period and more time with
their group of friends, some of whom were in the same boat as them while others
older and younger just watched the frantic pace of OWL – and in the case of the
seventh years like Cedric and the Twins – NEWT study-fever overtaking their
lives.
The Twins were the most cavalier about it all, but even they were sucked in
more often than not if only to help soothe Cedric’s worries over both their and
his own NEWTs results.
Fred and George already had made plans for their business and were in the
middle of testing many of their products, while Cedric tended to vacillate
between taking the job at the ministry his father was pushing on him or
pursuing another career like professional Quidditch or teaching.
Molly Weasley had been vocal – to anyone who’d listen – over her despair for
the Twin’s prospects, which of course meant that all of Wizarding Britain knew
that the Twins had categorically refused to “give up that nonsense joking
around and take a proper position that the Ministry” as one letter from the
woman had put it.
The morning edition of the Prophet – often filled with codswallop as it was –
became of a morning one of the few reliefs from the daily grind of revision,
revision, helping others revise, and oh, yes, more revision.
Even Frey’s initial investigations into the Dementor situation was just another
form of research, not exactly the most restful thing he could be doing with his
time.
Indeed, other than his mandatory (as dictated by him) workout and the
occasional duel or spar, the Prophet or once a month the Quibbler was all the
break he was afforded from the humdrum of OWL prep…aside from the few times a
week he could sweettalk Draco into going to “their” room with him…not that the
blond usually needed all that much convincing.
Focused or not…Draco was still a teenage boy with a teenage boy’s libido and a
willing lover.
“That’s odd.”  Said blond commented one morning as he browsed through the
paper, Frey taking breakfast with his boyfriend at the Slytherin table, the two
of them tending to alternate days at either Slytherin or Gryffindor, both
Houses just shrugging it off as another idiosyncrancy of either their “Prince”
Draco or the “Golden Boy” Harry.
“What is?”  Frey asked, glancing up from his plate of eggs, tomatoes, and
mushrooms.  He’d gone for a long run that morning and was feeling rather warm
and loose…of course he hadn’t entered into the battery of that day’s round of:
“Mr. Potter, explain Gamp’s…”  or “When one mixes aconite and…”
“Another Ministry worker’s been hospitalized.”  Draco summarized for his
audience, which with his words grew to envelope most of their yearmates at the
table, and a few of the upper and lower years as well.  “Again in the
department of Mysteries.”
“That is odd.”  Theo Nott allowed with a wrinkle of his nose.  “You rarely ever
hear about the DoM, now here we’ve had them in the papers twice in six months
for hospital visits.”
“Who was it, do they say?”  Frey asked, a glimmer of something tingling in the
back of his mind.
“No one I’ve ever heard of.”  Draco shrugged.  “It does say that the reason for
this…Madam Doggett to be in the DoM is unknown.  The witch apparently worked in
International Relations.”  Draco shrugged, not really interested beyond the
sheer oddness of it…or at least he wasn’t until he saw the considering look on
his boyfriend’s face.  “Harry?  What is it?”
“I’m not sure.”  Harry drawled slowly, eyeing their rapt audience for a moment
before flashing a smile at Draco.  “It’s just odd, and bothering me as a result
I suppose.  What in the world could be going on in the DoM, after all, that has
had two people going to St. Mungo’s?”  He posed the question rhetorically. 
“Still…we don’t even know if they were found in the same section do we?  The
two instances could be completely unrelated.”
“That’s true.”  Blaise agreed with a shrug.  “I know my mother says that they
work on all manner of things down there.  There’s even supposed to be a Hall of
Prophecy and a Death Room and all sorts of things.  Very odd…but not at the
same time.”
Frey just hummed, a calculating look in his eye.
Yes, they studied quite a few things in the Department of Mysteries.
And he was sure that more than one was likely to be of interest to a
disembodied shade of a dark lord.
The only question was, what was Tom looking for?
Following that, who or how was he managing to get random workers to search for
whatever it was?
Perhaps it was time he spent some effort trying to track the shade…after all,
soon enough he’d have a weapon capable of capturing him.
It would be handy indeed to have an idea of where to look, as he rather doubted
Thanatos was going to pop in anytime soon to give him a location or some such
thing…
…
“It was a dark day.”  Laufey’s voice carried throughout the halls of the Winter
Hold, where Loki had transported both himself and his son under the protection
of Frey’s rather remarkable Cloak.  With the power of the Master of Death –
something which Thanatos had yet to fully explain to either of them – even Loki
had a problem piercing the veil of the Cloak’s power, a necessary precaution
until they reached the royal enclave of their…family in the northern climes of
Jotunheim, one of the few placed in the Nine Realms which was shielded not only
from Heimdall’s gaze but the intrusions of Odin’s pet parrots…er…ravens, his
pet ravens.
Laufey was not the massive Jotun warrior of Asgard’s tales.
No, not at all.
But a relatively diminutive invidja, magic-user, of the Royal House, standing a
mere seven-feet-tall in his Jotun skin, was not the monstrous Laufey of
Asgard’s tales the spoke of a warrior twenty feet tall – or even taller – a
massive general and King who was broken and defeated by Odin’s might.
Yeah…
About that.
The Jotnar were oppressed by the Aesir, that was true.
But they weren’t defeated, and they most certainly weren’t broken by any
measure.
Laufey, the King’s mate Farbauti who was every inch the massive Jotun warrior
that Laufey was said to be instead of the “dainty” Jotun maiden – which was
laughable as Frey had yet to meet anyone who met that description on Jotunheim,
not even the smallest or slightest Jotun could be described thusly – and his
younger sons Helblindi and Byliestr, even Byliestr’s mate Thrym and their own
young children had welcome their strange Aesir-skinned relatives with open arms
and welcoming hearts.
It was awkward, but somehow warm even in the frosty spring chill of northern
Jotunheim.
Of course, the first thing they were coached on, after all had been introduced,
was on how to shed that Aesir skin and switch at will between their natural
Jotun forms and that of whatever other race they chose to don.  It was a skill
apparently inherent to Jotnar invidja, skin-changing, and explained a lot about
both of their shapeshifting abilities.
If most of those from his early years on one of the worlds controlled by the
Olympic-Titanic pantheon were to ever see Frey in his Jotun form, none would
likely recognize him much like the Aesir would have difficulty seeing Loki
through the guise of blue skin and ruby eyes.  Their features were both much
the same, with Loki having more of a sapphire-blue skin and bright ruby eyes
while Frey was lighter, more aquamarine with the same dark ruby eyes as his
grandbera – Jotnar being intersexed (which had led to much hilarity on the
parts of Frey’s new uncles when he had a minor freak-out over his new
genatalia) and not using most gender-specific nouns or pronouns – Laufey. 
Etched into their skin was the other difference – and similarities – between
the two.  For while both had markings declaring them of the House of Ymir, and
an almost-crown-like marking on their foreheads, their lines denoting family
were otherwise different, Frey’s showing that he was simply the child of Loki
child of Laufey while Loki had familial lines for two sides: Laufey as his
bearer and Farbauti of the North, Farbauti the Far-Striker as his sire.
It was an impressive lineage to be sure.
Shockingly, one of the smallest differences between their marking was the most
vital.
Where Loki had five small dots above his crown markings, Frey was mark-less,
which was the subject of Laufey’s current tale.  That of Loki’s kidnapping.
 And Odin’s silence on the matter leading to Frey’s mark-less state.
Honestly, that Loki had them at all was a miracle, that Frey didn’t was solely
due to Odin being a lying, kidnapping, asshole.
What Odin would no doubt try and spin as abandonment of a “runt” Jotun should
he ever be confronted with the truth of the matter, was actually a time-honored
tradition to test the abilities of a Jotun child whose parent – or parents –
claimed direct descent from the first Jotun Ymir.  And a requirement for any
Jotun of the House of Ymir to be eligible for the throne.  Loki had completed
his – five nights survived on the icy Casket of Ancient Winters.  One made a
Jotun capable of surviving the climate, two a warrior, three a royal, four an
invidja or sorcerer, and five a King or eligible heir.  They were watched
carefully, monitored by the priests of the temple.  If a child born into the
House of Ymir cried out during the traditional – and frankly religious –
nightly trials, they were marked with the number of dots corresponding to the
night they cried out.  Loki had completed his fifth and was thusly marked, the
ceremony barely completed before the Aesir forces laid siege to the temple and
killed the priests who’d been charged with his care.
But Odin never told Loki of his heritage, never told him of the ancient history
and traditions of his rightful people.  Of his throne and house.  And as a
result his son and heir was not the heir of Jotunheim for all that he was their
prince in truth.
It was rare that a Jotnar child born into the line of Ymir went unmarked – but
not unheard of.
Odin himself was one such, the proud Aesir King didn’t even have a Jotun form
the way his adoptive grandchild did.
It pissed both Loki and Laufey off to no end that Frey would have to be set
aside from the line of succession for the Jotnar kingship all because Odin was
a lying twat, hence Laufey’s opening of old wounds to discuss that day.
“When the armies of Asgard came down from the Rainbow Bridge, some of our lords
rejoiced.”  Laufey continued.  “We had tried for Midgardr, not for glory, but
for the Tesseract which had haunted my dreams, calling out to me, never ceasing
until I tried – and failed – to obtain it.  Odin claimed that our small
incursion force was a full-invasion.”  Laufey shrugged.  “Odin was as ever a
liar when it came to getting what he wanted.  In this case, to sunder an enemy
and live up to the appellation of “Bor’s son”, he who had destroyed the Dark
Elves for a similar offense as attempting to conquer another world.  But never
could I have imagined what the Tesseract’s call would cost me, cost all of
Jotunheim.”
Farbauti, seated next to Laufey, laid one hand on their mate in comfort, his
light blue skin, a similar shade to Frey’s own much as Frey had Laufey’s eyes
in his Jotun form, Loki taking after his bearer in skin tone with deep his deep
sapphire shade, making a lovely contrast against the bare shoulder.  All of
them, from oldest Jotun (Laufey) to youngest (Byleistr’s child Loptr, named for
his lost sibling who was now seated at their bearer’s side) wore simple kilts
fashioned of fur or leather, the cold weather not bothering them a bit in the
Winter Hold despite the lack of a fire.  After all, what need did those of ice
and snow have for things of heat and fire?  They were born for this land.  They
needed nothing else, thought the beauty of the crystal palace that was the
Winter Hold could not be overstated.
“But that day…”  Farbauti took up the story, as their mate was too overwrought,
even with their missing prince at their side, and Loki’s child at Farbauti’s,
to continue.  Such things were painful for all of them to discuss, but none so
much as Laufey who had carried Loki under their heart for months before a
birthing in the midst of war, and a marking that ended in tragedy.  They had
both mourned for their missing – thought dead – prince.  Mourned long and for
many centuries, even after they’d been blessed with Helblindi and Byleistr.
Until, that is, one day when Laufey felt a tug at the family magic of the Blood
of Ymir, and followed it back to a newborn babe, held in it’s mother’s arms on
a faraway world, with the second-born (or so it was thought) prince of Asgard
standing watch side-by-side with a wizard with haphazard hair and one of the
most fearsome Avatars of Death in any realm.
A bit of investigation – and more than a bit of spying – had unearthed that
Loki Odinson was in fact the missing Loptr Laufeybarn, Crown Prince of
Jotunheim and his son – as he was raised in a divided-gendered world – Frey
Lokison, prince of Jotunheim and Asgard.
Calling Loki, Loki, tugged at their hearts more than a bit.
But better to have them back – even if Loki was Loki and not Loptr, and wary
with it – than to have them been tossed to the ice wolves as had originally
been thought of their oldest child.
“The Aesir armies managed to punch through our lines.”  Farbauti said, as a
wave of Laufey’s hand had figures and armies forming out of light motes and
frost on the air.  “Every Jotnar who could fashion sword or spear was called
up, even my Laufey who had given birth mere days before.  They came without
warning, without fanfare, and crushed whatever resistance we managed to drum
up.  The army had retreated to Utgaard to guard Laufey during the labor and
watch over the new prince as our child underwent the rites of Ymir.  We pulled
them back from the temple, never even thinking that of course the grasping
creature that is Odin would want the Casket.”  Farbauti shook their large head
mournfully as they wrapped their arms around a shaking Laufey and was embraced
in turn, Loki and Frey, not to mention the others, watching this all with wide
eyes and weeping hearts for the pain the couple had undergone.  In one move,
Odin had stolen both possibilities of future from his own blood, taking away
not only the heart of Jotunheim but also its powerful newly born Prince and
invidja whose powers might have helped delay the slow, inevitable decay of
their homeworld.
“The priests were slaughtered.”  Laufey spoke in a shattered tone, still
horrified thousands of years later.  “Our child was gone, the Casket taken.  In
all our history, only the betrayal and murder of Ymir was a worse day for
Jotunheim – and that a crime of which Odin Borsson is guilty of too.”
“There is no understanding for the pain losing a child causes you.”  Farbauti
told them gruffly, gently cupping the back of Frey’s head in one massive palm. 
“None.  It broke something in us, for a long time.  It wasn’t until Helblindi’s
birth that my Laufey began to heal, to be the King they once were.”
“Though.”  Laufey admitted with a sigh and a shake of their head.  “One good
did come of those dark days.  After that, the Tesseract left me be.  I don’t
know who it calls for now…or whose fallen into its tricks and traps in the
intervening years, but I am gladdened that whoever they are…they’re not of
Jotnar blood.”
…
Crash!
Frey half-groaned and half-laughed as he and his father collided mid-ice slide.
Laufey, being the only other living invidja of the House of Ymir other than
Bylestr’s youngest who was still a child, had taken it upon them to teach Frey
and Loki how to use their ice powers, or use them more effectively since both
of them had been working on the power ever since Frey’s Rites of Passage at
thirteen.  Frey was more comfortable with it than Loki, his Far having spent
centuries honing his abilities with flame finding the switch more difficult
than his son who didn’t have nearly the years of habit to break that Loki did. 
The current objective was to create sequential platforms of ice, not unlike the
one Frey had used during the Second Task of the Tournament, and basically skate
from one to the next, high above the rougher terrain of Jotunheim, such as the
more mountainous areas to the south.
It wasn’t going well, as the collision mid-air between father and son could
attest.
They weren’t working solely on their magics either, Farbauti and Loki’s
siblings – two of the elite warriors of Jotunheim, as Farbauti was the current
General – training them in the Jotnar way of combat, which included forming
weapons of ice to use in either battle or what the Aesir called holmgang, honor
duels as Frey knew them.
That was going marginally better than their lessons in invidja ways, thought
when Loki and Frey were allowed metal edged weapons such as Loki’s spear and
daggers or Frey’s sword, they held their own against the Jotnar warriors, a
fact which filled Laufey and Loki alike with pride in their child/grandchild
and Laufey, Farbauti, and Loki’s siblings with pride in their Crown Prince.
Which was another thing that had shocked Loki after the first rush of getting-
to-know-yous.
Helblindi and Byleistr had willingly stepped aside as the first and second
heirs to the throne, allowing Loki his place in the succession – the place he
was born for – without even a moment’s hesitation.
Their reasoning was simple: neither of them was a true invidja as either the
King or Consort of Jotunheim needed to be, a common issue among the Nine Realms
other than Midgardr.  It was also the reason why many thought Odin took Frigga
as his war-bride.  Odin was a seidrmadr, yes.  But the Aesir preferred their
Kings to be warriors, not blatantly sorcerers, so Frigga’s place as a Van queen
married to Asgard’s King placated any naysayers over Odin’s own magical
abilities.  More to the current point – Bylesitr’s mate wasn’t an invidja
either, and Helblindi simply wasn’t ready to court anyone despite being older
than his wedded sibling.
In that way, Loki was better prepared to rule Jotunheim should anything happen
to Laufey.
Those of the Jotnar who were – as it were – “in the know” about Loki and Frey
were glad to have them there and visiting if only for their abilities as
invidja, powerful invidja, Loki easily being more powerful than Laufey for all
that he didn’t have his bearer’s years of experience with ice magic while it
was anyone’s guess how powerful Frey would end up, though common sense given
the nature of his birth pointed towards him being potentially more powerful
still than Loki.
They breathed magic into the very air, magic and power soaked into the ice
under their feet as they walked, they used it as absently and regularly as Frey
used a quill at school – constantly and without thought – they were magic to
many who observed them.
And their very presence helped breath life back into the dead land of Jotunheim
that was undergoing a slow and cruel decay in the wake of having their heart,
their Casket of Ancient Winters, stolen from them by a power-mad King of
Asgard.
For that as well, many would be glad to seat Loki upon the throne of Jotunheim,
not just his own blood.
There was another reason as well, which was explained to Frey during one of his
private discussion with his grandbera, discussions which had begun on his first
night there when Laufey pulled him aside to explain about the Rite of Ymir –
and the significance that Frey’s unmarked brow played in the succession.
As things stood, it was only if all of Frey’s Jotun relations were dead that
Frey could ascend the Jotnar throne, as of the current living direct descends
of Ymir, only himself and Odin were unmarked, and Frey’s claim coming through
Laufey was stronger than that of Odin through Bestla.
Laufey and the others had taken Loki and Frey’s explanations of his needed to
borrow a forge – while they preferred ice for weapons, there were other things
made of the various mineral-rich deposits Jotunheim boasted that required
smithing, not the least among them their highly-sought-after jewelry, Jotunheim
diamonds and other gems second to none in any universe – with an arch of a brow
and an agreement that on their next-to-last day and night the two would be left
alone to forge…whatever it was they needed to forge.
The night before the two were set to go into seclusion in the forge, Laufey set
the others ahead to have one of his “chats” with his grandchild.
“Your sire has been many places and seen many things over the years.”  Laufey
began with a non-sequitur.  “Has Loki taught you how to shift from place to
place as of yet?”
“Like he does?”  Frey shook his ebony mane of hair.  Farbauti and many of the
other warriors boasted shorn, bald heads, but unlike what was “known” in other
realms, not all Jotnar were bald, both Frey and Loki keeping their dark locks
in their Jotun forms.  Hair that they’d apparently inherited from none other
than Laufey, but the Jotnar King began shaving their head during the Jotnar-
Aesir war to make identifying them among the other warriors more difficult for
their enemies, a habit never cast off afterward.  “No, not yet.  I can apparate
or shadow-walk but I think he was waiting to teach me how he does it until I
freeze into immortality.”
“That would be wise of my child.”  Laufey nodded, thoughtfully.  “Time can
be…strange in the in-between places, and can differ greatly between universes
that aren’t anchored together the way your presence and my child’s visits there
– either in person or through dreams or some other method – anchor your
universe and Yggdrasil together.  A second can be an hour, and an hour a
century if one isn’t careful.  It wouldn’t do for you to leave for a brief
adventure in a distant universe and return to your current home only to find
all you care for dead and gone.”
Frey blinked, taken aback at that bit of sagity, which brought up a concern of
his own.
“Once I come here, when I’m not there and no one from here is watching me, does
the time between the two begin to separate without that ‘anchor’ as you call
it?”
If so…that could be a massive problem if he ends up gone longer than the week
for Ostara break.
“A little, not much.”  Laufey told him after casting his magic in a brief probe
to check on the state of things in Frey’s home world.  “Your presence there is
still too strong, even with you physically here.  Once you spend less and less
time there, or are gone for longer periods, then the two universes will begin
to slowly – but surely – uncouple once more and go on their separate paths.”
“How can you know, grandbera?”
“Because I, like you and your sire, and mine before me, am an invidja of the
Blood of Ymir.”  Laufey smiled down at their grandchild.  Still so young, so
much to learn despite the lengths Loki and Frey’s other caregivers have gone to
over the years to teach and train him.  “That isn’t merely a title, young one. 
It’s a privilege, one that brings with it great power – the power to walk
between worlds, to explore those in-between places.  As I did in my youth, and
your sire still does on occasion.  So will you in your time and young Aurvandil
in theirs.  Odin, while of our blood and having some of our gifts, murdered
Ymir and as such is cut off from their great gift.  A gift that was purchased
in their blood and murder.  Can you guess what it is, little prince?”  Laufey
asked, borrowing Loki’s pet name for Laufey’s grandchild, one finger brushing
over the sigil marking Frey’s breast over his heart, what Loki had identified
at the time as Laufey’s sigil but what that of the House of Ymir.
Ymir, Ymir.  Frey thought quickly, searching his memory for everything his
father taught him about the legend of Ymir, and Odin’s murder of the firstborn
among the giants – either frost or fire.  Ymir, who was used…
“Ymir’s limbs and bones were used to fashion Yggdrasil.”  Frey spoke in slow
and measure sentences as he tried to cobble together what his grandbera wanted
him to understand.  “In a metaphysical sense, Odin used that sacrifice to lay
the paths which connect the Nine Realms to the mythos-centric universe of
Yggdrasil, all of them came into Yggdrasil wholly, except for Midgardr which
remains half-in and half-out.  If that’s true…then…because we’re of Ymir’s
blood and bone we can walk the paths that Odin made?”
“More than that, young one.”  Laufey beamed down at their grandchild.  “Much,
much more.  Odin used Ymir’s murder to cobble together the Nine Realms into a
functioning universe of their own, that much is true.  He owes us a debt that
can never be repaid, one which the House of Ymir will never forget.  But there
was much, much more power released through the murder of one of the first
creatures of this universe’s creation than what was needed for that working,
Odin’s spell simply gave it a…template if you will.”
“We can walk between worlds, and in the in-between.”  Frey breathed out, the
pieces connecting.  “Anywhere where Ymir’s sacrifice laid a path, no matter how
small or hidden, we can walk, can’t we?”
“Yes, young one.”  Laufey smirked.  “Yes we can.  Odin thinks that because he
took our heart that he stranded me here.  Curbed my power and my reach and that
of all my blood.  More fool him, eh?”
Frey had to laugh along with that, always one to enjoy a joke on old One-Eye
more than most – and no longer wondering where Loki had gotten his sense of
Mischief from.
…
To make a Cursed Blade:
Ingredients:
The Blade:
Metal –
Equal parts: Stygian Iron, Celestial Bronze and Stolen Dragon’s Gold
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Unicorn Blood – forcefully taken
1 Ounce: Dementor Essence
1 Fluid Ounce: Basilisk Venom
The Guard:
Metal –
Equal parts: Purest Silver and Mithril
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Unicorn Blood – Willingly Given
1 Ounce: Phoenix Ash
The Grip:
Metal –
Equal Parts: Purest Silver and Celestial Bronze
Quenching Liquid –
1 Dram: Dragon’s Blood
1 Ounce: Crushed Basilisk Scales
Unicorn Tail Hair: Enough to Wrap the Grip in its entirety
The Pommel:
Equal Parts: Purified Gold and Celestial Bronze
1 Unblemished Onyx cabochon
The Sheath:
Basilisk Hide
Dragon Heartstring
 
Instructions:
Forge blade, guard, and grip using Fiendfyre and a pure Stygian-Iron hammer and
anvil, add ingredients for quenching liquid to a basin carved from pure onyx
filled with neutral potion base.  Shape pommel around Onyx.  Engrave all metal
pieces with runes, wrap grip with braided unicorn tail hair soaked in solution
of Phoenix Tears and powdered unblemished amethyst.  Stitch sheath from
basilisk hide, using dragon heartstring for thread.  Allow blade to bask under
the light of a new moon and a blood moon before and between use(s).
“We can do all that’s necessary here.”  Loki commented, reading the
instructions once more for himself as Frey lit the forge fires which would keep
the various metals liquid until needed for casting or pouring, or to prepare
the neutral base for the quenching liquids that they’d be using.  “Save for the
basking it will need to undergo before using.  When is the next new and blood
moons on Midgard?”
If they weren’t going to occur soon, the blood moon especially, then Loki could
always cheat a little and take it with him to bask it under the light of a moon
on another version of Earth…Ymir knows there are enough of them floating around
in the All of All Things.
“New moon is the night after I get back, my charts say a blood moon is the next
full moon thereafter, so two weeks?  That puts me into May before I can use it,
but I’ve been tracking Tom and there hasn’t been any predictable pattern his
shade is using…not yet at least.  And it never stays in one place long.”
“What about this business with the department of Mysteries?”  Loki asked as
they both took up their places.  Frey was a decent smith, but his control of
Fiendfyre, being a very specific wizarding spell, was better than Loki’s
own…and Loki had about a century’s worth of practice smithing from being
“fostered” on Alfheim for a time in his own youth.  Alfheim culture didn’t
consider one grown until they could forge their own blade for battle or the
hunt, fashion their own arrows, stitch their own clothes, etc.  The Aesir
looked down on them as being “soft” since their males and females both learned
“feminine” arts like cooking and sewing.  Loki called must Aesir muscle-bound
idiots.  “Is it your dark lord at work, or something else?”
Pouring out the molten Stygian Iron, Celestial Bronze, and Stolen Dragon’s Gold
into their molds, they waited brief moments for the rough “blades” to cool
enough to hold a shade, then Frey was darting in to carve the necessary runes
on the golden blade which would be used to bond the other two blades into one,
then repeated the process on what would become the “inner” side of the
sandwiched metal.  Each piece was quenched in the prepared liquid, then
reheated with a burst of Fiendfyre before being held in place on the anvil by
Frey as Loki worked the pieces together with the hammer, Frey working
seamlessly with his father for hours to make the blade into the simple curving
blade for a dagger that he’d chosen and drawn for his father to use as
reference.  It was quenched and reheated and worked time after time, until the
two opposing metals had finally bonded and smoothed into one unit.  Setting the
dangerous blade – one perfectly capable of killing either of them as it stood –
aside onto a piece of basilisk hide laid out for the blade to rest, they took a
break, Frey returning immediately to Loki’s question.
“There’s no way to tell.”  He said around gulps of sweet elvish mead and bites
of infamous Idunn’s golden apples…which contrary to myth did not bestow
immortality on the consumer, unlike those protected by Ladon which Luke failed
to steal.  “It could be him, it could be the Ministry up to no good.  There’s
no real way to tell unless I can nail Tom’s shade as actually being in the
DoM.  There’s things there he’d want access to, that’s for sure.”
“The prophecy about the two of you among them.”  Loki pointed out.  “Or perhaps
another way to gain a body besides possession…since you’ve foiled the last two
attempts.”
“Perhaps.”  Frey shrugged.  “But until we get this blade forged it doesn’t
matter one way or the other.”
“Yes, yes, back to work.”  Loki sighed as if put-upon and greatly abused. 
“Slave-driver.”
“Princely layabout.”
“Pernicious purveyor of chaos.”
“Ponce.”
“Prat.”
“Father.”
“Oh, now.”  Loki snickered, heaving himself to his feet.  “There’s no need to
bring my age into this little prince…”
…
 
***** Twenty-Five *****
                                    Lokison
                  Chapter Twenty-Five: To Hell and Back Again
While most of Hogwarts lost their minds in the end-of-term frenzy, Frey’s own
attention was tidily split three ways – none of which were studying for exams,
unless one of the three (shagging Draco blind) happened to intersect with
studying.
Frey spent his time between three things: Draco, obsessing about the finished
blade that was currently dwelling in a warded-to-hell-and-back sheath that he
had on him at all times, part of the warding being that only he could –
intentionally at that – remove said blade from said sheath, and trying to
figure out two problems: what the fuck was Tom’s shade up to, and how to
unshackle the Dementors from their involuntary imprisonment.
From everything he – and his dogfathers and Sev, Frey making ruthless usage of
the dreaded puppy-dog-eyes-of-doom to enlist their help – had found pointed
towards the two entities creating a pact: the Dementors and the Ministry of
Magic.  It was also clear from what he’d been told by Heidi and Thanatos that
the Dementors had held up their part of the bargain, while the Ministry had
not, trapping them somehow on Azkaban Island after securing their alliance. 
What wasn’t clear and he hadn’t found – yet – was what kind of pact or binding
had been used that remained intact even after the MoM reneged on their
agreement.  Most pacts, vows, or magically-enforced agreements should have
broken once the MoM reneged…and yet, the Dementors were still trapped.
Something stank about the whole situation.
What was worse was that to find an answer, Frey was starting to get the feeling
that he was going to have to go the last place he wanted to go – the Ministry
of Magic…more precisely the Department of Mysteries since there wasn’t anywhere
else he was likely to find something as obscure as the ritual or what-the-fuck-
ever that was used to bind the Dementors.
And as May crept closer to June – and Frey’s deadline to return to New York, a
firm tugging on his wards around the Camp firming his resolve to spend as much
time as possible there before returning to handfast with Draco on Lughnasadh
(or August 1st) – he began to fear that his hunt for Tom’s shade might drag on
until the deadline Thanatos had given him…which chafed at him, Frey having zero
desire to test Thanatos’s fraying patience with his “Favored” hero after the
Dementor debacle.
He needed to redeem himself somehow for the events of last May, and he’d rather
do so by completing the tasks given him – including freeing the Dementors so
they can complete their purpose in the universe – than having to commit what
would likely prove to be a massive sacrifice in Thanatos’s name in order to buy
himself more time.
Though he would be willing to bet that the Fates were pushing and pulling
things in the background, working to align his tasks into one massive
clusterfuck of fuckery for him to deal with all at once.
That generally tended – from what had happened in his own life as well as
historically – to be how the bitches operated.
Frey was enjoying a rare moment alone with Draco, the two having little time to
themselves as exams began, when Sev found him…with a bit of troubling news.
…
Hidden – mostly – under one of the conveniently placed weeping willow trees on
the castle grounds near the lake, Draco reclined back in Frey’s arms, his blond
head resting comfortably on the other wizard’s sculpted chest, the muscles firm
but giving under his cheek and the soft silk of Frey’s casual t-shirt.
They had no classes this week or the next, merely revision periods they were
free to use and battery upon battery of tests, and the two young men were
taking advantage of their other friends being in one or the other – or hiding
and/or studying solo – elsewhere on the grounds to talk about plans that would
be sure to upset some and outrage others if they learned of them.
Granted, if they were any other soon-to-be-sixteen-year-olds they’d probably be
standing shoulder to shoulder with their friends trying to talk the would-be
handfasted couple out of doing such a drastic thing as binding themselves
together, however temporarily.
That was the blessing – and the curse – of a traditional handfasting.
It could be for a year and a day…or for a lifetime depending on the wishes of
the couple once that year-and-a-day was over.
In the old days, whether the union became permanent was predicated on whether
the coupling…bore fruit as it were, with in the muggle world having children
together being an automatic permanent declaration.
It didn’t quite work that way in the magical world however, and was left up to
the couple whether they’d stay together or not…with the children or “fruit” of
the union being held as legitimate either way, no matter how said children came
about, so long as they were, in fact, the offspring of the couple in question.
Neither spouse was ruined by the union, whether temporary or permanent, nor
were the child or children considered bastards or ineligible to inherit.
It was perfect for Frey’s situation really…even if it wasn’t the preferred
method for him to provide the required heirs for the Peverell and Potter
families…and likely having to throw in Black for good measure with as stubborn
as Sirius was about not passing on the insanity his line had come to be known
for or Remus’s equally intractable position regarding his lycanthropy.
That made three children – three – for him and Draco to have together, and that
was only if Draco didn’t decide that he wanted to provide the Malfoy heir at
the same time.
Frey was almost certain that Draco wanted to wait and have more children –
likely the old-fashioned way – with whoever he ended up married-bonded to
instead of just hand-fasted with…in fact Frey was certain from what both his
Far and Lucius had said in the past that the Malfoy heir had to be provided via
a permanent union…which excluded Frey from being either the sire or bearer of
the next Lord Malfoy after Lucius and Draco due to his being unable – and to be
honest, unwilling – to enter into an eternal union of any kind at sixteen.
He wished – wished quite often actually – that he really was only a normal
half-blood or wizarding teenager…but he wasn’t and he never would be.
He was a godling, who if he lived long enough would someday be a god…and while
he could make Draco an immortal by bonding once he himself froze into his
unaging state…mortals weren’t meant to live forever, as Frey well knew being in
the early stages of his Becoming, where his body and mind transitioned to match
the requirements of the immortal state.
The mortals who could manage the transition between mortal and immortal were
quite literally a one-in-a-billion find, the rarest of the rare.
To start with, they had to be as neurodiverse as someone like Frey or Loki,
since the best (read: most sane) immortals were those who never allowed
themselves to slip into stagnation, always learning, always seeking new things
and new experiences.
Zeus may be a punch-line with his licentious ways, but he was also keeping
himself sane by always seeking out new lovers and new experiences, the same
with many of his immortal children and his brothers.
Half-bloods weren’t just the way gods and goddesses were free to effect change
in the mortal plane, they were also the anchors that kept their divine parents
alive and functioning.
Well…mostly.
Athena had her love of knowledge and wisdom, Ares is blood-lust and thirst for
battle, but one and all they kept themselves involved in the mortal world
despite having to be in many ways hands-off with overt machinations.
Honestly, that’s one of the reasons why Frey thought Hera was so bitter…as
being bound to a faithful state as the goddess of Marriage…which was an
interesting effect that seems to be a stronger binding between godheads and the
god or goddess’s behavior in this universe than in his Far’s, much like how
Hades had to live in the Underworld…was because she was so fucking bored being
one of the only deities who couldn’t just pop off to screw around with a mortal
or meddle in mortal affairs through her half-blood children the way the other
Olympians could.
“Where will we have it?”  Draco asked, idly tracing the symbol branded into
Frey’s wrist.  It wasn’t visible at the moment, Frey kept all of his marks and
tattoos glamoured when he was at Hogwarts except for the faint silver Sowilo-
shaped scar on his forehead over his left eye.  It wouldn’t do for the
Headmaster to recognize the mark of the Hallows for example.  But nonetheless,
Draco had seen – and touched and kissed – them all when Frey felt comfortable
enough that they weren’t being watched to drop all his glamours in the privacy
of their rooms at either Black or Malfoy Manor.  “Malfoy Manor?”
“We’d have to tell your parents then – who’d spill to my dogfathers and Sev –
and then we’d both be locked up in ivory towers until we were seventeen.”  Frey
noted with an arch of his brow.  “Lucius may be sworn to Loki, but that
wouldn’t stop him from preventing us from handfasting.”  He thought for a
moment then offered: “Peverell Fen?”
“Hmm.”  Now that intrigued Draco.  The hidden – impossible to find really –
enclave of the most notorious necromancers in wizarding history.  Though there
were other reasons to agree, such as it being so thoroughly hidden that likely
only Frey’s divine parent would be able to find them once they were there…which
would prevent any untimely interruptions.  “That would work if there’s an
appropriate space…”
“There’s an ancient glade, complete with a ring of ash and oak trees.”  Frey
told him drily, restraining the need to roll his eyes.  “We don’t need an
officiant…so there’s that at least.  Do you think you’ll be able to order some
plain raw silk robes for us…or will that make your parents suspicious?”
With Frey planning to be out of the country in the weeks between school-end and
his birthday, Draco was actually going to have to take care of a few of the
little chores surrounding such a simple ceremony, like buying the robes and
candles.
Frey would be able to get the binding ribbons from the Aphrodite cabin…so that
was one less thing for his beautiful blond to worry about.
“My allowance for clothing is big enough that it won’t even make a dent.” 
Draco told him matter-of-factly.  He knew he was spoiled nearly rotten.  Gods
knew he’d been told often enough by his Uncle Sev and some of the other
Slytherins.  “I’ll just tell them I’m staying over at Nev’s or maybe Blaise’s. 
They probably won’t be happy with me – with either of us – when we turn back
up…but by then it’ll be too late for them to do anything but wait out the year
and a day.”
“Mmm.”  Frey hummed in agreement.  “The dogfathers and Sev are going to have
hurt feelings…but I can’t trust them not to try and stop us, otherwise I’d have
them there, the same with your parents...”
Draco shrugged, thinking but not saying that his parents would forgive
him…especially once they were able to throw a big society bash when Draco got
married…at that point to someone other than Frey, no matter how much his father
would probably push them into making their union permanent.
They knew why they were doing things this way…and that would have to be enough
for everyone else.
If it wasn’t…well.
It wasn’t – as he’d already pointed out – there would be nothing anyone could
do about it.
Leaning down, Frey gave his wonderful – if occasionally snarky and spiteful –
love a soft smile before stealing his lips and his breath with a deep, heart-
felt kiss, sealing them together for long moments before the abrupt clearing of
a throat nearby – as well as the growing lack of air – induced them to
separate.
“One day, Mr. Potter.”  Came Sev’s silken tone.  “I will go out in search of
you and not find you attached at the lips,” or some other body part, “with
another student.”
“Of course you will Uncle Sev.”  Draco agreed readily with a smirk.  “After
all…we’ll both graduate eventually…”
Frey buried his face in Draco’s short blond hair in an attempt to hide his
snicker at his boyfriend’s words…as well as the sour look Sev gave his godson
in return for his utter cheek.
“Indeed.”  Severus sneered down at the pair.  “Nevertheless, I must insist on
your disengaging from Mr. Potter’s person, Draco.  In fact, I am certain that
there is a Charms revision session going on in the library that you
could…benefit from attending and leaving me to deal with your…infatuation in
private.”
Rolling his eyes in wordless resignation, Draco turned back to Frey and tested
his godfather’s patience with a last kiss on those well-sculpted lips before
climbing to his feet and heading towards the library.
His life wouldn’t be worth living after all if he didn’t…if Uncle Sev didn’t
make his life hell for skipping out on the revision class, his father surely
would if his son and heir turned in a less-than-spectacular performance on his
OWLs.
And Charms wasn’t as guaranteed of an O for the Malfoy Heir as Potions or
Astronomy were.
Though…what business his godfather had with his boyfriend Draco was nearly
dying to find out…with even money being that it had something to do with one or
the other of the mysterious “things” Frey was researching and working on
obsessively when he thought no one was looking…or that no one was at least
aware that some of the tomes he’d been “studying” from during their revision
sessions were glamoured to hell and gone to hide their true nature from their
friends and fellow students…not to mention the teachers, given that some of
those books most definitely weren’t from the library being most assuredly Dark
in nature…which a dark witch or wizard like Draco was able to feel by merely
coming into proximity with them.
Frey would tell him – or he wouldn’t – in his own time.
Draco knew the other teen well enough to know that much at least, and that
bothering him about it would only make the stubborn creature did his heels in
that much firmer.
After all…Draco knew more about Frey than likely anyone else in wizarding
Britain…except maybe Frey’s godfathers, the other teen never confirming that
they either knew or didn’t know about his true half-blood state that had
nothing to do with wizarding kind.
And there was a certain satisfaction to be had from knowing things no one else
did…and Draco being Draco was all about securing things to his satisfaction,
even if he’d never be able to do so with Frey…just the bulk of his secrets.
…
“It’s a bind-rune.”  Severus told Harry as soon as Draco was in the castle and
they were out of the range of any long-distance eavesdropping spells the blond
might think to try, though that didn’t stop the snarky professor from putting
up a Muffliato just in case.
Frey slowly rose to his feet, a look of deep consternation on his face at the
pronouncement, not needing any explanation of what the older wizard was talking
about, as the Dark Arts master had jumped into helping him with his Dementor
research with both feet once he’d heard what Frey had found regarding the
creatures.
Severus had fought the Dark cause all his life – to his severe regret at times
due to what it had cost him under the Dark Lord, including the friendship and
life of Lily Evans.
Setting a Dark creature free from the Ministry was right up Severus’s alley.
They just had to figure out how…which apparently he might have found.
“Are you certain?”  Frey asked, frowning as he mentally reviewed everything he
knew about bind-runes and their uses.  “A bind-rune should have shattered
immediately once the Ministry betrayed the Dementors.”
He knew he was right.  Bind-runes weren’t used often in this universe but they
were used in others, Frey himself had learned all about them at his Far’s
knee.  They were made of simple clay tablets that had been prepared using the
blood – though being Dementors he thought Dementor Essences would have been
used given that they didn’t, well, bleed – or an equally magical substance to
bind the agreement that was inscribed on the tablet then signed – also in
blood…usually.
They also served as a visual affirmation that the pact between parties remained
in place…as they cracked and shattered when the agreement was broken.
Which in the case of the broken pact between the MoM and the Dementors would
have freed them…bringing Frey back to the beginning.
A bind-rune made zero sense given that the Dementors were still bound but the
Ministry wasn’t…unless they’d found some way to keep the bind-rune from
shattering…
“Yes.”  Severus folded his arms inside his robes, one hand on each elbow as he
watched the tall teenager – almost a man grown, now – pace beside the still
waters of the Great Lake.  “Perfectly.  In 1718 Damocles Rowle became Minister
for Magic and insisted on turning Azkaban Island – the native home of the
Dementors – into a prison.  But there was a problem…”
“Dementors can’t be controlled.”  Frey commented, well aware of the nature of
the creatures after lecture upon lecture by Thanatos, Heidi, his Far, and even
Alexios.  “They only answer to Death and Her Avatars…so Rowle had to find a
way…which I’m guessing led to the bind-rune?”
Severus nodded.  “The Dark Lord wasn’t the first descendant of Salazar
Slytherin…he was merely the most recent…and insane.  Long before him there were
various branches of the family tree of the Gaunts, who around the time of Rowle
taking office stated having to sell off possession to support the ludicrous
lifestyle they’d become accustomed to.  And as the tomes we found in the
Chamber can attest…there are ways around a bind-rune shattering…if you’re
dishonorable enough to do it.”
“Given that the Rowles are blood-supremacists now, and Rowle wanted free guards
in the case of the Dementors.”  Frey noted dryly.  “Somehow I doubt that qualms
of conscience would have kept him from taking advantage of “Lesser beings” like
Dementors, whether they had a purpose or not outside of his own aims likely
never even entered his mind.”
“Politicians.”  Severus sneered in agreement.  “Do tend to put their goals
ahead the common good, especially if the common good disagrees with their own
views.  Dumbledore is an excellent example of such with his Greater Good
twaddle.  A bind-rune fits.  According to the text I found, it would have to be
kept in a specially prepared lead-and-iron box engraved with runes to negate
outside influences…such as the effects of a pact being broken.  The only
problem being…”
“Finding it.”  Frey groaned, rocking back on his heels.  “And somehow I have a
feeling I know just where to look…”
…
“Did you really think you’d be able to keep your plans away from us, pup?” 
Sirius’s voice coming from an alcove outside of Gryffindor tower had Frey
pausing in his tracks.  He’d been heading back after dinner to collect up a
few…necessities before going to the Ministry to find the damn bind-rune…and
maybe figure out what-the-fuck kept drawing Tom there, since at this point, he
was reasonably sure that it was Tom behind the two ministry employees being
hospitalized…he just wasn’t as certain over what was drawing him there over and
over again.
Shadow-walking would have been faster…but it would also have drawn attention in
the busy hive of bees that was Hogwarts during exams.
This time of year, Frey kept the popping in and out of places he wasn’t
supposed to be, or melting out of the shadows, to a minimum rather than draw
attention from Dumbledore, or even other students, that he can’t afford with
everything going on…and all at once too.
“Plans?”  Frey asked innocently, batting big green eyes at his godfathers – and
sweet darkness, Sev too – as he turned around, slipping the map that he’d been
using to scry for Tom on behind his back.
If he was going to risk breaking into the ministry, he might as well get all
the use out of it as he could…and Tom’s shade happened to have finally arrived
in London after floating around St. Albans and the Chilturn Hills – but never
staying in one place long enough for Frey to want to risk a blind shadow-step
or apparation.
Frey chuckled a bit, even as he resigned himself to not being able to talk or
laugh or joke his way out of this one…he’d been well and truly caught based on
the looks on the faces staring at him with varying degrees of immovability.
“I don’t quite know what you mean…”
Almost as one, Severus sneered, Sirius snorted, and Remus rolled his eyes, all
in disbelief.
Yeah…he didn’t think that would work but had to try anyway.
“You’ve been different this year, cub.”  Remus told him softly, with gentle
understanding.  “More distant, focused on this obscure search of yours.  Even
with Draco, you never seem…well…”
“All there.”  Sirius supplied with a cock of a brow.  “Trying to distance
yourself…and not just from us, but from everyone.  What crazy scheme have you
cooked up now, pup?  And does it have anything to do with what I gave you for
your birthday this last year?”
Giving in with a mental sigh, recognizing the look on Sev’s face from when the
older wizard categorically refused to allow him to face the basilisk alone,
Frey gestured for them to wait saying:
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.  Ah.”  He held up one hand when Sirius made to
follow him up the stairs and into the Tower regardless.  “I promise I won’t
disappear on you.  On my honor.  Just…stay a minute.  I need to change and get
a couple things…since I have a feeling that there won’t be time after you
finish haranguing me about my reckless, Gryffindorish stupidity.”  He said the
last in a perfect imitation of Sev’s mellifluous tones, the two remaining
Marauders chuckling.
“Whoa, Severus.”  Remus said with a bright grin and laughing eyes as Sirius
chortled at his side, Severus just crossing his arms with a deepening sneer. 
“He’s got you pegged.”
“Ha.  Blood.  Ha.”  The stern black-draped wizard commented in reply.  “Though,
may I point out, that his supposed imitation lampooned you two fools as well?” 
He arched a brow and snorted when they suddenly sobered with looks of betrayal
marring their formerly-lighthearted faces.  “Gryffindors.”
The trio of elder wizards waited impatiently – whether it showed was another
story – for their wayward charge to return, though when he came back, it was
mid-argument and with another young man in tow.
“For the last time, Nev, no!”  Frey snapped in exasperation.  His best-friend
after Luke and Draco had watched with wide-eyes and a grim mouth as Frey had
switched his school uniform for basilisk hide trousers, boots, and gloves with
dragonhide tunic and robes to finish off the switch.
Battle robes.
Not quite of the caliber of the all-basilisk set that was waiting for him to
freeze into his immortality, but impressive and spell-resistant nonetheless.
His Cloak was tucked into a pouch on his goblin-steel belt, blackened to dull
the shine of the metal, all his clothes or weapons in some shade of black or
grey to blend with the shadows.
When he’d turned from taking out the Potter sword – with its deadly basilisk
imbued blade – from his trunk, it had been to find Nev dressed similarly to
himself, though his clothes were his tough dragonhide gardening gear in dark
brown rather than the duelers wear of Frey’s.  Frey had immediately argued with
Nev’s silent intention to join him on whatever scheme he was about to embark
on, a one-sided argument that he might as well been having with the fucking
wall for all the mind Neville had paid him as he followed along all the way out
of the tower.
“I’m coming, Harry.”  Neville finally said, brown eyes flashing defiantly. 
“You can’t stop me.  Not if you’re in as much of a hurry as I think you are.”
“He can’t, Mr. Longbottom.”  Severus interrupted the fight with an arch of an
ebony brow.  “But I assure you…we can.”
“But we won’t.”  Remus cast a cautioning look at his fellow teacher.  “As
something tells me we’re going to need your wand with whatever trouble Harry’s
found…this time.”
“You make it sound like I seek it out.”  Frey protested half-heartedly.
“You do.”  Severus snorted.  “As a certain store of basilisk parts in my
storage can attest.  So.  What trouble have you found this time, Mr. Potter?”
“I’m coming too!”  A voice piped up from a nearby alcove, where a certain
someone had been waiting to ambush his boyfriend for a snog, only to be
interrupted by his Uncle Sev and said-boyfriend’s godfathers.  Thankfully Draco
had been wise enough to change into dark clothing for his skulking, as he
rather doubted some of his flashier clothes would have been appropriate for one
of Frey’s capers, if his stories of monster-battles and the events from last
year could attest.  “And you can’t stop me either!”
Frey groaned under his breath as Severus eyed his godson like something that
was due to be pickled and displayed in one of his specimen jars.
“No one is going anywhere.”  Sirius stated firmly, arms crossing as he scowled
at the motley crew that had assembled in the corridor.  “Until Harry provides
us with some answers.  Well, pup?  What’s this all about?”
“Voldemort.”  Frey cocked his head to one side in patent amusement when jaws
dropped all around.  “I’ve been tracking his shade – and I have a damn good
idea of where to find it.  I go, I trap his shade, and turn it over to my
patron…with maybe a stop along the way.”
“And where might I ask,” Sev drawled, refusing to be sidetracked by how the
blasted boy had accomplished what the Ministry had failed to do – though he was
rather sure Dumbledore had managed to track the Dark Lord as well.  He would,
however, be returning to this stop the irritant wanted to make along the way to
battling the Darkest lord Britain had dealt with in the last several
centuries.  “Might that be?’
Frey shrugged then answered nonchalantly.
“The Department of Mysteries.”
The adult wizards groaned while the eyes of the younger two audience members
brightened.
Now that sounded like an adventure…even if both of them were quaking in their
knickers over the thought of facing off against the Dark Lord.
Sirius rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes with a curse.
Because, of course, where else would one find a Dark Lord than the Department
of Mysteries.
“I suppose you have a plan to get into the most secure department in the entire
Ministry…all without tipping your hand to Voldemort?”  The Black scion asked
dryly.
Frey just smirked, holding out his hands.
“Grab hold…and whatever you do…don’t let go.”
…
“Merlin fuck!”  Sirius cursed low and heated as they came out the other end of
the shadow-walk in a dim corridor where the doors around them started to spin. 
“I feel cold, does anyone else feel cold?  Just what the fuck was that, pup?!”
“Calm yourself.”  Severus hissed, senses alert and wand out before the
surrounding haze of utter black had faded away, having zero intention of ever
letting the mutt know that he was equally disconcerted by their shared charge’s
little stunt.
“I thought Hogwarts was blocked from travel except by floo.”  Neville said,
feeling a bit dumb at the look that comment gained him from Draco.  “What? 
After last year and all…”
“That wasn’t exactly apparation, and it definitely wasn’t a portkey.”  Remus
told him soothingly, wand out as well, the others finally following suit as
they moved to flank their quiet leader who was studying the revolving doors
intently.  “Granted, I don’t know what it was but I gather Hogwarts isn’t
warded against it…”
“It’s Harry.”  Draco responded with a shrug, going along the easiest of them
all…of course he was also the best informedas well.  So that was shadow-
walking…or at least, that’s was he rightly assumed.
“Harry, right.”  Sirius muttered.  “Who somehow managed to circumvent the
warding around both Hogwarts and the Ministry from one breath to the next. 
Explanations better be forthcoming after this pup, or you’ll be in for the
pranking of a bloody lifetime, mark my words…”  He threatened with just the
right hint of menace to get a quirk of a grin and a devil-may-care glance from
his godson.
Challenge accepted.
“What’s the problem?”  Draco murmured lowly into one gold-tinted ear.
“It’s random.”  Frey answered finally.  “From what I can tell, unless you know
the secret to force the doors to go to the room or section you want, you have
to try your luck one by one until you get where you want to go.”
“Prevention against intruders learning something they oughtn’t.”  Severus
hummed under his breath in appreciation.  “Clever.”  He had to admit.
And a massive time-killer and pain in their collective asses.
“We are not splitting up.”  Sirius said firmly…and was ignored as in the very
next moment his godson did just that.
“One adult, one student.”  Frey told him with a stubborn set to his mouth and a
stern look.  “You can take it out of my hide later, but we don’t have the time
to dilly-dally.  Mark the doors as you clear the rooms.  Send out a patronus if
you find Voldemort…or a box made of iron and lead, inscribed with runes.”
“What’s in the box?”  Severus probed with narrowed eyes as the others simply
took it on faith, Remus taking charge of Draco – having more patience with the
spoiled teen – while Sirius reluctantly left Severus to pair with his godson.
Sirius hated that, it grated at the very marrow of him, but even he could
readily admit that when it came to protection, there wasn’t much better for
Harry than the Snarky Snape.
Even if the bastard needed to familiarize himself with the inside of a shampoo
bottle.
“Something that I’m convinced would only be kept here.”  Frey told him
evasively as they waited their turn for the doors to stop spinning, the others
having preceded them.  “Otherwise…I have no fucking clue where to find it.”
“Language.”  Severus chided him absently as they turned slightly away from each
other, wands – and in Frey’s case sword – out.  “This is…disgusting.”
Dozens upon dozens of brains…with tendrils?  Were floating in various viscous
materials.  It was enough to churn even a potion master’s stalwart stomach.
“Eeech.”  Frey hacked a little at the smell.  “Definitely not what we’re
looking for.  But there’s a far door, there.”  He pointed with his wand,
sending out a ball of red light to hover over the nearly-concealed door.  “That
might lead somewhere more promising.”
Severus sniffed derisively.
The Department of Mysteries was a warren of jumbled rooms and corridors and
random nonsense to please even Dumbledore’s haphazard sensibilities.
Severus favored his charge with a glare when the boy – who was nearly taller
than him, damn his genes…and Severus wasn’t a small man – scruffed him abruptly
when he went to open the next door several rooms after the brain room.
“What is it?”  He asked sharply, only to soften when he saw the alert – and
cautious – look in emerald eyes.
“I think you were right about what they used to bind the Dementors, Sev.”  Frey
murmured, eyes darkening with understanding as he read the waves of magic that
verily rolled from just beyond the closed door.  “And so very, very wrong.”
“What do you sense?”  Severus’s voice was hushed as his hand tightened in
reflex at the younger wizard’s tone.  Over the years, he’d grown to respect
what Lily’s boy was capable of.  And given the performance that said boy put on
during the Tournament let alone in the Chamber against the basilisk…well. 
Potter had rarely proven his faith misplaced…even if he did seem intent on
sending him into an early grave from sheer worry over his antics.
“Death magics.”  Frey told him with a grim cast crossing over his face.  “And a
lot of it.  More than I’ve ever felt concentrated in one place…barring being in
the presence of my patron Himself.  Whatever’s through that door…it won’t go
lightly into oblivion.  It’ll fight back, with everything at its disposal.” 
Frey shot Sev a look.  “Send a patronus, quietly, to the others.  They need to
be ready if this blows our cover.  If Tom really is here…once we destroy
whatever is through that door, he might very well find us before we find him.”
Nodding once, his face taking on his blank mask at the prospect of being hunted
through the Department of Mysteries by the Dark Lord, Sev quickly shot off the
two messengers to warn the others, both Black and Lupin answering back in the
negative in regards to signs of either Death Eaters – or even the Dark Lord –
being present let alone finding the box Frey had had them looking out for.
A box that he was getting more and more certain didn’t even exist.
No…the Ministry had bound their slaves with something much darker than a mere
negated bind-rune held in a magic-rebounding box.
They’d done it in blood…and sacrifice.
Steadying himself, Sev on his flank, Frey reached out and opened the door,
stepping into the cavernous room with the dreadful, chilling archway at one
end.
What could bind a Dementor?
The very thing they were designed to cleanse and renew: souls.
Murdered, executed, sacrificed souls that were siphoned out of their mortal
coils and then bound into the runic working that covered every square inch of
the black, ominous arch that whispered in the minds of any who were foolish
enough to come too close.
Common men and women would call it the Veil of Death.
Frey knew it by its proper name: an oubliette, a forgetting place, from whence
there was no hope of return.
Where it led, none of the texts knew.
But the Ministry, being too clever for themselves by half, had found a…use for
it nonetheless.
“Well.”  Severus commented, mouth quirking in a half-smirk.  “I was half-
right.  They did use runes.”
Frey snorted rolling his eyes as he walked towards the archway, sheathing his
sword for the Elder Wand.
Thankfully, he’d recently gotten a lot of practice controlling the spell that
would likely do the trick better than any other…but being a Dark spell would
ring the Ministry alerts like nobody’s business…unless the DoM was exempt from
the alerts…but he didn’t think it was.
“Fiendfyre.”  He encanted, Sev arching a brow and keeping one eye on the
entrances as an alarm began to ring.
The DoM was warded to alert on high-level Dark magic after all.
That was…unfortunate.
Part of Severus, however, couldn’t help but to stare in wonder as a fifteen-
year-old boy used the darkest of fire spells with perfect control, control that
rivalled that he’d shown over ice the previous year.  The Fiendfyre grew larger
and larger, taking on the shape of a dragon much like that he’d faces off
against, spinning in ever-tightening and ever-increasing circles of flame
around the arch, like a whirlpool beginning to form…only instead of sinking, it
rose higher and higher.  That was, at least, until it crashed down.
Tower after tower of flame crashed down on the Veil, even as the circles
surrounding it engulfed it, Frey keeping up the display until the bright-white
glow of a Patronus messenger caught his attention forcing him to smother the
flames and snuff them out, leaving nothing but a melted scorch mark on the
stone floor.
“Death Eaters!” The dog-shaped messenger hissed quietly.  “In the Hall of
Prophecy!”
Exchanging a glance, Severus cast a Point Me for Lupin, the two of them not
deigning to look back at the empty room that had just moments before housed one
of the worst acts of barbarism visited against a sentient species in British
wizarding history, both of them thoroughly disgusted with both the Ministry and
the Unspeakables who had done their dirty work and kept their shameful, blood-
drenched secret.
…
“What’s the plan, pup?”  Sirius asked for what felt like the millionth time
that night.
At least from the looks on the faces of Harry and Snape they’d found the box-
thing that he’d been after…so there was that.
Now they only had to deal with a half-dozen Death Eaters and the possibility of
Voldemort’s ruddy manky soul showing up…else everything would be just peachy
right about now.
Frey eyed the massive room with shelf after shelf after shelf filled with
glowing orbs.
He had just one question.
“All of these are prophecies?”
Sirius nodded with a shrug, being familiar with some areas of the DoM from his
years working as an Auror.
“Fulfilled, unfulfilled, in abeyance,” he rattled off.  “Given since the
founding of this department, covering events from ages past or far in the
future, you name it, it’s probably here.”
A wicked glint appeared in emerald green eyes.
“Excellent.”
…
The Death Eaters – and the form that Frey assumed was possessed by Tom given
that it was being very liberal with the Crucios – were so utterly focused on
their task of trying to break the enchantments embedded in the shelving the
prophecy orbs were placed on, that they never realized that they were being
flanked.
Granted, they’d come a dozen-strong, all Death Eaters who had either evaded
suspicion or bought their way out of Azkaban like Walden MacNair and Albert
Yaxley.
And given the semi-high placement of both of those wizards and the time of
night, they were neither expecting resistance nor truly prepared to face it
believing themselves alone, though all of them were – as always – eager for
blood to be spilled, even if it came from one of their own, as another of their
number fell under Voldemort’s (via-possession) wand at another failure.
At least…they thought they were alone, right up until their misconception was
shoved in their collective faces by a mocking drawl from behind the form of
their Master and their twitching brethren on the ground.
By Frey’s count, Tom’s temper had put at least two of his own men down for the
count and given more than one other the shakes.
Rather back-assward of him to Frey’s mind.
“Having problems, Tom?”  Frey drawled, smirking as nine wands – albeit several
that shook even if just a tad – leveled on him, the form hosting the shade not
among them.  For his part Frey held the Elder wand low and gentle at his side,
silently keeping time with it as it tapped against his leg.  “Must be
inconvenient, that whole lack of a body.  Makes touching a prophecy orb to
remove it rather difficult, doesn’t it?”  He arched a brow at the sour
expression on the half-maddened face of what had probably been at one time a
handsome young wizard.  “It’s cost you at least two hosts to the enchantments
on it by my count…”
“Harry Potter.”  The strange garbled hissing came from a mouth that jerked and
twitched.  Whoever Voldemort was riding, they weren’t weak, it taking much more
effort than Quirrell to simply speak for the shade.  But the most disconcerting
thing about the straw-haired wizard that Tom had chosen this time wasn’t the
twitch or the odd speech, but the one blue eye and one red eye that stared out
from a face that was doing an excellent impression of a stroke victim.
Whoever this was playing host to Tom’s parasite, it had nearly fired them in
the process.
“Tom Riddle.”  Frey shot back cocking his head to one side, wand tap-tap-
tapping away on his thigh, drawing more than one eye from the Death Eaters
who’d moved to face him in a sickle formation.  “And who has the pleasure,” he
sneered, rolling his eyes.  “Of hosting you tonight, Tom?  One of your minions
perhaps?”
“One of my most loyal.”  Voldemort hissed back.  “Who wasss trapped and b-b-
betrayed by hisss own father…until your own actionssss freed him from hisss
coilsss.”
“Really?”  Ebony brows flew up in mock-surprise.  “Do tell.”
“Barty C-crouch kept hisss ssshameful Death Eater ssson prisssoner for over ten
yearsss, after sssneaking him out of Azzzkaban.”  Tom hissed and spat, his
speech worsening with every word.  “Barty the Younger w-willingly took up the
c-c-charge of being my hossst when it wassss needed.”
“Wow.”  Frey responded in a deadpan, face blank.  “He must have been either a
ruddy idiot or fucking insane given what you’ve done to the last three – or is
it four now, does your ugly-snake-baby thing count as a host – hosts.”
Anticipation zinged through Frey as Tom grew increasingly enraged with his
disrespect.
Given that Tom had been found here rather than elsewhere in the DoM – such as
searching for a way to gain a new body – Frey knew just where to push and prod
and mock to make the Dark Lord lose his ever-loving-mind.
Frey knew full well what that orb said, it was about him as well after all. 
He’d been told early.  And told of the consequences of that one Seer’s words,
consequences that had left him with a distaste for the Fates and their meddling
acolytes like Dumbledore, a distaste that had only trebled when Thanatos had
filled him in on just what his fate might have been had the Avatar not
interceded.
Even the most stubborn of the Apollo cabin knew better – now that he was grown
and considered rather formidable – than to give anymore prophecies about him or
those he cared about.
He was willing to admit – at least to himself – that he had taken more
enjoyment than he’d probably should have (other than that rightfully gained
from saving a friend from a horrifying future) by spiking the prophecy Luke’s
batshit-crazy mother had given when he was just a baby.
But…hey.
Everyone needed a hobby…his just happened to be spitting in the faces of the
Fates…meddling heifers.
“Avada-”
Before the second word could leave the twitching mouth, Frey’s wand stilled,
the count finished, and then it was up in the air with a jerking motion
reminiscent of setting a hook in the mouth of a fish…and Voldemort had a hell
of a lot more to worry about than Frey, as he triggered the enchantment he’d
set in place around the room, toppling the shelves and sending a torrent of
prophecy orbs raining down on the heads of Tom and his Death Eaters, Frey and
his companions all shielded with their prepatory spellwork, Remus keeping up a
shield around himself and Neville, while Draco shielded Sirius and Severus. 
Those who weren’t responsible for keeping up the shields – against both the
orbs and the Death Eaters once Yaxley finally noticed Frey hadn’t come alone.
It was madness, spells flying and Seers growling, shouting, or chanting,
apparitions rising in clouds of dust motes and light from the ground.
It was chaos, Severus and Sirius each taking down their first targets with grim
looks that were belied by a manic grin or gleeful eyes, taking no prisoners and
giving no quarter while Neville settled for merely maiming the type of monsters
that stole his parents.
It was glorious.
Within a matter of a minute or two, all of the orbs had fallen and the
shielders had stopped their defense, both Remus and Draco falling into a spate
of hexes and curses and shields with whichever Death Eater decided to try their
hand, more than one underestimating the sheer maliciousness that Draco
generally took great care to prune and cultivate to ensure that it didn’t pour
out on an undeserving target…mainly as he knew Frey probably wouldn’t like it
if he didn’t mind his manners with some of the dolts the blond had to deal with
on a daily basis.
And throughout it all, as if in the eye of the storm, Frey and Tom were locked
in a furious exchange of wordless curses, each nastier than the last.
All the while, Tom – and his host – remained blind to the inches of ground that
he steadily lost, his opponent ever coming closer.
And why would he be aware of such a thing?
After all, who in their right mind had ever wanted to get closer to one of the
deadliest wizards in the last two centuries?
No one sane…that was certain…which rather explained why Dumbledore was always
eager to engage the Dark Lord in a duel.
“What is your plan, boy?”  Tom hissed and spat.  “Kill me again?”  He scoffed. 
“I am Lord Voldemort!  You think to defeat me?  Me?!  Who has gone further down
the path to immortality than any wizard before me?!”  Voldemort shouted, his
words easily reaching the surrounding wizards – a number which had grown
exponentially as the Aurors finally responded to the alarms sounded by Frey’s
use of Fiendfyre in the Veil Chamber.  “I am forever!”
Frey nearly rolled his eyes at the melodrama.
“No.”  He corrected, calm and firm, not even out of breath as he darted forward
with speed that was almost beyond that of mortal man, dropping the Elder wand
which returned to its holster so that he could grab hold of Tom’s – Barty’s? –
wandarm, holding it high and away from them, hiding the dagger that he’d taken
smoothly from the sheath at his lower back, holding it hidden in the shadows
between them.  Shadows which had thickened and hidden the dagger from sight at
a mental command from Frey.  “You’re not.  No wizard is.  Not you.  Not
Dumbledore.  Not even Nicholas Flamel.  Mortals age and then they die.  That is
their way.  That is your way.”
Without further ado, Frey thrust the dagger into the still-beating heart of
Barty Crouch Jr., the Cursed Blade tugging and pulling at Tom’s parasitic
shade, siphoning it unstoppably into the onyx hilt.
“What?”  Barty gasped as he felt himself become alone, one hand coming up to
press against the bleeding wound as beat by beat of his heart he bled out onto
the wreckage-strewn stone floor.  “What have you done?”
“Now that.”  Another voice came from around them as Frey banished the dagger
back to the sheath at his back.  Once he was alone it would be a matter of
summoning Thanatos to remove the shade.  But for the moment at least, Tom’s
merest sliver of a soul was safe and sound and trapped in Frey’s hands.  “Is a
question that I believe many of us would like answers to young man.”  The
peppery tones of Amelia Bones were a match for the stern mien the witch had
taken upon witnessing what appeared to be the final end of Voldemort.
Frey blushed a bit, playing up his role of bashful hero, all the while locking
eyes with a whole – merely suffering scratches and a burn across one shoulder
from what he could tell – and healthy Draco over her shoulder.
“Secured the future, Madame Bones.”  He said at last with a faint half-smile. 
“Now not one more soul will ever have to grow up listening to stories of a
snake-faced fiend who will return to cleanse the wizarding world.  Voldemort is
dead.  Let his reign – past and present – die with him.”
…
                                 Daily Prophet
                                 June 8, 1996
                                  Front Page:
                                 Boy-Who-Lived
                              Now_the_Vanquisher?
                Death_Eaters,_Duels,_and_the_Shade_of_Voldemort
              What Reallyhappened_in_the_Department_of_Mysteries?
                           An_investigative_report.
                                        
                                  Back Page:
              Veil_of_Death_a_Casualty_of_Death_Eater_Reprisals?
       Dozens_Dead_in_Azkaban_as_Dementors_Revolt_from_Wizarding_Control
…
“I’ll be back for my birthday, for our day.  You have my word, no matter what,
even if I have to slay another dark lord, I will be here, love.  I swear on the
blood of Ymir I will.”  Frey swore to Draco as he held that precious face
between his callused palms.
The furor around the DoM had finally died down, and school was soon to let out.
But no sooner had one fire been extinguished than another had sprung up, and
Frey’s duty to his friends – to this world – were drawing him ever backward to
New York.
“You better, Frey.”  Draco swore right back at him, jerking him down into a
hard, claiming kiss by his braids.  “Or so help you, I’ll hunt you down and
kill you myself, dark lords bedamned!”
***** Twenty-Six *****
                                    Lokison
A/U: As you might have guessed from the events of the last chapter and the
title of this one, we’re moving away from HP events and into Percy Jackson
territory.  We’ll still have plenty of wizarding world going on, but the main
“action” of the story from here until the end ofLokisonwill be mostly
surrounding the PJ storyline and giving Frey more chances to flex his godling
muscles and learn/grow his powers.
                     Chapter Twenty-Six: Lightning Strikes
Frey stood along in the same warded grove with the simple wooden alter where
he’d gone through his Rites, standing stoic and calm as his Far and his Patron
had worked with tireless hands to tattoo Yggdrasil upon his back and the runic
bands of his house and bloodline and station upon his biceps and shoulder caps.
This was also the place where Frey had revealed Loki’s true heritage to his
father, and where Laufey had claimed Frey as being of the House of Ymir.
It had a heavy sort of significance to it, one that he felt was fitting, given
that he was taking the final step out from behind the shield of Thanatos’s
Patronage.
From here on out, once this brief bit of ceremony was done and finished, Frey
would begin forging his own path without the ever-present force of Thanatos
guiding him or marking the way.
He would always have a connection to the Elder god, but he would no longer
belong to the Elder god – and that was something he coveted a great deal.
Frey had been itching to pass over Tom’s final soul shard, but with the heavy
gazes of both Asgard and the Wizarding World upon him after his final show-down
with the Dark Lord, calling attention to both his relationship – rare as it was
– with the Avatar as well as his possession of a dieumort seemed…ill-advised. 
He wouldn’t have been the first person to have possession of a toy Odin wanted,
and he rather doubted he would have been the last the greedy god had destroyed
to gain whatever had caught his one eye had he been so foolish as if to flaunt
the Blade before it.  Asgard watched him too closely for Frey to take the
chance, so it had had to wait.
And with a bit of collusion from Loki – and a well-timed minor explosion in an
empty barrack in the Golden Palace as a result – Asgard would have other things
to worry about this night than a meeting between Patron and Ward.
“You have completed your quest.”  Thanatos spoke solemnly, his handsome face
bare – including the scar that crossed one eye and cheek – for the occasion. 
Holding out one lean hand he gestured for the knife.
Frey smirked a bit, removing the Blade from its sheath, his own hand hovering
over the pommel.
Watching, Thanatos arched a brow.  They both knew that the Elder god had
intended Frey to hand over the Blade…something which Frey had no intention of
actually doing.
Drawing on the power inside him that had likely come from Thanatos himself –
and always seemed to be growing moment by moment – Frey sucked in a breath and
his eyes burned bright Avada green for a long moment, then yielding to Frey’s
wordless command as it was created to do, the Blade gave up its captive, the
small misty orb – barely the size of a marble – that made up Tom Riddle’s final
soul shard coalescing in Frey’s palm, which he held out in turn to Thanatos as
he resheathed the Blade at his back.
“Holding infinity in the palm of your hand?”  Thanatos smirked, eyeing his
protégé with a mix of concern – for the clear strain the show was putting on
Frey’s powers – and pride for how far he had come.  Though the young godling
still had eons to go before he was his own equal…he was closer than many had
come in many lifetimes.
“Well.”  Frey snarked back.  “It’s not exactly a heaven in a wildflower, but I
do believe this belongs to you.”
“So it does.”  Thanatos reached out and closed his fist around the cloudy
black-grey mist, snuffing out the show and sending that last, tenacious bit of
one of the more annoying wizards he’d ever had to sic one of his people on –
whether a shadow warrior, Harvest Maiden, or a protégé and/or acolyte like
Frey.
A bit of a mad wanker was Tom – and annoying as Gaea on one of her “my children
must be avenged” rampages.
Frey gave a slow nod, making as if to turn away their business done, when
Thanatos rocketed out one hand lightning quick and grabbed his wrist – the same
that he’d branded with the Hallows mark a year or so ago when he’d set Frey on
Voldemort’s trail, adding to his task as a punishment for his misbehavior.
His protégé gasped knees almost buckling as his mark burned under the touch of
Thanatos, head tossing back as his grit his teeth against the pain.
“Surely you didn’t think it was that easy did you?”  Thanatos half-mocked him,
tone jaunty.  “To leave the service of one such as me?”  He tsked.  “Clearly we
haven’t done enough to educate you in the ways of the gods if that’s the case.”
“Not that easy.”  Frey bit out, hanging onto his pride by his fingernails as
the intense heat and unrelenting pain continued, pounding against his resolve. 
“But I don’t owe you anything now.”
“There is, still,” Thanatos sighed, shaking his head.  “The matter of the
contract, that which allowed your very birth.”
“That doesn’t concern you.”  Frey shot back as the pain began to ebb away,
shaking his arm and breaking the Elder god’s hold, partly through a burst of
immortal strength – strength that came and went as he settled further into his
Becoming but that wouldn’t settle on him fully until he became fully immortal –
and partly through Thanatos allowing the move.  Frey barely shot a glance at
his arm, just enough to see that what had been a simple brand-like marking was
now a full-tattoo filled and shaded in the colors of the Harvest Lord, gold and
orange and red filling the spaces between the black, the colors of Thanatos. 
“Not until I either have children or become an immortal…”
“Or die.”  Thanatos reminded him dryly.  “As that would also constitute a
breach of the agreement.  The Potter and Peverell lines must be continued.  It
is your duty.  All I have done is make certain you live that long…as I’ve an
inkling about your plans regarding the coming Turn.”
“What?”  Frey asked, nearly sidetracked, but his temper which had been roused
by the grab and exacerbated by the pain, rose to keep him on track.  “I know
that.  You think I don’t know that?”  He snorted, beginning to pace under
Thanatos’s now nearly-indulgent gaze.  Somedays his former-Patron – which he
imagined part of the pain of Thanatos’s “gift” had been the peeling back of the
Elder god’s invisible “back off” sign on his aura – could be more mercurial
than his Father waffling about whether Thor was or wasn’t or maybe-might-be his
brother…or maybe not.
It was kind of entertaining to Frey…after all, it didn’t really matter to him.
Considering someone you’d never met and only heard stories about as real
“family” was a bit difficult in the face of flesh-and-blood like his uncles
Helblindi and Byleistr.
Thor – to Frey – was just another bedtime story, and if anything a problem to
be tackled a later date when he eventually journeyed to Yggdrasil in a more
visible fashion.
He continued his rant, temper well-and-truly boiling over.
“All my fucking life that’s all I’ve known.”  Frey spat at the amused dark
figure.  “My duty to you.  My duty to the Wizarding World.  My duty as a Lord. 
My duty as a Prince.  My duty as a hero, as a half-blood, as a fucking
AesirPrince…but I’m not an Aesir after all, now am I?”  He sneered.  “No, the
holier-than-thou crow-fucking bastard had lied, to everyone including his own
family, and all of Yggdrasil for thousands of fucking years!  I slew a damn
hydra when I should have been learning multiplication tables.  Di immortals!” 
He cursed.  “I learned swordcraft before I learned how to use a fucking
telephone!  I don’t fucking need you, one of the bastards that did this to me,
to remind me of my fucking duty!”  He barked.  “I know!  I know my fucking
duty!  And I’ll do it just like I did all the ones before it and all the ones
after it!  I’ll have some kids – kids I’ll have to watch grow and age and
fucking die, mind you!  And then I’ll go off and slay another monster or kill
another fucking Dark Lord…because what-the-fuck-else am I going to do with my
very-fucking-much abnormal life?!”
The sound of his panting filled the clearing as he finally seemed to run out of
steam.
Only he hadn’t…not quite.
“I’m not mad at Far.”  He said quietly.  “Or with my other parents, not
really.  I don’t blame them for my life.  And most of the time I don’t mind it
– not really – being so very much not normal.  With Voldemort after my ass,
whether I was regular-wizard Harry Potter or not – I never could have been
that, at least I don’t think.”  He shrugged, looking away, eyes shadowed and
face bleak.  “But you?  Death?  The Fates?  You all fucked with me before I was
even born.  Meddled a bit here, switched things around a bit there.  Now here
you are.”  He gestured towards the shadow-wreathed figure half-heartedly,
showing the redone marking in stark relief.  “Doing it again.  And why?”  He
shook his head baffled.  “Trying to stack the deck?”
“You’re to be a Death god.”  Thanatos admitted after a long moment of frozen
silence, realizing that he’d never get another chance with this one if he
didn’t.  “You had to have realized…”
“Realized?”  Frey chuckled sardonically.  “Maybe.  Pumping me full of death
magic at every opportunity, leading me to freeing the Dementors, to forging a
dieumort – that was a good one by the way, I didn’t quite realize what it meant
at the time – you were stacking the deck, trying to predispose me towards
claiming Death as my dominion in Yggdrasil, right?”
Thanatos just shrugged.  “You’re one of mine.  Is it so wrong that I would want
one of mine to join me, to be like me?”
“Wrong, no.”  Frey answered.  “But…”  He smiled a gentle smile, one filled with
more than a bit of finality at the Elder god as the scent of ice and sea air
began to tingle at his senses.
His Far was trying to break through the warding, alarmed no doubt by how long
the two have been in conference with each other.
“I’m not a normal half-blood rising to the ranks of divinity.”  He reminded his
former patron.  “Or even a normal godling raised by the gods among them.  I’m
something else.  Something new.  You did that.”  He pointed out.  “With help
from your Primordial Mistress Death and the Fates, and and and.”  He cocked his
head to the side.  “Ascending won’t be a shock to my system, or an
inevitability.  And no one is going to force me to be anything I don’t want to
be.  I could Claim Death as my dominion.  Or Darkness or Shadow, or even
Trickery or Lies or or or.”  He waved a hand.  “The possibilities really
areendless.  You see now.”  Frey said, continuing unstoppably on, all with that
same gentle smile on his face.  “There’s a dozen things – or more – that I
could Claim upon my Ascension.  Death is only one of them.  My power can compel
me towards a certain aspect of Divinity…but it can’t force me.”  His words
turned silky.  “After I do this one last thing, that which was agreed upon for
me before I was even conceived, I will never be forced by another being in the
matter of my own future.”
“So mote it be.”  Thanatos said with an ironic smile and a nod of his head. 
“You are free Frey Haraldr.  Free from my service.  Free from you childhood.  I
pronounce you a half-blood grown, and freed from the service of Olympus and
Hades.  So mote it be.”
Thanatos turned, but glanced back before disappearing into the shadows to give
one last parting word.
“This won’t be the last we’ll meet, young Frey.”
“I’m sure it won’t, Elder Thanatos.”  Frey smiled, a bit of his normal good-
nature returning to his face.  “But next time…it’ll be on my terms.”
“Frey Haraldr.”  Thanatos murmured to himself as he let the shadows whisk him
away from New York.  “How you have grown.”
…
Several days passed uneventfully after Frey had his showdown with his former
Patron.
Life carried on.
Frey still lived in the Thanatos Cabin, though the sigil had changed while he’d
been otherwise occupied with handing over Tom’s soul shard and getting the shit
burned out of his arm to the same sign of what he’d found out from Chiron was
called the “Master of Death.”
Because that didn’t speak of foretelling and Thanatos playing with his future.
Great.
Just fucking great.
But he wasn’t temporarily homeless whilst visiting the Camp, so there was that…
The air was tense.
He and Luke sparred, or taught the younger campers, or helped Silena with her
duties, Frey joining in on the rounds of Capture the Flag, which the Blue team
tended to win even against the “unbeatable” combination of the Athena and Ares
cabins.
Luke and Annabeth had gotten into some kind of friendly-rivals grudge match
while Frey was off offing his pesky neighborhood Dark Lord, making things a bit
tricky to navigate…but entertaining as hell to instigate everything from food
fights to pranks to insult-matches.
Nevertheless, despite Frey’s best efforts, there was an air of tense
anticipation around the Camp.
Something was very wrong.
Not the least of which was Chiron’s tale of having to help save a young half-
blood with sea-green eyes from a fucking harpy.
Hades had to be epically pissed off to unleash those three from the Underworld,
in fact the last time Frey’d heard of it happening (other than for their legal
prowess) had been…
Well, fuck.
It had been when Thalia, daughter of Zeus, had been discovered, by whose very
presence broke a fifty-year pact between the Big Three against fathering (or
mothering, Frey wasn’t making any bets against any of the three being able to
pull it off after what he’d learned about his own anatomy) half-blood children
due to the damage they tended to cause on Earth when they went to war against
each other.
“You know who the last kid who had one of those nasty biddies out for their
blood was…right?”  Frey mentioned the next day after hearing Chiron’s story as
he stood over the subject of said-story…a lean half-blood pre-teen who’d echoed
one of Frey’s bigger slays by slaying the minotaur on the way to the safety of
the wards…though not without cost.
Having lost both James and Lily as a toddler…Frey would never wish that pain
upon another, especially a young boy as clueless as Grover and Chiron were
insisting this one was.
“Mhmm.”  Luke nodded, frown marring his handsome face as Annabeth made her way
into the infirmary.  Exchanging a wordless glance, both agreed to shelve the
topic until later.  Thalia’s death…or en-treeing depending on how you looked at
it…was still a very raw wound for the young girl.  “What’s up shorty?”
“Shut up, Luke.”  Annabeth bit out with a pout, crossing her arms over her
chest.  “Who is this kid, anyway?  I told Chiron I’d watch him until he woke
up.”
Both older teens just shrugged and stood, wandering away and leaving her to it
– and to interrogate said helpless victim when he woke up.
Hey.
Better him than them.
When it came to an Athena half-blood and their search for knowledge, it was
every man for themselves.
…
“Alright.”  Luke pinned his best-friend with a half-hearted glare.  “What’s
eating you?  Things have been…off ever since you came home.  It isn’t Jackson
is it?”
Luke couldn’t see why it would be.
Yeah, the new-kid-hazing thing that Clarisse liked to pull was a bit of a pain,
and so was all the speculation that had started to run rampant ever since the
new kid used water powers to take out the more thuggish group among the Ares
kids…but all in all, it mostly was normal Camp-Half-Blood-stuff, nothing new,
especially to someone who’d been living there almost his entire life.
Having a new camper – even one as potentially problematic as an even-odds-he’s-
Poseidon’s Perseus “Percy” Jackson – shouldn’t be messing with Luke’s best-
friend.
Which probably meant that Frey was up to his tight ass in trouble of one kind
or another.
Frey just pursed his lips and shook his head, not even turning to look away
from the sparring ring where Annabeth was going through forms with Jackson. 
Which was good, since other then the three of them – Luke, Frey, and Silena –
most of the other campers were giving the poor bastard a wide berth.  Annabeth
just wasn’t the sort to go with the flow, probably one of the reasons she fell
in with Luke and the still-a-tree-Thalia so quickly when they were all on the
run and slowly making their way to Camp.
“Got into it with Thanatos…a bit.”
“Well, fuck me.”  Luke blew out a shocked breath and gave a short laugh.  “You
don’t do anything by halves do you?”
“It made sense…at the time.”
“You know.”  Luke shook his head then vaulted the ring rail, planning to help
train up the newbie before Annabeth lost her patience.  “You’re going to bite
off more than you can chew one day and that right there is what I’ll have
embroidered on your shroud: it made sense at the time…”
…
A Claiming – and the calling in of bets as Jackson was claimed by his
father…Poseidon – and an ultimatum later found Frey tapping one foot on the
perfect white tiled floor of Zeus’s bedroom, an irritated arch to his brow and
an expression demanding an explanation written all over his face as Ganymede
snickered from the bed where he was reclining as Zeus fidgeted under his
lover’s gimlet gaze.
“Please.”  Frey’s tone was pure Jotunheim ice.  “Please for the love of chaos,”
he shouted.  “That you didn’t lose your fucking masterbolt with your bedamned
Father rousing in Tartarus!”
“Well…”  Zeus shrugged a bit, looking over at his other lover for help,
Ganymede rapidly shaking his head and holding up his hands in denial.
They both might be gods and Frey wasn’t…not yet at least…but when he got hacked
off enough even they watched their step with him.
He might not be able to kill them, but he was already powerful enough to hurt
them…and like anyone immortal, they had a healthy respect for anyone with that
sort of power.
Or he might just decide to hold out on them…you know…that too.
Raising his hands with a put-upon groan, Frey ground them a bit into his eye
sockets.
“You know, fuck,  I know you know,” he said, mentally chanting all the reasons
why lashing out at Zeus – beyond throwing a bit of a fit – was a bad idea as he
barely kept his temper.  “That that kid didn’t have jack shit to do with that
bolt going missing.  Even odds says it was a half-blood that your father got
his hooks into before I was able to block him from forcing or coercing his way
into any of the minds at Camp.  Which doesn’t include Percy Jackson.”
“Poseidon still broke our pact.”  Zeus changed tacks.  “I’m within my rights to
punish him for it.”
“So did you, and unless my instincts are wrong about the Moirae and their
games, so has Hades.”  Frey sighed, dropping his hands in defeat.  “Let’s not
go there, okay?  It’ll just make me even more pissed off than I already am over
this whole situation.  To recap: your Bolt is missing, two pre-teens and a
slightly-immature satyr are off on a quest to find it and save Sally Jackson’s
soul from your brother, and I have a fucking migraine…anything else?”
“We’re pretty sure Hades’s Helm is missing too.”  Ganymede added, the Spymaster
peeking out from behind the curtain of the silly Cupbearer.  “Which is the real
reason why he’s so pissed off.  He isn’t as in-the-know about Kronus…”
“Which is fucking ludicrous how obstinant he is on the subject when Tartarus is
part of his domain.”  Zeus interjected, Ganymede carrying out without pause.
“…so he really is hoping that Poseidon’s latest kid has either it or the Bolt.”
“Fantastic.”  Frey swore under his breath.  “You know I’m not just going to let
this lay…right?”
Ganymede smirked.  “Well…from what I can tell, Thanatos freed you from the onus
of following the traditional half-blood rules…so it’s not like you have
anything stopping you…other than all the minions of Hades between here and
wherever our little heroes are at the moment.”
Frey smirked right back and stepped into the shadows and away from Olympus.
“Oh, great, thanks for that.”  Zeus snarked at his lover.  “I was hoping for
angry-hate-sex before he left.  Now if we’re lucky we’ll get gloating-goodbye-
sex before he goes off to handfast himself to his pretty blond.”
“Poor baby.”  Ganymede rolled his eyes.  “It’s so hard to be the King of the
Gods…”
…
Metal clanged and clashed as sword struck sword, Percy and Ares facing off on
the beach where the pearls had spit them out from the Underworld.
Percy had more than a little axe to grind with the god of War, who had led them
into a trap and nearly cost all of them their lives – who had cost his mother
her life as Percy had, as the prophecy said, failed to save what mattered
most…in the end.
You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.
You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.
You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.
Though, if anyone had thought to ask him, he wouldn’t have picked Ares as the
god who had turned over Hades.
And yet…there they were, Ares with a wounded heel, and Percy tired and running
on empty, the enraged god sure to kill him at any moment…at least, that’s what
he thought.
Only it wasn’t his sword that blocked the next blow…but another.
“You know.”  Frey mused, finally stepping from the shadows where he’d spent the
better part of a week watching over the trio as they made their way from New
York to the Underworld.  And as a result…was a mite bit irritable.  “For a
god…you’re not very smart, there, are you Ares?”  Frey asked with mock-
sincerity.  “I mean…setting up your uncle’s kid?”  He tsked.  “Especially given
that Percy here seems to be of the self-sacrificing, never-give-up school of
heroics.  Not very smart, no.  Not smart at all.  Now Zeus is going to get his
bolt…and who’s going to be blamed?”  Frey arched a brow as he met Ares blow-
for-blow with his Potter sword, one of the few capable of standing up against a
war god in single combat.  He wouldn’t last long enough to take Ares out, not
unless he got one of those bursts of strength again like with Thanatos, but
hopefully it would be enough for the kids to take the distraction for what it
was and get their asses to Olympus.  “Not Hades, that’s for sure.”
“Ah, yes.”  Ares sneered.  “Father’s latest whore.  How is that working out for
you, half-blood?”
“Given that I’m here and thus far not dead.”  Frey answered dryly, shoving Ares
back inch by inch until he was nearly pinned against his motorcycle.  “Rather
well, I’d say.  Better than some of your recent choices.  Stealing from Zeus
and Hades, trying to incite a nice little family war?”  He tsked again,
repeating once more: “Not very smart, Ares.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”  Ares bit out, then swung his sword with a roar,
watching in shock as it flew out of his hand with a bit of a clever move from
Frey and a gust of power that rocked him back.  Ares blinked, eyeing the
annoying half-blood more closely for a moment before shoving it aside.  He
didn’t have time to worry about half-blood weirdness…especially when said half-
blood was right and he was going to have both his father and his uncles on his
ass any minute.  “I just…liberated the bolt and helm from the kid who did.” 
Shifting, he sighed internally then gave a wordless command to his ride, the
front shifting and revealing the Helm of Darkness which he handed over to Frey,
who in turn passed it off to Percy.  “I don’t even know why,” Ares muttered,
put out.  “It was as if…”
“You were possessed?”  Frey offered with a groan.  “Great, just fucking great.”
“What is it?”  Grover asked, eyes wide as Percy clung to the Helm – and the
only chance he had at saving his mother – for dear life.
“I ran into another possession case a couple years ago.”  Frey reminded the
satyr.  “Luke, remember?  And it was Kronus doing the possessing.  If he’s
gained enough power to influence a god, especially one like Ares, well…”
Grover gave a worried bleat.
That was very not good at all…
…
“I off one evil megalomaniac, only to run headlong into a fight against
another.”  Frey noted with no little amount of bitterness to his father, once
he finished running down the events of the past week to Loki when the god and
Avatar managed to escape long enough from his royal duties to visit his
dreams.  “Just fucking great.”
“Technically, my son.”  Loki pointed out, even as he frowned heavily, mind
focused on searching through every angle, every detail of the situation that
was brewing in the Olympian pantheon.  “You don’t have to do a thing.  You
fulfilled your fated destiny when you finished Riddle.  There’s nothing forcing
you into this situation.  You’ve chosen it.”
Frey slumped a little as his father’s – dead-on as usual – summery knocked a
lot of the wind out of his indignant sails.
“I know.”  Frey sighed, running one hand down his braided hair in agitation. 
“But…”
“Ah, the dreaded but, however, in the end, etc.”  Loki teased.  “More than one
harebrained-scheme has started – and ended disastrously – with a but.”
He would know, after all, he’d spent thousands of years through thousands of
incarnations cleaning up after Thor and his friends.
At least in this incarnation he had Frey to look forward to, and other than
Hela none of his blood had been cursed or harmed – thus far – by Odin or the
other Aesir…which often wasn’t the case and what generally drove him down a
dark path from what he’d discovered when he rose up high enough this
incarnation to become an Avatar – and thusly take himself out of the cycle of
birth and rebirth.
“But,” Frey rolled his ever-brightening eyes.  They weren’t the telling-
immortal-glowing-green of Loki’s eyes in his Aesir form – not yet – but
fraction by fraction they were getting there, the same infinitesimal changes
that marked his ever-strengthening form, his ever-increasing height-and-
breadth, and his increasingly-radiant skin, among other tells such as his brain
growing ever more neurodiverse and his power subtly darkening to match his
eventual domain.  “Other than kidnapping and scooping up everyone I care about
and hiding them away from Kronus and Odin on Jotunheim – or some other
dimension – there’s not really much of a choice involved.  My precious people –
excepting present company and a few others – have to stay here.  Or at least
that’s how they’d feel about the proposition of relocation.  So unless I want
them either killed or enslaved by an even bigger asshole than the One-Eyed
raven-fucker I don’t really have that much of a choice in the situation but to
help.”
“Well if you’re going to be all heroic about it…”
“Far…”
***** Twenty-Seven *****
Chapter Summary
     Warning for MPreg
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: I know a lot of you aren’t jumping for joy over the Draco
situation, but with how I’ve written the story it’s a necessary and temporary
part of Frey/Harry’s life.  This is the last chapter with overt Drarry themes,
hereafter they’ll be more friends-with-benefits/co-parents than loves.  Just
hang-on this storyline is almost done and then Frey can go back to sowing some
wild oats for a while.
                    Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Year and A Day
August 1st 1996, Peverell Fen, Unplottable Location
The pendant Frey had given him shone brightly under the light of the Lughnasadh
moon as Draco stared with eyes as luminous silver as the moon itself up at him.
Loki watched with cautious eyes as the two younglings reached out and joined
hands, both dressed in simple – and traditional – undyed cotton robes, the only
adornment either wore being the gleaming pendant around the Malfoy Heir’s neck
and the engraved cuff with the Yggdrasil sigil – a long-ago present from Loki
himself – just below Frey’s left elbow.
No other eyes were spying on them this day – Loki had ensured it – and Draco
trembled both from nervous excitement and sheer terror over finally meeting his
Frey’s father…and his family’s patron.
They were as alone as they could be, even Loki was only present to perform the
handfasting – and make certain that another couldn’t attempt to bind the two
more tightly – or permanently – than was required.
Loki had a great deal of respect for the Malfoy self-interest, which was second
only to their hefty strain of self-preservation, and had no intention of
gambling on which would win out if Lucius had been allowed to preside over the
rite instead of himself, no matter how much easier it would have been what with
Loki having to keep a clone active on Asgard for the rites going on there as
well as cloaking all sight of the event as well as performing the handfasting. 
It was a mere trifle for someone with his power, but still…blocking the All-
Father’s or Heimdall’s sight was never easy for all that he was well-practiced
at it by this juncture.
Taking up the pure Acromantula silk tie, Loki looped it over and around their
clasped hands as his son and young Draco seemed to carry out an entire
conversation without saying a word.  Resting one of his palms on the back of
their hands and the other on the underside, holding their hands between his
own, he nodded at his son who said his words.
“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself.  But while we both wish it, I
give you that which is mine to give.”  Frey swore, green eyes dark with
promise, then leaned down and pressed a meaning-filled hiss to the corner of
Draco’s cupid’s-bow mouth.
A mouth which quirked a bit before opening and giving his own promise.
“You cannot command me, for I am a free person.”  Draco said, knowing that it
would be true for this year-and-a-day if not for once he actually became a
vassal and acolyte of Frey’s father Loki…a time which was hopefully far away. 
“But I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste
sweeter coming from my hand.”
Standing on his toes, Draco echoed Frey’s sealing-kiss, though stepping out of
tradition for a moment and going for a heated, tongue-twining kiss that had
Loki giving a coughing laugh to separate them, eyes dancing, before finishing
the simple ritual.
“Now you are bound one to the other with a tie not easy to break.”  The God of
Mischief and Chaos swore, flicking his fingers in a manner that had his magic
sweeping out and swirling around the pair, binding them in truth the way the
silk bound them in symbol.  Intention was everything here.  If it was done with
the intention of permanence, it would be exactly that…no matter what pretty
words the officiant used.  “Take the time of binding, this year and a day, to
learn what you need to know - to grow in wisdom and love.  Frey, Draco,” he
nodded to each youngling.  “As the Avatar of Magic I pronounce you bound fast,
should you wish it, your union can be made permanent at the end of this time,
or be severed without harm or judgement.  So mote it be.”
“So mote it be.”  The two newly-minted spouses murmured as magic danced around
them once more before sinking into their hands, the silk tie sinking into their
skin and creating a bonding-mark, the currently location and status of their
bond.  Only if they chose – which they wouldn’t – would it rise and sink into
their hearts and minds and souls.  Still, it gave them the legal standing each
needed for Draco to be considered an adult wizard a year early – important
since they had a bit of official business to carry out before disappearing on
their “honeymoon.”
Frey swooped up Draco into his arms, kissing him ecstatically while Draco
joined in his laughter while Loki clapped with a slight smile for their
overflowing happiness.
Whatever may come of their temporary union, at this moment each was happier
than they’d ever been, and that was all that mattered to the god as he caught
his son’s eyes and gave a nod before melting away, returning to Asgard and
dismissing his clone-double.
Whatever Loki’s doubts over the situation, his son was perfectly right over
what he’d said to Thanatos – they, him, Thanatos, James and Lily, even the
Primordials who had meddled, they had all put him into this situation without a
care for what might come of it whether joy or tragedy.
Frey and Draco were both filled with joy and young love, the invincibility of
young men.
Time would take it’s toll on them, Frey would eventually have to leave, but not
now, not at this very moment.
And really…Loki was glad that whatever trials would come, Frey would have an
anchor in his future children and this happy moment with his first love.
…
Later that night, in the Master suite of Peverell Fen, Frey gently brushed a
lock of silver-blond hair out of silver-blue eyes as his satiated new husband
cuddled into his chest, half-lying on the much-larger form for the godling.
No sooner had Frey’s Far disappeared back to Asgard than he’d swept Draco away
to the castle proper – specifically the massive silk-draped solid-oak bed that
was probably older than Hogwarts and had once upon a time seen the conception
and birth of generation after generation of Peverell Lords.
Hours had passed between then and now, and Frey had thought that Draco was
holding onto consciousness by his well-manicured fingernails – Frey himself
wasn’t tired or satiated but that had more to do with his having entered his
Becoming than some short-coming on Draco’s part.  Draco disabused him of any
notion of tiredness when he spoke up, voice clear and firm – and shattering
several of Frey’s long-set plans in the process.
“I don’t want to use a surrogate.”  Draco dropped that bombshell with a firm-
but-serene tone that Frey recognized as having been inherited from Narcissa. 
“I don’t see the point, especially if we finish our business at the Ministry on
time.”
Frey arched his brows in disbelief as he tilted his head down to stare into
rock-hard gaze that only moments before had been closed and sleepy.
His response was a bit short, though understandable since his new husband – if
only for a year and a day – had just short-circuited his brain.
“What?”
“Contract, ritual, surrogate.”  Draco said slowly poking his lover in the side
with one long, elegant finger.  “All of those things that required us to get
semi-married…remember oh genius one?”
“I know what you’re talking about.”  Frey rolled his eyes a bit.  “I mainly
stuck on the no-surrogate part.  How then do you propose we give Thanatos the
magical line-heirs he’s expecting me to provide before I’m free – completely –
of the wizarding world?”
Draco shrugged, giving a pretense of nonchalance that he wasn’t even close to
actually feeling.
This was important to him – more important than Frey was ever to likely
realize.
Children between them would make a bond that wouldn’t break along with their
handfasting next August…something which at the moment Draco had no guarantee
of.  He couldn’t fathom – wouldn’t fathom – a life that was absent Frey.  He
just wouldn’t.  If that meant a bit of…discomfort on his part then…so be it. 
At least he’d have something of Frey’s with him always, even if in the end all
it was was a pendant and the children they would share between them.
Frey had just been too much a part of Draco’s life for the Malfoy Heir to let
him go completely.
Besides which…he had an idea who Frey might want to use as a surrogate…and that
know-it-all beaver of an annoying bitchy muggleborn would carry Draco’s
children over his dead fucking body.
“You do realize that I’m a carrier…”  Draco drawled, rather amused at the
adorably-confused look on Frey’s handsome face.  “Right…?”
“Ah, oh, oh.”  Frey stuttered, eyes wide.  “I just thought…”
“What?”  This time it was Draco rolling his eyes.  “That my father would allow
me to entertain the very idea of a husband instead of a wife because I’m just
that fabulous?”  He snorted, snuggling back into Frey’s muscled chest, sleep
finally worming its way through him now that he’d gotten his request off of his
mind – and onto Frey’s.  They had over two months after all before All Hallows
Eve.  And between them they were more than capable of fixing the looming ritual
to accommodate for one of the donors to be the carrier of the heirs instead of
a third-party surrogate.  “No.  As soon as Father realized I preferred boys to
girls he had me tested by our private healer.”
“Oh.”  Frey said once more, so very eloquently, mind already churning out ideas
of how to alter the ritual that had been used – interestingly enough – to
create him, let alone his required heirs.  “That…makes sense actually…”
Draco just gave another soft snort, drifting off to sleep and leaving his lover
to think over how, exactly, he was going to alter the ritual.
It wouldn’t be too difficult…after all, his mother had been both one of the
donors for Frey as well as the carrier of him, only Draco being male would
require alteration from that original ritual…and the lack of divine
interference…and and and…
…
That same night, a storm brewed in two households that were in some ways
similar but in others were so-very-different.
…
Malfoy Manor, Lughnasadh Night
Fine crystal shattered against elegant – and gleaming – white marble floor
tiles as a wine glass freefell from a lax elegant hand.
“Lucius!”  A stunned Narcissa gave a very unladylike shout from where she’d
been wandering through her husband’s outer study on a course to drag him from
his work and up to their bed.  It wouldn’t have done to let him brood, her
husband hadn’t taken it too well when their beloved son had disappeared off
with his lover Harry after their traditional Lughnasadh rites.
The reason for which was now more than clear in gleaming silver thread – which
denoted a legal but temporary union – on the Malfoy Family Tapestry.
“Lucius!  Come at once!”
…
Black Manor, Lughnasadh Night
Meanwhile, Remus was steadily working his way through packing the more delicate
things from the Master’s study at Black Manor.
With Voldemort gone, there was no reason for them to keep the Manor as their
normal home – Sirius might have given Dumbledore his notice, both of them well
aware that their pup/cub planned to take his NEWTs at the Ministry before
school began but Remus loved teaching and had agreed to stay on, albeit with
Floo Access so that he could return home at night – and a move back to their
penthouse in London was well under way.
Most of the Manor had already been closed up, Sirius and Harry having had a
discussion over which home their cub would make his normal home and which he
would only visit once or twice a year.
To neither’s surprise, Harry had chosen Peverell Fen, one of his oldest and
most secure holdings, to be his main “base” in the wizarding world.
The reason for which choice became startlingly clear to the werewolf as he
happened to glance at the Black Family Tapestry hanging behind what would
someday be the desk of one of Harry’s own sons – in theory anyway – only to
take a double-take at what he saw.
“Pads!”  Remus bellowed.  “You better not have known about this or I swear to
all the gods I’ll skin you and make myself a Grim-pelt-rug for my separate
bedroom!”
…
“Yes, Narcissa, what is it?”
…
“I didn’t do it, whatever it is Moons, I swear!”
…
“Look at what your son/cub has done now!”
…
“I’ll kill him.”  Lucius swore under his breath, eyes wide and face pale.  Then
he groaned, eyelids falling shut in realization.  “If his father doesn’t kill
me first for letting this happen…”
…
Sirius wrinkled his nose.
“Malfoy?”  He yelped in dismay.  “He handfasted…or something…with Lucy and
Cissy’s little…”
“Heir?”  Remus suggestion dryly, then added: “Beautiful son?  Elegant scion? 
Delicous little morsel?”
“Eww.”  Sirius retched a little.  “It was bad enough hearing those things from
our infatuated godson I did not need to hear you repeat them…thank you love. 
Well there’s only one thing for it…Moons, my heart, how would you feel about
having a jaguar-skin rug for our room…?”
…
On Asgard, Loki just chuckled manically, before clouding the view of his son
once more.
Chaos, lovely chaos.
His child became more like him every day.
It was simply wonderful to behold.
Especially when it put the fear of, well, him, into one of his more arrogant –
if entertaining – vassals.
…
One Week Later
Sirius Black finally managed to corner his cousin at the restaurant where Cissy
tended to lunch with a few other of the pureblooded ladies on Wednesdays.
Which he knew – much to his own chagrin – due to his pup’s friendship and then
later relationship with Cissy’s son.
The Malfoys had been rather conspicuously absent from the normal post-
Lughnasadh ball several days before – which had been Sirius’s first plan of
attack.
He knew better than to try and come see either elder Malfoy at their Manor,
especially if the boys had done something unbelievably stupid…like fucking
elope and get fucking handfasted by Merlin’s bloody knickers!
They – him and Remus – had known instantly when the Malfoys failed to attend
the last ball of the summer season that they had been as blindsided as they
were over the elopement.
But, as all owls had been returned, he – and his mate – were nonetheless
hopeful that Narcissa and/or Lucius might have some information more than what
they themselves did regarding the whole situation.
“Cissy!”  He hissed urgently as he snagged her arm and towed her away into the
alcove he’d been lurking in by the Apparation point.
“Sirius Black you unhand me this instant you brute.”  She hissed right back,
eyes narrowed.  A spate of invectives nearly tripped off her tongue – mainly
for Sirius by proxy for his, his, bridenapping godson but the frantic look in
those storm-grey eyes curbed her knee-jerk reaction.  “Oh.”  She calmed,
patting his hand a bit in unified consolation, prompting him to drop her arm. 
“Oh…I see.  You were left just as in the dark as we were I take it?”
“Yes.”  Sirius scowled, staring off over her head rather than look into those
all-too-knowing eyes.  “Remus found the…new addition…to the Black Tapestry
while we were packing to remove to our penthouse now that things are nominally
safe again.  You?”
She gave an elegant shrug.  “Malfoy Family Tapestry.”
“Mmm.”  Sirius nodded, then darted a quick look down at his cousin’s shattered
expression, looking back away just as quickly before her blatant devastation
set off his own.
He couldn’t believe…wait no.  He could believe that Harry had done this.  It
was all too in keeping with his independent nature.  He just didn’t want to
believe that his pup had chosen to get handfasted…and all without a word to
anyone or for reasons that made no sense…mostly.
“Do you know anything at all?”  He asked after giving both of them a moment to
collect themselves.
Narcissa shook her head, then added: “The Ministry sent us their
congratulations.”
The Black cousins shared a derisive sneer in unison over the sheer cheek.
“Well, that finishes it.”  Sirius sighed.  “You or Lucius were my last round. 
None of Harry’s American friends know a thing – at least that they’ll share. 
Nor any of his wizarding friends…you?”
“Draco’s are just as at-sea over his silence this last week as we are.” 
Narcissa gave a moue of her lips.  “None of them were aware of either boy
having any special plans this summer.”
“Damn it, pup.”  Sirius cursed, Narcissa looking like she’d like nothing more
than to join him if she weren’t so very aware of them being still in public. 
“What the hell are you up to…?”
…
In a cave on the coast of England, someone was definitely up to something,
though it wasn’t the situation that Sirius would have given his eyeteeth to
know about.
Rather, it was a situation that while it would have been a matter of mild
curiosity, other than the person involved…nobody really gave a fuck.
Mainly because the person involved was Dumbledore, and it was a stubborn-old-
goat meddler moment of trying to prove young Harry Potter wrong in regards to
Tom being well and truly dead…a situation that had Albus aghast and everyone
else relieved…and unwilling to just listen to the “venerable” Headmaster of
Hogwarts.
That infernal child’s actions had put Albus in a sticky situation, which when
combined with the steady-erosion Albus’s public persona made it so without
actual evidence of his suspicions, even Albus’s most faithful friends were
unwilling to entertain his – as they had been deemed – paranoid delusions.
Unknowingly, with every step he took on this venture he echoed those of Tom,
from the zealous belief in his own superiority to the use of a House Elf not
his own (rather Tinky belonged to Hogwarts, which presented some challenges in
orders that he could and could not give the creature) to his purpose: defeating
a foe that if they knew of it (Death for Tom, Frey for Albus) would simply
laugh at their conceit.
Studying the bowl on the pillar after easily crossing the poisoned-water filled
with Inferi, Dumbledore felt in that moment something he hadn’t felt in many
years: doubt.
That was a Nightmare Draught, one which must be drunk to empty the bowl
according to the diagnostic spell he’d used.
One he couldn’t simply feed to the cowering creature at his feet that kept
tugging at its ears and muttering, as he couldn’t knowingly mistreat the Elf
according to the Hogwarts charter.  If he had simply fed it to the Elf without
scanning the pillar, that would have been allowed as he wouldn’t have poisoned
it knowingly.  But what was done, what knowledge had been gained, couldn’t be
undone or unknown.
It was what it was.
And though he didn’t know it, Albus would have been much better-off giving into
his self-doubt than continuing on.
But hubris struck down the high as well as the low, and so Albus gave the order
to the Elf to ensure he drank it down, every drop and return him and the Locket
to Hogwarts once it was done.
Tinky did, though with tears and trembling.
And Albus, returned to his office as he’d ordered, slipped ignobly into the
darkness, one hand still clutching what he never awoke from his living
nightmare to realize was nothing but a fake.
…
Frey and Draco got the news in Paris, where Frey had first taken Draco on their
whirlwind honeymoon after finishing their NEWT exams at the Ministry.
As an emancipated Lord, Frey was an adult, and as his bonded spouse, Frey was
able to sign the required forms for Draco to accompany him.
After all, Frey had promised Draco that this year and a day would be as perfect
as he would make it.
Having to deal with Dumbledore and other students and gossip rags whilst in a
fishbowl was hardly conducive to keeping his promise.
Besides which…Draco had made his opinion on their children’s carrier perfectly
clear, and the Malfoy heir could hardly sit in a Potions class or duel in
Defense while carrying their babies.
                      ALBUS_DUMBLEDORE_DEAD_IN_HIS_OFFICE
The headlines screamed in various languages and forms from the Prophetto
Magicae Hodie, one of the older publications in the greater Wizarding World.
                             Foul_Play_Suspected?
Questioned more than one, while others favored a different stance:
                            Age,_Secrets,_and_Lies:
   Dumbledore’s_Suicide_possible_in_wake_of_allegations_of_paranoia_and_war-
                                  mongering.
“What is it, husband?”  Draco asked as he stumbled in, adorably ruffled from
the hotel suite’s bedroom.
Seeing Frey staring down at the papers with a bemused expression, Draco blinked
a moment to help clear his eyes.  He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of
that.  Calling Frey his husband or having him sitting across the breakfast
table after a night together.  He knew he would have to, in time.  That he
would have to pack enough memories into this now-just-shy of a year to keep him
content through all the years that he wouldn’t be able to call Frey his or see
him of a morning.
But for the moment, he was young, he was bonded to the man he loved, and they
were in Paris with plans to visit Rome and Venice and other places all over the
world before they returned home for Samhain and their looming ritual.
The night before they’d both sat down after arriving in Paris and sent off
long-distance owls to both his parents and Frey’s dogfathers, Frey – and being
able to call him by his real name and not by his “Harry Potter perfect Golden
Gryffindor” cover was another secret thrill – having already “called” his other
sort-of-but-not-really guardian Chiron and letting him in on at least some of
what was going on so his American friends didn’t worry.
They didn’t want their loved ones to worry or panic.
That wasn’t what this was about.
All of this was simply about them and they weren’t interested in fighting or
what have you when they could be spending as many moments as humanly possible
in a blissed-out haze of honeymooner ecstasy.
Starting this morning with Draco getting Frey to hand feed him some of those
delectable-looking strawberries, a plan helped along by Draco choosing the best
seat in the hotel – squarely sitting on Frey’s silk pajama-bottom clad lap.
Which also helped to answer his question as Draco was able to read the
headlines for himself, which he handily summed up with an: “Oh.”  Then
shrugging when Frey arched a brow and poured his beloved a mimosa.  “At least
now we don’t have to off him before he started meddling with our children.”
“Draco…”  Frey shook his head, an amused smirk lighting up his green eyes. 
“What am I going to do with you…”
“Oh…”  The blond fluttered his lashes dramatically, along with a put-upon pout
for effect that had Frey laughing into Draco’s hair at the show.  Every now and
again Draco liked to put on the airheaded blond sex-kitten stereotype just for
funzies – or to make Granger fume over that being the number two overall
student in their year behind Frey…either way.  “I’m sure you’ll think of
something…”
…
Frey continued to make good on his promise, even as the shadow of England
dogged their steps all across the planet.
Draco was spoiled with the finest chocolates in France and Germany and
Switzerland, was swept through the finest fashion houses in Paris and Milan and
Tokyo, found himself wined and dined along the Danube and beside the Venice
canals.  Frey surprised him with a trip to the famous gemstone cutters in
Bombay where the godling spent hours frustrating the gem cutters until he found
a perfect set of aquamarines to match Draco’s eyes, which he then had set by
the finest wizarding craftsman in Singapore into a ring with diamond accents
and a matching men’s bracelet.  There were picnics in the Alps and lazy
mornings overlooking the Indian ocean, a whole week whiled away with nothing
but soft words and lovemaking on a beach in Hawaii – a place that neither of
them had ever been.
They raced on sleds pulled by dog teams in Alaska, and danced all through the
night in clubs in San Francisco where the local nightlife didn’t so much as
blink an eye at two beautiful young men in nearly-as-beautiful clothes making
out on the dance floor.
San Francisco, however, brought a bit of reality back into their love-drugged
minds, as once again a cloud seemed to settle over Frey until they were well
away from the West Coast of the U.S. and crossing the continent to bask some
more on endless beaches – these ones pink and nestled in the Caribbean.
Draco made no mention of swinging North to see Frey’s friends…but then neither
did Frey.
Turning southward once more, a portkey had them bouncing from exploring the
Aztec ruins – on Draco’s insistence rather than Frey’s which would like
surprise many who knew them – before hitting Rio and enjoying a different sort
of nightlife among the wizarding clubs there.
Draco woke morning after morning to champagne, and chocolates and berries, and
spent the nights in silk – and often flower petal – draped beds tangled and
entwined with his lover who was intent on wringing every ounce of romance from
their trip that he could – whether cliched or not, like the roses that were
found on the breakfast table of every suite or the petals that he would often
cover Draco in…only to chase them away from his perfect porcelain skin with
heated kisses and stroking hands.
One such morning found Draco rousing to the sensation of whisper-soft kisses
trailing up his spine.
He was sprawled out, face-down in a silky pillow in their latest stop which had
brought them back around to Paris.
Frey had apparently decided to wake him this morning with a combination of
sensuous massage and delicate kisses – which Draco was fine with.
It was what his husband was avoiding that Draco wasn’t as fine with – namely
the letters that had been waiting for them at every Gringotts locations along
their route.
His love had set it up so that Gringotts London had put up a – temporary – mail
redirection ward on them, paying a stiff fee in the process for the little
blighters to sort and forward their mail to them during their trip.
Some things – like the word of Dumbledore’s ignoble death-via-idiocy (an
inquiry had been undertaken and the events unearthed, along with the truth that
the old man had died for a fake Horcrux), or their outstanding NEWT results and
subsequent early-graduation from Hogwarts – had been welcome.
Other things – like the pleas, demands, and recently out-right threats for them
to come home and “face the music” as one of Frey’s dogfathers had put it – were
not.
In the end, there had only been one wizard or witch who had any idea of where
they would be at any given time in case of emergencies – someone both of them
trusted without reservation – one Severus Snape.
Though honestly…if he’d been kept out of the loop, Sev would have tracked down
and killed them both long before Draco’s father succumbed to sending strongly-
worded threats to Frey’s manhood over what Draco’s mother has apparently deemed
“loathsome bride-napping” of her precious baby boy.
Telling Sev had a lot more to do with sheer self-preservation than worries over
something like the world ending while they were away and needing someone to
know where they were.
“You know we have to go back, love.”  Draco murmured sleepily.  “We can’t hide
all year.”
“Why not?”  Frey asked, covering Draco’s back with his front and leaning down
to nip lightly at the mouth that Draco’s head-turn to speak had revealed.  He
was only half-joking.  This break had done more for his morale and burgeoning
temper than Draco knew.  It was more than tempting to chuck it all and stay a
vagabond with his silver-blond lover at his side.
He knew it wouldn’t do to ever suggest such a thing to his husband, however.
When Draco had his dander up, he would out-lecture McGonagall on a tear.
Frey had heard one of his “duty, House, family honor” lectures before and had
decided to never get that much bile directed at him.
“It’s not like we’re poor, or powerless.”  Frey continued, drifting back down
to return to his mapping of his lover’s back with only his lips.  “Short of
visiting family, there’s no real reason to ever return to England if we don’t
want to.”
Draco kicked out lightly at Frey’s ankle in censure.
“We’re going back, love.”  Draco shook his head on the pillow, reaching back
and tugging Frey back up for another kiss.  “But…not right this second.”
“Sounds good to me.”  Frey chuckled as Draco turned under him, allowing his
husband to manhandle him back down his body towards the very insistentmorning
arousal that he’d helped along with his lips and hands.
…
Peverell Fen, October 28, 1996
“They’ve been gone almost three months, Remus.”  Sirius growled under his
breath to his mate as they entered the drawing room the House Elf had directed
them to upon their arrival.  “Three months.  With only a few letters here and
there to know they were even alive.”
Neither wizard was surprised to see the Malfoy couple already waiting, both
pairs of worried parental-figures having kept the other informed regarding any
communication at all – no matter how small – from their wayward newlyweds. 
Before the invitation complete with a bespelled location for Peverell Fen had
arrived, they were all giving strong consideration that their eloped chicks had
decided on a traditional wizarding honeymoon of a full-year Grand Tour…so the
invitation had been welcome news indeed.  That they weren’t that thoughtless
had done little to soothe any of their tempers or frayed nerves.
And Sirius, much like Lucius from what he could tell, was spoiling to tan
Harry’s hide.
Draco was somewhat to blame as well, of course.
But none of them were kidding themselves – Draco on his own would have never
eloped and gotten handfasted, let alone stayed away going on three months
before returning to face the parental ire.
They all sat in silence after the House Elf retrieved drinks for all four of
them then popped away, tension and anger thick enough to cut the very air,
Narcissa wringing her hands a bit in her lap, Remus shifting a bit, while
Lucius turned icy-Lord-Malfoy and Sirius scowled at both the closed door and
his Ogdens, the expensive – and rare – reserve label doing little to defray his
temper.
Finally – finally – after what could have been mere handful of minutes or over
an hour, the door swung open and they were greeted with the shining and so-
very-in-love-and-happy faces of their young, the sight puncturing their tempers
and fear and worry and hurt like a sharp tack to a balloon as a luminous Draco
cried out “Mother!  Father!” and darted forward into the now-standing and
crying Narcissa’s arms, Frey sharing a sharp look with Lucius that sheathed
their argument – which would prove to be just shy of an all-out-brawl if Sirius
was any judge – before beaming at Remus and throwing his arms around both of
them.
“I have so much to tell you.”  The young wizard said simply.
And they let him get away with it.
Of course they did.
He was their Harry.
What else was there for them to do?
What was done was done, and while they’d rake him over the coals for it later,
at the moment all they could do was hug him back and listen to burbling tales
of exotic beaches and perfect days.
The hurt wasn’t healed – not by a long shot – but it was, for the moment at
least, soothed.
…
“You’re lucky they’re so forgiving, my son.”  Loki commented that night as he
wandered a pink beach with Frey at his side.  Given that Frey had been on what
amounted to a honeymoon for these last months, he’d mostly been giving him
space – even in his dreams – to be a newlywed and spoil Draco.
Though if Frey had tried to pull with him what he’d – what they’d – done with
the Malfoys and Black-Lupins, there would have been Helheim to pay before he
forgave them for the slight.
But that was Loki’s nature.
Much like Lucius, who would likely never recover the easy near-mentoring
relationship he used to have with Frey after his patron’s son had swept his son
off – and away from whatever prosperous match the Malfoy Lord had been
considering.
Lucius was in a tenuous situation, one that even Loki didn’t know which way the
Lord would turn.
On the one hand – his son had captured the heart of a demigod.
That was no small thing.
Frey was as perfect a match as the Malfoy Lord could have ever wanted for Draco
– being powerful, wealthy, of strong wizarding heritage through James, and
above all, he was who Draco wanted.
But then there was the other thing.
The impermanence of their union.
Their family would be elevated for the union – despite it being temporary –
with the “Savior” of their society…but not as much as they would have been had
Frey married Draco and not merely handfasted him.
Draco wouldn’t be ruined or some such thing, he would likely still go on to
marry a suitable match.
But…
To have utter glory so close and yet so far would chafe at Lucius if Loki was
any judge of the man at all.
“I know.”  Frey agreed wholeheartedly with that statement.  “It was just so…”
“Free?”  Loki suggested.
“Yeah.”  His son shrugged.  “I’m so close to true freedom from constraint that
I can taste it…and I let it go to my head.  If it wasn’t for Draco – and
needing to use the ritual circle at Peverell Fen – I don’t know if I ever would
have gone back.”
“You are close.”  Loki nodded.  “But no matter how tempting freedom can be, you
can’t let its call keep you from your duties, my son.  Speaking of which…” 
Loki gave his son a genuine smile, one that he tended to save for Frey alone,
though that ridiculously lovable – but still an arrogant oaf – Thor had seen it
thrown his way a time or two over the centuries.  “Your nephews want to meet
you, soon.”
“Nephews?”  Frey chuckled shaking his head.  “I think uncles might be a better
title, considering that Lady Hel’s sons are older than me by a good eight or
nine centuries.”
“Yes,” Loki chuckled.  “There is that.  Shall we plan for near Yule?  During
the Winter Revels while Asgard is distracted?”
“That should work.”  Frey frowned lightly.  “I’m sure the Malfoys will be more
than glad to celebrate without me for a bit.  And Draco shouldn’t be too far
along…”
“Draco?”  Loki’s brows shot up his forehead.  “Draco shouldn’t be too far
along?  What happened to using a surrogate?”
“Draco happened.”  Frey said dryly, which really…was an explanation all for
itself.
“Ah…”
“Yes.  If I like my balls where they are, I had better put all thoughts of
using a surrogate far from my mind.”
“Made himself clear then?”
“Extremely.”
…
Loki watched from Asgard as Frey set into place the large diamonds
approximately 2ft x 1.5ft in size that would serve as the central power-crystal
for the Heir Ritual his son and his handfasted-spouse were going to attempt. 
 They were oval crystals used for each of the three Houses Draco and Frey are
providing Heirs for: Peverell – Purple Diamond; Black – Black Diamond; and
Potter – Red Diamond.  Each had been soaking for days in a solution of
differing herbs, comingled with blood to both power the ritual and provide the
– well – genetic material for each of the heirs they were trying for.
Thanatos had arrived with the All Hallows Eve sunset, assisting Frey with
setting up the stones and even adding blood for the Peverell and Potter stones/
heirs that he had access to…somehow that Loki – and Frey with him – didn’t
really want to think about.
“Brother!”  Thor shouted.  “What passes on Midgard?”
“A ritual most interesting.”  Loki replied casually.
“Ah.”  The Thunderer frowned.  That wasn’t what he’d been hoping for.  Verily,
since the defeat of the villainous Dark Lord months before, things with the
Warrior-Mage had been most…quiet.
It was rather a let-down after months and years of excitement.
“He seeks heirs.”  Loki supplied dryly, rolling his eyes as his adopted brother
was joined by the idiots Four.  “And Lord Thanatos has arrived.”  With that
Loki clouded the seeing-pool with a flex of his power before standing straight
and removing his hands from resting along the rim.
“Then you may join us, brother!”  Thor exclaimed.  “Word has come of a
bilgesnipe terrorizing one of the outlying villages!  Father wishes us to
assist!”
“Very well.”  Loki sighed as if put-upon, while secretly pleased to take the
Aesir’s attention from his son – if only for a spell.  “If this ritual works
then there will be little point in watching over the Warrior-Mage for months,
until after his period of handfasting is finished.”
“Indeed.”  Volstagg slapped Loki on the back with enough force to fell a weaker
being.
But no matter what the Aesir whispered, Loki was in no way a weaker being.
“Why I remember when my wife was heavy with our first…”  Volstagg went onto
reminiscence for the entire journey to the outlaying village, with only a
prompt here or there to keep him going from Loki – much to Fandral’s irritation
who was well aware of what his cousin was up to.
Still.
Better Loki making mild sport of Volstagg than sulking over having to leave the
palace library or the seeing pools…small wonders.
…
“Do you think it really worked?”  Draco whispered to his husband as they both
stroked his lower abdomen with quiet reverence late in the All Hallows night.
Thanatos had long since departed, leaving them to recover in the quiet of
Peverell Fen.
Things were still tense between them and their families, but they both hoped
that news of children would help with that…at least a little.
“I know it did.”  Frey whispered back, green eyes glistening with tears as he
stared up into equally-reverent silver-blue eyes, pressing a light kiss to just
below Draco’s belly-button where even now their children were nestling in for
the long months ahead.  “Thank you, love…thank you for my children.”
…
December 20, 1996; Malfoy Manor
Draco woke once again – for what was probably the several dozenth time since
their handfasting – to Frey pressing kisses to his sleeping body.  This time
his target wasn’t his eyelids or his cheeks or his spine nor was his intent to
even awaken him let alone have him awake aroused.
He was pressing barely-there brushes of his lips to the barely-there baby-bump
that Draco had started to show.  As a male carrier, Draco would give birth
about a month or so earlier than a female would, which also translated into
things like his pregnancy showing sooner – especially with what they had
confirmed after waiting an endless two week before going to St. Mungo’s for a
test.  Not only was Frey kissing his bump, but he was speaking softly in what
Draco thought might be Norse to their unborn children.
Draco had no idea what Frey was saying, likely something along the lines of
he’ll miss them and be good and don’t let Papá Lucius bother them, given that
Frey had said the same things to Draco’s belly the night before – and every
night really since they’d arrived at Malfoy Manor for the Yule Season with the
knowledge that Frey was going to have to leave on the 20th for the day to meet
with some of his – other – family.
He might have hoped that the news of coming grandchildren would make Lucius
feel less-hostile towards Frey…a hope that had quickly extinguished in the face
of his father’s ongoing – if hidden – ire.
Lucius was polite, cordial, and always the gracious host.
But he wasn’t welcoming, not to Frey, not even with the knowledge of who was
Frey’s father constantly holding him back from hexing the defiling bastard up
onside and down the other.
Tunneling his hand through Frey’s long – and loose for the moment – ebony hair,
Draco tugged him up for a kiss of his own.
“The babies say hi to their wonderful mum.”  Frey told Draco after they’d
finally broken their kiss.  “And promised to take care of you while I’m away.”
“They did did they?”  Draco hummed under his breath.  “They must all take after
you then, love.  Bunch of hopeless protective heroes bound for Gryffindor.”
“Hey.”  Frey protested lightly.  “I’m a secret Slytherin and you know it.”
“Sure you are love.”  Draco pat him on the cheek as his love pouted down at
him.  “Sure you are.”
…
December 21, 1996; Tierra del Fuego – The Universe Cosmic
With the time difference between the two universes, Loki and Frey arrived at
the meeting place right on time – and on Yule – despite that Frey would also be
back to celebrate Yule with his husband at Malfoy Manor.
On-time or not, they arrived to the sight of a pair of tall figures already
waiting on them.
His Far had already told Frey quite a bit about his “uncles” Jomangandr and
Fenrir, as his story a couple years before on Samhain before the gathered
TriWizard schools had shown.  They were full-Jotun for one.  And both
shapeshifters with it, though apparently neither is powerful enough to be
considered full-invidja according to how Frey’s grandbera Laufey figured
things.
They had powers, like Frey imagined anyone in close relation to his Far would
have powers, but they weren’t to the extreme of Loki or Frey himself, given the
circumstances surrounding their birth.
It had taken a lot of power to overcome Odin’s curse on Frey’s half-sister.
A lot of it.
Even, in part, from the twins themselves.
Still, they were mostly content to wander around the Universe Cosmic from all
accounts, keeping out of the All-Father’s far-reaching and spiteful self while
often getting up to as much mischief as possible.
It only took one look into their identical eyes to give that bit of background
credence as Frey withheld the urge to snort in laughter.
Oh yeah.
They were related to his Far.
Both of them had the same devilish glint in their eyes – a bright lime green –
that Frey saw every time he looked in the mirror or into his father’s face.
A thought reinforced as both turned from greeting their grandfather, locked
their eyes on their target, and threw their arms wide, charging forward to
tackle him to the ground all with the irritating cry of “Uncle!”
…
“We’ve set you up the way Grandfather asked, Frey.”
Hours after the initial run-tackle-wrestle-tussle that the trio of Frey, Jor,
and Fen had gotten into – which had somehow included Frey getting permission to
use his “uncles’” nicknames – while Loki watched and laughed, and they were
getting down to business.
Since Fen was mainly based on Earth while Jor had a tendency to wander more
often, he’d taken the lead.
They were an interesting pair.
And ones that had shown up in more than one legend as “tricksters”, even
contributing different stories to skalds over the years – much to their
grandfather’s chagrin when more than one ludicrous story had actually made it
into legend…like him and giving birth to a fucking horse.
It was all in good fun from his grandsons…but still…Thor had the idiots Four
had gotten more than one laugh out of that gem.
“Okay…”  Frey answered, arching a brow at the innocent-seeming faces of his Far
and Uncles.  “What does that mean?”
“We,” Fen waggled a thumb between himself and his brother.  “Run a couple of
corporations here.”
“Businessmen are fun to prank.”  Jor chimed in.  “And even more fun to skin of
their ill-gotten gains.”
“I have a sudden urge to go search your wardrobes for green tights.”  Frey
deadpanned.  “Why do I have a feeling you spent more than a little time in
England…Nottingham maybe?”
“Meh.”  Jor shrugged, looking away.  “That was a long time ago.”
“We’ve evolved.”  Fen smirked.  “And so have our methods.  Jor runs – when he’s
here – Ouroboros International…again, when he’s not spying on NOVA Corp.”
“Someone needs to keep an eye on them…”  Jor muttered under his breath, his
twin ignoring him.
“I run Lupine Consolidated.  And as of your marriage – ”
“Congrats about that by the way.  Condolences about your father-in-law.  That’s
rought.”
“You’re the owner of Ymir International.”
Frey’s head would have been spinning if he wasn’t used to similar speech
patterns from the Weasley twins.
“Ymir International?”  He arched a brow at his father.
“You need a cover here.”  Loki said simply.  “Did you think I’d let you come
into this world, this universe a homeless pauper?  And on this Earth, the
closest thing to a Prince is a CEO of a multinational company.  Your uncles are
on your board and will manage things for you until you decide to take over.  I
believe they’ve already found a lovely young woman from Norway to be your
“public face” of the company.”
Frey just shook his head.
He couldn’t even say he was surprised.
That – even down to going behind his back to do it – was exactly the sort of
thing his Far would anticipate and take care of before the problem even
occurred to Frey.
“I have a lot to learn.”  Was all he said, to understanding smiles all around.
“You’ll get there.”  Jor told him with a pat on the head.
“We’ve only got thousands of years of experience on you, that’s all.”  Fen
shrugged off the number as if it didn’t mean a thing.  And honestly, knowing at
least some of his grandfather’s plans to take Frey travelling after sinking
into his immortality…it really didn’t.  “You’ll catch up.”
…
Beltane, 1997
It was official.
Draco hated being pregnant.
He loved his husband, couldn’t wait to meet their little ones, and hated
pregnancy.
His waist had disappeared, none of this wonderful clothes fit anymore, and if
he didn’t sleep propped up his heartburn kept him awake.
Then Frey would come in from rattling cages at the Wizengamot and rub his feet
with the special lotion he’d gotten from their Uncle Sev, or would bring him
special roses that were only found in one garden in Japan, and all the
discomfort would fade into the background…at least for a little while.
Draco had been afraid that his pregnancy would overshadow the promise Frey had
made him – to make this year and a day the best of his life.
A useless fear as things had turned out.
He was probably the most spoiled-rotten pregnant person in England, if not the
wizarding world.
Things were wonderful, as close to perfect as Draco could ever imagine…but
still.
Draco fucking hated being pregnant.
…
Midsummer June 21, 1997; Peverell Fen
Once again, Loki was in two places at once.
Well…his double-clone was in one place and he himself was actually in
another…but…semantics.
Draco’s pregnancy hadn’t been easy on anyone around the young wizard, Draco
most of all, which was one of the main reasons why Frey had never really
considered anything other than using a surrogate when he realized the situation
he was in: in love with Draco but still required by Thanatos and a binding
magical contract to provide heirs.
Even for a natural male carrier like Draco and Frey both were – or Frey could
be if he chose, if Loki was being precise – a multiple pregnancy was much more
dangerous than it was for a female.  There was less room for the babies to grow
for one.  And Draco’s hips and lower body wasn’t designed to support them for
eight months for another.
Loki’s son had nearly worried himself into a bundle of raw nerves and anxiety
by the time Loki had managed to arrive that morning.
Midsummer was an auspicious day for a birth, and having Loki perform the
caesarian spell was much safer than even going to the competent staff at St.
Mungo’s.
When the time came, Thanatos would come to witness, and then the children would
each be dedicated to one of the Primordials – Magic, Chaos, or Death – as had
been agreed at Frey’s own conception ritual.
But above all…his son was about to become a father himself.
Not even Odin or any force of Aesir could have kept him from being anywhere but
at this exact place in this exact moment or witnessing the sheer terrified joy
on Frey’s and Draco’s faces when Loki set their children in his son’s arms,
passing his single granddaughter to her mother before casting the spells to
heal Draco and take care of his new grandbabes.
“Witnessed.”  Thanatos spoke as he stepped fully from the shadows, the other
gathered witnesses kneeling or nodding as was appropriate.  “What shall be
there names?”
Frey and Draco exchanged a glance then Draco spoke, naming them as was the
mother’s prerogative.
“This one.”  Draco reached out a brushed a finger against a dark-as-night
haired babe’s cheek.  “The firstborn: Antioch Haraldr Peverell.”
“Witnessed.”  Loki spoke along with the others, including Thanatos.
“Our second-born.”  Draco repeated the gesture with the babe who also had ebon
hair, though his was paired with alabaster skin instead of the dusky tones of
his brother.  Loki would wager his favorite daggers that when the newborn-blue
faded that Antioch would have eyes as dark as his hair and his brother the same
silver of their mother.  “Asterion Draconis Black.”
“Witnessed.”
“And our daughter.”  Frey spoke at last with a nod from Draco, passing the
naming priledge to his husband – albeit his husband of only a month and some
weeks left before their handfasting ended.  “And third-born: Frija Lily
Potter.”
“Witnessed.”  Loki blinked back a tear.  Oh, his mother would be beyond
pleased.  His own presence was blocked from Asgard, with his clone standing
among the watchers by the viewing pool.  To them, Loki was a Healer, and likely
a friend of the deceased Potters.  Nothing more.
“Witnessed.  And witnesses.  And witnessed.”  Thanatos clapped his hands
thrice, finishing the ritual.  “And their patrons?”
“To the new Patron of House Peverell: Lady Death, we dedicate our first-born
son and the Peverell Heir Antioch.”  Frey spoke, Draco then speaking on his
heels.  “To the new Patron of House Black: Lady Magic, we dedicate our second-
born son and the Black Heir Asterion.”  Then Frey spoke last, sealing the
dedications with a flick of his Elder Wand.  “To the new Patron of House
Potter: Lord Chaos, we dedicate our third-born child and only daughter and the
Heiress of House Potter Frija.”
“So mote it be.”
…
“They’re beautiful, love.”  Frey told a tired Draco once they’d been left
alone.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”  With each thanks Frey pressed
kisses first to one of his children’s brows and then to Draco’s lips.
“Best things we’ve ever done.”  Draco joked then sobered, seeing the fear and
trouble brewing in his lover’s eyes.  “I’ll always take care of them love.  So
will my family, as much as Father disapproves of you now.  They’re mine just as
much as they are yours.  No matter what – our children will be safe.  I
promise.”
Frey cracked a smile, worry lifting – at least a bit.
“I’ll hold you to that love…I’ll hold you to that.”
***** Twenty-Eight *****
                                    Lokison
A/N: This chapter is pretty short for reasons that will quickly become
apparent.  There is another author’s note at the end that will explain things
further.
                   Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Price of a Vow
Luke paced furiously around Chiron’s office at the Big House, worried out of
his mind.
A camper had disappeared last year after nearly-killing Percy, one Ethan
Nakamura – child of Nemesis.  That had been bad enough.  Now the wards around
the camp were weakening…and they were all close to losing the only safety many
of them had ever known.
But to make matters go from bad to dire – no one, not a single soul, could
contact Frey.
“We’ve tried everything, Luke.”  Chiron told him, brows furrowed thoughtfully. 
“Calls drop, Iris messages can’t be completed, even sending an owl fails.  No
method of contact can get through…which is concerning to say the least.”
“Could it be Kronus?”  Luke asked, finally voicing what had been floating
between the two – Activities Director and Head Camper – for the days since they
discovered the weakening of the wards.  “He has to know by now that Frey is a
threat to him and his plans.”
It was a good assumption to make, given that Frey had confronted – and reversed
– Kronus’s taint in both Luke himself and Ares.
The only question was whether or not the disgraced Titan had the power to
manage it.
“One would think so,” Chiron agreed on principal.  However…  “It doesn’t feel
like my father’s power.  Rather, it tastes much more of Frey’s own magic than
any outside force.”
“He wouldn’t though.”  Luke punched a hole through that logic with rapid-fire
quickness.  “Frey would never abandon us when we need him…”  Would never leave
Luke on his own against Kronus, let alone the younger campers.
He just didn’t have it in him to be that callous or uncaring.
In many ways his best-friend was a marshmallow wrapped in steel – hard outside
and a soft, gooey center.
“Nevertheless…it seems he has, given the discrete word that Ganymede had with
me when I was last summoned to Olympus.”  Chiron shifted restlessly.  “Frey can
contact us but not us him.  Though I imagine whatever is causing the state of
affairs is unintentional.”
“Great.”  Luke threw up his hands in frustration.  “Wonderful.  So even the
gods are on communication blackout from him.  That’s just fantastic.”  Growling
a little under his breath – though being driven by worry rather than the anger
that he was showing the world – Luke stormed out.
Oh, Frey.  He worried over the problem like a Cerberus on a bone.  What have
you done now?
…
A question that wouldn’t have an answer until much later in the summer, when
the godling in question arrived to a flurry of relieved-but-aggravated
headslaps from the camp populace – particularly Annabeth and Silena.
In the meantime, Clarisse followed by a motley crew of two demigods and a
cyclops would set out to retrieve the Golden Fleece to save the Camp, have more
than one run-in with Chris Nakamura and the Titan Army, and would return…only
to a vastly different outcome than anticipated.
…
“No, seriously.”  Frey rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head.  “I didn’t do
anything that should have caused this…I mean I was a little distracted – new
father and all that plus finishing out my handfasting to Draco – but I didn’t
ward myself against contact or anything…”  He trailed off, eyes widening as he
stared at where the Fleece was wrapped around Thalia’s tree.
Luke and Silena had been joined by the trio of Percy, Annabeth, and Grover with
their new plus-one of Tyson (a cyclops and apparently Percy’s half-brother) to
weasel out what Frey had been up to for the last year and a week.
“Although…”  Frey grimaced, shaking his head.  “Now that I think about it…”
“Frey…”  Luke groaned rubbing his hand over his eyes.  “What did you do?”
“I may have…maybe…probably…promised Draco more than once that the year-and-a-
day would be the happiest of his life.”  Frey admitted sheepishly, chewing on
his lower lip with bright white teeth.  “And that I would be only his for that
time…and other things to that affect.”
The demigods all groaned or cursed in unison.
He’d made a Vow.
Unintentionally.
Typical Frey.
“So…”  Annabeth drawled, laughing on the inside even as she fumed a bit. 
Things would have been so much easier if they’d had Frey on their side.  And
safer…probably.  Gods knew that Frey liked to live on the edge a bit more than
the rest of them.  “You made a Vow – unintentionally.  And to make sure you
kept it your magic prevented us from contacting you…probably because that hero-
complex of yours would have had you popping over here to save the day and
pissing off your now ex-husband and the mother of your children in the
process…that about right?”
“Ah…yeah…theoretically.”  Frey shrugged then spotted something…off with the
Tree.  Cursing, he darted forward, the others on his heels, reaching the Tree
just in time for something – or rather someone to be released from inside it.
“By all the gods…”  Luke said reverently as he kneeled down by the girl being
cradled in Frey’s arms…a girl who showed no sign of the wounds done to her and
was glowing a bit from the Fleece’s influence.  “Thalia?  It can’t be…”
“Can.”  Frey said, voice a bit grim even as he checked the young teen girl over
with steady hands.  “And worse is.”
“Why do you say that?”  Annabeth snapped, joyful tears running down her face. 
“How could you say that?”
What had happenedto Frey in theses last couple years that he would, would,
would be upset that her friend was alive, not just alive but alive and a person
again instead of being a tree?
After all…he’d been the one to make the sacrifice in the first place to save
her…so why wasn’t he happy that she was back and whole?
“I see the Fleece has done it’s job a little too well.”  Chiron commented as he
spied the demigoddess now wrapped up in a robe Frey had summoned from the small
pouch on his belt that had expansion charms on it.
Anymore, the godling went nowhere without it, even if it was just stepping
outside his door.
“Chiron?  Frey?”  Percy frowned, not understanding everything about the
situation but knowing there was something off about their reactions even
without Annabeth’s half-happy half-angry tears.  “What’s going on?”
“There’s a prophecy regarding a child of the Big Three as you well know,
Perce.”  Luke commented as his common-sense overrode his delight at having his
friend back…if quite a bit younger than him than she had been originally.  From
what he could tell Thalia had aged – but very slowly – while trapped in the
tree.  “Before, it was automatically attributed to you since you were the only
one around, and that was a good thing because you’ve told Kronus to fuck off
more than once.  But now…”
“Thalia is a child of Zeus.”  Frey finished the thought, eyes grim.  “And
more…one with more than one bone to pick with the gods.  Kronus just got a
second chance at influencing the prophecy in his favor rather than in
ours…let’s just hope that when she wakes up, Thalia is a little less…”
“Hot-headed?”  Luke offered then continued.  “Stubborn, fiery, temperamental…”
“I was going to say like her father.”  Frey rolled his eyes.  “But…yes.  All of
that.”
It was a testament to the ongoing relationship between godling and god that the
lightning bolt that struck the ground between Frey’s irreverent feet did
nothing more than make him roll his eyes again and stick his tongue out at the
sky…and more, that said impertinence didn’t usher in a second, and much more
deadly, strike.
…
The days of the summer – what was left of them – belonged to the Camp as Frey
set to work once more training the campers and strengthening the wards once
more.
Chiron had set him to finding a dragon to guard the Fleece, an easy enough task
for a wizard, and while Thalia spent a lot of time in the infirmary sleeping,
she did eventually wake-up, requiring help from Frey and a few others like Luke
and Annabeth to help her acclimate.
He even had to pop up to Olympus to soothe his irritated lovers over his
uncommunicative state during the previous year and a day.
But the nights belonged to his other lover and his children, the former of
which understood – even if he didn’t appreciate – Frey’s duty to the demigods.
And that was how they spent another summer and then another year.
Frey traveled to-and-from England and New York, strategizing with Zeus or
Chiron, changing nappies and delighting when Frija’s hair turned the silver-
blonde of Draco and her eyes the emerald green of his mortal form and his late
mother.  Loki’s prediction had been right-on, Asterion taking the silver-eyes
of his mum Draco and Antioch the endless black of the Peverells…something which
Severus loved to tweak the two Marauders over.  They were a constant-presence,
particularly Severus and Sirius as Remus, now the Head of Gryffindor in the
wake of Dumbledore’s death and Minerva’s promotion to Headmistress, was the
only one of the three whose time wasn’t his own.
Sirius – reluctantly – was helping Frey learn and manage and navigate the ways
and means of being a titled Lord.  Much of it he’d already known, but knowing
the theory was different than putting it into practice.  Moreover, Sirius was
still the Black Regent until such a time as Asterion turned seventeen and it
could be turned over to the now-three-month-old babe.
Sev on the other had was greatly enjoying his retirement from teaching and had
turned to a private potion’s business, taking on a sometimes-harried Draco as
his apprentice.
Time and life marched on, with visits to Jotunheim and the other Earth
happening whenever Frey and Loki determined it was safe enough.
Laufey was in turns delighted by his great-grandchildren…and saddened by their
inevitable deaths, much in the same vein of Frey, who loved and mourned his
children in turn.
Every moment with them was precious, and reaffirmed his determination to expand
on his early design of a pocketwatch that functioned similar to the infamous
Weasley clock.
But his would need to do more.
Much, much more, especially if his Far made good in his threat to take him
“traveling” once he froze into his immortality.
He wouldn’t allow anything to steal away his time with his children.
Even a conflict that he’d chosen to involve himself in.
Though, he’d failed a bit recently in that aspect.
This world was his first home, it was his children’s only home if he wanted to
keep them out of Odin’s reach, and over his dead boy would Kronus gain dominion
over it ever again.
Which meant in the future he’d have to watch his words a little closer.
As his power rose and he became closer and closer to his immortality, his words
gained power, power to bind even him.
As he’d learned, nearly at the cost of the lives of several people who he’d
grown to care about – if even in an absent way with Clarisse who annoyed him
more often than not with her bravado.
The price of his unknowing Vow had been high, and nearly been paid in the blood
of his friends.
It couldn’t happen again.
Frankly, if he had his way, it would never happen again.
He was free now, well and truly, free, and he wouldn’t let anyone or anything,
even himself, ruin it.
…
End Author’s Note: Okay, so I said I would explain things a little more and I
will.  I excluded Frey from the Sea of Monsters storyline for a very good
reason: there was no way to salvage all the lessons and themes and
foreshadowings if he had been in play.  SoM was a very important learning/
developing point for all the characters involved and putting Frey into the mix
would have fucked it all up pretty badly.  However, this is also theonlypoint
in the PJ storyline where I’m doing this so he’ll be back and kicking ass again
in the next installment of the series.
***** Twenty Nine *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: The wording of the prophecy in this chapter is taken mostly
straight from the books, obviously I take no credit for it other than two minor
tweaks to make it fit with what I have planned.
                      Chapter Twenty-Nine: Olympus’s Bane
“Papa!  Papa fly!”  Frija demanded imperiously of her much-beloved father Frey,
arms raised high towards him, seeming like a giant to her toddler eyes.
No one was taller than her Papa, not Daddy, or Daddy’s friend with the pretty
purple eyes, or even Grandpere Lucius.
Her Papa was the biggest and the best Papa ever, even her brothers thought so –
and her brothers didn’t often agree about much which made their Papa and Daddy
trade looks and funny smiles.
With a laugh, Frey bent low and picked up his princess under her arms, lifting
her high above his head and spinning all while little Frija laughed and
screamed with joy, soon joined by her brothers who clamored at his legs chanted
various versions of “fly, Papa, fly!”
Draco and Blaise – who had begun seeing each other semi-regularly, with Frey
occasionally joining them both romantically and more…intimately – looked on
indulgently as Frey tumbled and played with his, their, children.  Frija and
her brothers weren’t alone in their opinion of Frey’s parenting abilities.  No
matter how busy or hectic things got with Frey being Lord Peverell-Potter or
Potter-Peverell depending on who was speaking, he always was home in time to
help with dinner and baths and bedtime stories.
Stories that were quickly becoming things of legend in the ever-growing circle
of children that the triplets socialized with from Wizarding Great
Britain…though for reasons that Draco never liked to think too hard on, despite
how fantastical or mystical or heroic the stories, Asgard and Jotunheim and the
Yggdrasil were verboten.
He’d asked – once – why, when he’d never strayed away from such topics before.
His lover’s – even a semi-lover as he currently was – answer had saddened the
blond who had been accused more than once of being too up himself to care for
the troubles of others outside his family, which Frey both was and wasn’t.
Frey didn’t want his children to resent him for telling them of a fantastical
world that existed and they could – in theory – visit…but which would never
welcome them for their sire’s and grandsire’s origins.
He didn’t want them to have issues because others saw them as being born of
what amounted to as the monsters under the bed – whether Jotnar or Aesir, as
not all of Jotunheim had welcomed Loki and his son with open arms despite the
loving and tear-filled welcome they had gotten from their kin.
Frey’s reticence on the part of all things Yggdrasil had seemed strange – at
first – to both Draco and Lucius when his son brought it to his attention,
especially in light of the ever-looming date of Frey’s Ascension to that
pantheon which would herald a curtailing of the amount of time the young
godling spent as an active parent.
But they were forgetting a key factor, one which was pointed out by Severus who
had long been brought “into the loop” as it were concerning Frey’s status.
Frey wasn’t only of Yggdrasil, his roots were also firmly entrenched in
Olympian ground…and often his body was firmly entrenched in Olympian flesh with
his ongoing affair with the pair of Zeus and Ganymede.  Frey might not wish his
children to know of Yggdrasil but he showed no such compunction regarding
Olympus.  When it came time to Ascend, he would likely imply – as he tried as
best he could to refrain from lying to both his children and his Far as best he
could – that it was to Olympian ranks rather than Aesir.
“How long until he has to go back to New York?”  Blaise asked as he wrapped his
arms around Draco from behind, leaning forward to rest his chin on the
slightly-shorter man’s shoulder.
Draco shook his head with a sigh.
“Not long enough.”  He responded, leaning back into the wordless support
offered by his first – and he had an inkling that if Blaise had his way his
last – boyfriend.  “It’s never long enough.  Frey was right – everyone was when
they warned me about getting involved with him.  If we were bound – forever
bound – I would never have been able to share him with all the other demands on
him and his time.”  He smirked up into purple eyes.  “I’m far too selfish for a
true husband who isn’t mine alone.”
Blaise chuckled – message well received – and leaned down to press a deep kiss
onto pale pink cupid’s bow lips as their sometimes-lover gamboled around the
lawn like an overgrown puppy with his children clinging to him and shrieking
with laughter.
…
“Ok, I’m used to the…odd around you lover.”  Draco arched a brow and jerked his
head towards the shimmering light that hovered over their shared bed later that
night.  “But…what the fuck is that?”
That being a rainbow-like shimmer hovering over the three entwined bodies on
the massive bed, and had Frey groaning and rising to his feet, the shimmer
following him insistently as he clothed himself in his battle-gear with an
absent wave of his head, his power ever-growing as he aged.  It wasn’t quite
the basilisk-hide armor that still waited for him from his rites of man(or
god)hood, but still impressive in gleaming grey and black Horntail dragonhide
and cushioning silk arcomantula tunic and bottoms underneath the heavy hide. 
Swords appeared at back and hip, while daggers made themselves had home in many
and various places in boots and belt and wrist, with the Elder Wand safe as
always in the invisible sheath on Frey’s lower arm.
Another quick spell had his hair braided back in warrior braids from the
fucked-out sweaty mess it had been on rising from the silk-draped bed, and Frey
tossed a coin into the rainbow shimmer – an Iris message, as he explained to
his lovers – making sure that whoever was on the other side had no view of the
bed’s watchful occupants.
“Frey.”  Luke’s tense face peered out from the misty message, the sounds of an
argument coming through loud and clear, Frey easily making out the main office
of the Big House in the background.  To his sharp sense, it looked like Percy
and Clarisse going at it, with Thalia jumping in here-and-there, Annabeth to
his surprise not involved…indeed nowhere to be seen.  “We need you here.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Annabeth.”  Luke blew out a shuddering breath, fear written plainly over
his face and trembling his voice.  “She’s been…taken.”
Emerald eyes hardened, and a nod was all the reaction Frey gave in response, a
hand slashing up to cancel the Iris message.
“Come back, lover.”  Draco demanded, rising and rushing to Frey’s side, one
elegant hand reaching up to grasp onto the finely-chisled jaw and force his ex-
husband to face him head-on.  “Come back.  No matter what, no matter the cost,
our children need their father – both of their fathers.  Don’t you dare leave
me and Blaise to raise your little monsters on our own, do you hear me you
Gryffindor prat?”
“I hear you.”  Frey managed a dry chuckle despite the fury that was beating
just inside his breast.  He wasn’t as close to Annabeth as Luke or even Percy,
but she was still a life he’d saved…and that meant something to the godling.
More importantly, she was like a little sister to Luke, and one of Percy’s best
friends.
Kronus hadn’t pulled his punches this time, though Frey wanted to hear in full
just what had happened for himself before making any judgements over what the
goal had been that ended in her capture.
“I hear you.”  He repeated, taking hold of Draco’s hand and giving him a
promising kiss to the knuckles.  “I’ll give the monsters a kiss goodbye, then
I’ll go.  And yes…I promise to come back.”
…
Frey waited in the shadows at the edge of Camp Half-Blood, ruminating on all
that had been shared by Luke and Percy, with a few – at times snotty –
interjections by Zoe Nightshade, the same lieutenant of Artemis’s Huntresses
that Frey had butted heads with off-and-on ever since he’d been placed at Camp
by his patron Thanatos.
Annabeth – captured by a manticore.
A manticore who spoke of a “stirring” that had Artemis going off on a hunt.
Two new campers escorted to Camp, who spoke of a stay in the lair of the Lotus-
Eaters, making them who-knew-how-old and a description that sounded startlingly
like Percy’s former teacher who ended up being a harpy…and Frey could only
think of one reason why a servant of Hades would be interested in protecting a
pair of half-bloods instead of hunting and killing them.
Of all the ill-tidings that had been revealed, it was this last that truly
bothered Frey.
Or rather, it was their powers, as he could sense more than a little death
power surrounding them.
All three of the Big Three – if he was correct – had children of a similar age
after all breaking their pact to refrain from fathering half-bloods, and three
of the four children in question were poised on the brink of the correct age to
fulfill the most recent world-ending prophecy.
A prophecy that Frey is more and more certain belonged to Percy, able to nearly
see the strands of Fate winding around the younger boy.
“Heavy thoughts.”  A young voice, one that if pressed Frey would call bright
chided him from the shadows as a form stepped out of the darkness, seeming to
bring the light along with his bright blonde locks and blinding white smile.
A smile that Frey had seen on this-one’s father more than once.
“These are heavy days, Lord Apollo.”  Frey sketched a short bow, just enough
really to keep one of the youngest – but more powerful – gods from giving in to
the urge that many of his brethren have had regarding Frey and finally smiting
him.  “As I’m sure you well know, being the god of Prophecy and Foresight among
other things.”
Apollo’s smile turned grim, though the interest in his sunny blue eyes fail to
lessen, as he studied the half-blood that had somehow managed to capture his
father’s attention for longer than any other mortal in recent years…save for
the mother of his half-sister Thalia Grace and her brother Jason…but that was a
tale for another time.
There was something off about this half-blood, Apollo couldn’t help but notice
now that he stood within an arm’s-length of him.
Something his brother Ares had alluded too, about the sheer power this Frey
Haraldr seemed to give off, enough to stand toe-to-toe with Apollo’s
grandfather and live to tell the tale, no matter how weakened Kronus was from
his lengthy imprisonment in Tartarus.
A something that perhaps explained his fascination with Frey…a fascination that
Apollo felt somehow was different than his own burgeoning lust at the near-
perfect face and form the half-blood boasted alongside a nearly-intoxicating
level of power.
Yes…this one was different.
However, just how different Apollo knew had yet to be revealed, despite the
long list of achievements already attached to Frey’s name.
“A daughter of Athena missing, Artie out of touch,” Apollo rambled a bit,
watching the dark form of the beautiful boy who to his eyes wasn’t quite yet a
man despite the magical markings and premature maturity he sensed.  “A bit of
Prophecy and Foresight might just be the ticket.”
“She’s yours, then.”  Frey nodded thoughtfully, turning away and facing towards
where the Big House – and the mummy in the attic – loomed.  “Delphi.”
“She is.”  Apollo tucked his hands into his immaculately tailored jeans, eyes
unusually serious for such a fun-loving god.  “Cursed – as I’m sure you were
able to ascertain – but mine nonetheless.”
Frey nodded again.
For someone like him, it wasn’t hard to make out the taint of Hades’s power all
around the Oracle, including the attic where the husk of her resided.
He might’ve even been able to unravel it with time and study…but for someone
trying to lay low from Odin and the Yggdrasil, even someone as nominally high-
profile as he’d made himself with his quest and the prophecy he was born with,
not to mention current events, taking on the god of the Underworld wouldn’t be
wise considering the amount of sheer power he’d have to tap into to manage it.
Helping Percy with a dual against Ares was one thing, even helping Luke with
his possession issue was a world away from challenging a god in such a way.
And the Sorting Hat hadn’t wanted him in Slytherin for nothing, not to mention
having his Far pissed off with him for even trying it, let alone succeeding,
wouldn’t be worth the gain in the end as he also sensed that the curse in
question had an “out” built into to…the right circumstances just hadn’t come to
pass yet.
Still…
That didn’t help them when Chiron and the rest were refusing to allow a Camper
to seek a quest.
“Zoe is having a nightmare.”  Frey murmured as he felt the distress coming from
the Artemis cabin.  Every time he came to Camp he strengthened the wards, a
sound measure considering the near-disaster that Ethan had managed to unleash
with poisoning Thalia’s tree.  And now much like the Headmaster of Hogwarts or
the Lord of an old wizarding manor, Frey could glean a massive amount of
information from them.
Apollo blew out a breath, strain showing in the thin lines that suddenly
spider-webbed around his eyes and lush mouth.
“I know.”  Was all he said, leaving it up to Frey to decide if Apollo simply
knew or was the cause of the nightmare in the first place.  “Like I said…times
like these, a little Foresight can go a long way.”  His gaze cut back over to
the beautiful creature – and yes, he was pretty sure creature was the right
word for Frey Haraldr, legacy of Thanatos – who stood like a dark sentinel
watching over the Camp.  “No matter what happens.”  Green eyes clashed with
sunny blue, Frey listening with every inch of him on the heels of what Apollo
had just implied.  “Don’t allow them to go without you.  Not this time. 
Prophecies are often self-fulfilling.  Perhaps…just this once…one won’t come
true that comes from one of mine.”
Frey sketched a short bow, and Apollo disappeared in a burst of light, gaining
a chuckle from his audience of one.
“Show-off.”  Frey said fondly, ignoring the teasing breeze that ruffled his air
at the proclamation.
Great.
Just great.
The longer he stayed in this world, the more attention he brought to himself –
knowingly or not.
After all, somewhere along the way he’d apparently gained the favor of the
gorgeous – but dangerous – god of the Sun.
Frey shook his head as he made his way back to the Thanatos cabin, wondering to
himself who was going to take this newest development worse – Zeus or Loki…?
…
“Five shall go west to the goddess in chains,
One shall be blessed in the land without rain,
The bane of Olympus shows the trail,
Campers and Hunters combined prevail,
The Titan’s curse must two withstand,
And one shall perish by a parent’s hand.”
Silence echoed in the wake of the Oracle’s words to Zoe Nightshade, the
mummified form slumping to the ground like a puppet with it’s strings cut…which
Frey supposed was true, given his discussion with Apollo the previous night.
Chiron quickly took charge, having a couple of the bigger Ares boys carry the
Oracle back to her home in the attic as Zoe began giving orders to the
Huntresses for which four she wanted with her on the quest – only to be cut off
by Percy.
“Campers and Hunters combined prevail.”  He said, sea-green eyes flashing in
the light of the campfire across from where the Huntresses had settled next to
Chiron around the fire.  “Campers, that means us.  You’re not supposed to do
this with Huntresses alone.”
“He’s right, Nightshade.”  Thalia stood, one hand resting fisted on her cocked
hip, arching a smug brow at the eternal-teen she’d never been able to stand
ever since Zoe had tried to split her away from her friends – particularly from
Luke.
Granted, she’s been a bit heartbroken to wake and discover that the boy her age
that she’d had a crush on had not only grown up while she’d been a tree but had
fallen in love and gotten married, but it wasn’t like she would have expected
him to sit around and wait for her.
She knew Nightshade’s damage – and she respected it, what had been done to her
before becoming a Huntress was awful – but that didn’t mean that every half-
blood boy was worthless.
Even if it had taken her a bit of time to warm up to Percy…and she still didn’t
quite know what to think about Frey, despite his being instrumental in saving
her as a leafy monument until Percy and the others had saved her.
“You need us.”
Zoe sneered, but nodded reluctantly.
Depending on her fellow huntresses was easy, natural after centuries of hunting
and fighting together.
No matter how irritating…Thalia Grace had a point.
“Then you’ll come.”  Zoe said.  “And…”
“And me!”  Percy jumped up only to get slapped down.
“No.”  Zoe scowled.  “No boys.”
“But…”  Frey caught Percy’s eyes and shook his head, gesturing for him to wait.
Luke stepped into the void, playing peacemaker as he’d become accustomed after
being elevated to the head of the Cabin counselors after marrying Silena.
“Then Thalia and Grover will go with you.”  Luke smirked a bit, humor gleaming
in his eyes.  “After all, Grover isn’t a boy and Annabeth is his friend.  Who
will come with you from your Huntresses?”
“Pheobe.”  Zoe said decisively, gesturing one of her best forward.
“That give you four…”  Luke nodded.  “How about…”  His eyes lit on the de
Angelo girl, who had decided to join the Huntresses to much dismay of her
brother, but before he could say anything, his best friend – and constant thorn
in his side – spoke up.
“I’ll go as well.”  Frey stepped forward, silencing the uproar his announcement
caused with a lift of his hand.  “I’m not a boy after all.”
“No…”  Chiron mused.  “No, you’re not.”
“Chiron!”  Zoe protested, scandalized.  “He’s, he’s…”
“Not interested.”  Frey laughed, folding his arms across his chest. 
“Especially not in little girls who decided they never wanted to grow up. 
Annabeth was one of my charges – I saved her life more than once.  I’m going to
get her back.”
Zoe bit back the rest of her protests, even as the Huntresses glared at Frey’s
description of them and more than one of the Campers snickered at it, Luke
coughing to cover his own laugh.
Those two had always been like oil and water.
Running the gauntlet or playing capture the flag Chiron had quickly learned –
even when Frey was young – to put them on the same side or blood would flow.
Going on a quest together?
Luke snorted.
He’d be shocked if they both made it back with all their limbs attached.
…
“Why didn’t you let me fight to join you?”  Percy scowled as he watched Frey
back a bag.
The two green-eyed half-bloods had gotten pretty close after Frey helped him
beat Ares, and more often than not if Percy wasn’t found with Annabeth, Luke,
or Grover he’d be with Frey who had taken him under his wing very much like a
fond – if a bit distant – uncle or older brother despite only being a handful
of years Percy’s senior.
“Because sometimes my little water sprite.”  Frey teased him, ruffling his hair
and gaining himself a dark scowl – both for the nickname and the hair-messing. 
“Direct confrontation isn’t the way to win the war.  I know Nightshade, have
known her for years.”  Frey snorted, thinking of one or two of their
more…interesting clashes.  “There was no force on Olympus or Earth that
would’ve gotten her to cave to taking a boy on the quest.  And no.”  He cut
Percy off.  “I don’t count.”
“Why?”  Percy asked, perplexed.  “You’re still a guy…”
“I’m male.”  Frey corrected him, mentally adjusting that to intersexed in other
forms.  “And this is more about a state of mind than it is my gender, similar
to Grover.  Luke could’ve gone, or Chiron.  All of us male – none of us boys.” 
Frey smiled at the consternated look on Percy’s face, nudging him with a
shoulder.  “Hey, don’t worry about it.  Besides, I’m pretty sure Luke wanted to
see you so…”
“Yeah yeah.”  Percy rolled his eyes, still thinking on what Frey was alluding
to.  “I’m going, I’m going.  Enjoy your quest with Zoe…”
Frey snorted and rolled his eyes, not believing for one second that the
stubborn kid was going to let it lie…especially once Luke got done reminding
him that Percy had Annabeth’s hat…the one that made the wearer invisible.
Which, after all, was the reason he’d sent Percy off to Luke in the first
place.
Hecouldn’t tell the teen to sneak and follow them, it wouldn’t be a sign of
good-faith with the huntresses after he’d all-but-forced them to take him
along.
But if the kid did it of his own accord…well.
Frey couldn’t have had anything to do with that…now could he.
With a smirk and a flick of his eyes towards where he felt himself being
watched – likely by either his lover or his father…maybe both – Frey slung his
pack over his shoulder and sauntered out to meet with the rest of the
questers…and braced himself for the incoming migraine that dealing with Zoe was
likely to cause.
…
“You really are a hopeless hero, aren’t you little prince?”  Loki sighed,
shaking his head.  “Where did I go so wrong with you?”
Frey snorted, rolling his eyes at his father’s dramatics.
“I wonder where I came by thattrain hmm?”  Frey mused dryly.  “Perhaps from the
wizarding hero who stood off a Dark Lord to buy time or his wife who sacrificed
her lifeto save mine…or just maybe…”  He drawled.  “It came from a Jotun who
has worked all his life for the betterment of the Aesir?”  Frey arched an ebony
brow as his father cleared his throat and looked away.  “And now for the
Jotnar?  Tell me again Far, were you twelve or thirteen when you used one of
your illusions to save yourself and Thor from a bilgesnipe…?”
With a snort and an eye roll of his own, Loki muttered: “Thirteen.”  Then
rapidly changed the subject.
“I still don’t understand your involvement with this…mess.”  Loki commented,
with an idle hand wave.  “There’s a prophecy in play, the Fates have been – and
still are – meddling wenches.”  He sobered, staring down at a face that looked
more like his – with just a hint of James and a dash of Lily – each and every
day.  “Why must you endanger yourself when the hero has already been chosen,
the threads of fate woven?  You are becoming Frey,” Loki reminded him.  “Your
powers grow.  An outburst of them at the wrong time – or before the wrong
audience – could be deadly if you’re found before you freeze into immortality.”
This dreaming they were lounging in Frey’s quarters at their family’s hold on
Jotunheim, Frey laying back with his father petting his head beside him.  For
all that more and more people considered Frey a man grown – to his father he
would always be Loki’s little prince.  And alone like this, that was just fine
with both of them.
Frey stared up at the diamond-and-ice ceiling far above their heads for a long
moment, then said:
“Because Far.  Because I know what it’s like to have a prophecy, to be that
chosen – or forsaken – hero.  You’re right, you’ve always been right when it
comes to the events of Olympus and Camp Half-Blood.  But just the same…I had
help, and I survived, if a little battered and bruised.  Percy needs that,
needs someone, anyone who can understand having all the weight of the world
crushing you and grinding you down.  If I keep him from insulting Ares here or
help slay a monster there.”  Frey shrugged, sad green eyes meeting their
twins.  “Then I will.  I want to protect this world for my children…but more I
want to be the hero that they can be proud of and hold memories of my deeds
close to them once I can’t be here for them in the flesh anymore…”
…
“Phoebe!” Zoe cried out in the midst of battle.
They’d made it to Washington D.C., with their invisible tail following them, on
the trail that Zoe could somehow track of Artemis’s essence.
Then everything went very quickly, in Frey’s opinion, to hell.
Too busy to worry about the Huntress, what with fighting off a Nemean Lion,
Percy at his side, Frey let out a wave of his burgeoning godling powers.
His father was right, they were growing, as shown when the spartoi attacking
them – living skeletons with spears and swords in the command of Ethan and
Kronus – stilled and several fell into dust.
At his side Percy blinked for a split second before diving back into combat
against the remaining spartoi.
With Phoebe injured they needed to get clear of the enemy quickly and tend to
her – a reality driven home when no sooner had the spartoi been dealt with than
a deafening roar shook the glass in the museum.
Frey snorted to himself even as he switched his sword for a spear and shield
with an absent thought.
What was withmonsters and museums, anyway?
It was nearly as bad of a cliché in the half-blood world as the villains-in-
warehouses that you see in movies.
“Get Phoebe out of here.”  Frey ordered Zoe and Grover, both of whom nodded
grimly as Thalia and Percy squared up to stand at his side, Riptide held
loosely – and expertly – in Percy’s hands and Aegis open on Thalia’s wrist with
a short sword in her opposite hand, both with grim expressions to match Frey’s
own.  “We’ll buy you time.”
“What is it?”  Percy asked, shifting a bit to get into a firmer stance against
the creature they could hear bounding their way.
“Not anything we want to deal with.”  Frey said briskly, eyes narrowed and
focused as he tried to get a more definitive answer to Percy’s question.  “It’s
not a reptile, that’s for sure.”
Thalia snickered a little, still not over the fact that the other “demigod”
could talk to anything reptilian, having heard the story of the Hydra in the
Natural History Museum from Luke.
The trio hissed out various curses as the monster came into sight and they
finally had an answer in the form of a massive golden lion.
“Fuck my life.”  Frey cursed.  “Nemean Lion.  Don’t bother doing anything other
than blocking strikes on the body – it’s only vulnerable in its mouth and
eyes.  Thalia.”  He locked eyes with the daughter of Zeus a split second.  “You
and I will fend it off – buy Percy time and keep it distracted.  Percy, you
don’t have a shield, but you’re fast – aim your strikes for the soft-palette
and through into its brain or for the eye socket and brain, got it?”
Both younger demigods nodded and braced, then with a springing lunge Frey and
Thalia leaped out, flanking it from front and to the side and giving Percy an
angle to the massive head as the quick swordsman either parried swipes of the
deadly claws or harried the vulnerable spots on the head.
Thalia and Frey fell into a fast paced rhythm, barely giving the Lion time to
react to their strikes or strike itself let alone attack Percy, snarls and
hisses – both from them and it – echoing through the massive open building.
When it appeared the Lion would whirl and retreat – or feint as such before
striking again – it was met head-on by Percy who had read the move in the
coiling muscles and lunged, Riptide tearing through tender eye tissue and
straight into the brain, killing the Lion instantly.
“To my father, Poseidon.”  Percy spat out, teeth bared in a vicious snarl as
Thalia and Frey – both more than a little tired and beat down from the sheer
power behind the Lion’s swipes and having more than one wound seeping blood
from vicious claws – nodded sheathed their own weapons.  Percy had used more
strength than he’d thought, Riptide being stuck against the rear portion of the
skull.  He’d have to wait until the Lion disappeared into dust – which it did a
moment after he spoke – to retrieve the blade.
Frey let out a soundless whistle as he saw the trophy left behind for his young
friend – the same that Heracles had been given by Zeus for the same feat of
might – the impenetrable lion skin.
“Nice.”  Thalia said with genuine admiration.  “C’mon.  We’d better catch up to
the others and figure out where we’re going from here with Squid-Boy onboard
and Phoebe looking pretty bad from the spartoi.”
…
The argument with Zoe over Percy’s inclusion was close to vicious before it was
over…though not without more than a bit of divine assistance.
Frey, Thalia, and Percy had caught up with the other quickly, only to find them
with more than a little help in the form of Apollo, whose almost knowing gaze
Frey met head-on.
A genial nod was all the two exchanged before the god disappeared with Phoebe –
and gave them a bit of advice in the form of Cloudcroft, New Mexico.
“We have to move fast.”  Thalia told Zoe, the two fighting like cat and dog –
again – this time over how to follow Apollo’s advice.  “Those spartoi won’t
take long to catch up with us, even if Frey can somehow dust them.”
“I can’t control it totally.”  Frey warned them with an arch of a brow. 
“Thanatos’s powers that I’ve inherited can be a bit…finicky until I master
them.”
“Can’t you take us there through shadow?”  Zoe asked, ignoring Thalia for a
moment.  “I’ve seen you travel that way before.”
“Sure I could.”  Frey shrugged.  “Except the closer to the West Coast – and
Mount Othrys – I get, the weaker and more unpredictable my powers will grow
from the Titan taint.  If I use them to shadow us all across the country…it
might weaken me too much to be back into fighting form once we hit the
stronghold.  It depends.”
Thalia cursed under her breath at that, Percy, Grover, and Zoe all sharing
commiserating glances.  The story of Luke’s scar – and Frey’s reaction to the
West Coast – was something of an open-secret among the son of Hermes’s friends.
And Frey was too powerful of a weapon to risk him draining himself and not
being able to regenerate his powers until they got back outside of the tainted
area.
“But.”  He smiled, reaching into his armored battle-robe.  “There’s nothing
that says I can’t help out in another way…how does taking the train sound to
everyone…?”  He asked, lifting up his wallet and arching a brow.
…
The tension between Zoe and Thalia was thick enough to cut with a knife on the
ride between D.C. and Cloudcroft…though at least the rabid arguing had settled
into an icy silence, which was both better and worse than the open animosity
all at the same time.
Neither girl was in the best frame of mind to begin with from Frey’s point of
view, even before bringing into the quest and their personal dislike of each
other – and in Zoe’s case anything male – into the mix.
Zoe…well.  They were going to a place that she’d been banished from, after
betraying her family and helping Heracles…who had left her alone to deal with
the consequences of helping him in the first place.  Add in that Artemis was
missing, the one being who had been willing to help her after all of that
and…yeah.  Someone who tended to be stilted and uncomfortable around anyone not
Artemis or her sister Huntresses was snappy and irritable.
Thalia on the other hand was dealing with two problems, each as seemingly
overwhelming as the last.  Annabeth, who Thalia had doted on and treated like a
kid sister was taken, captured, by Kronus’s minions.  While at the same time
there was Apollo with his words making it clear that Thalia could supersede
Percy as the “hero” of the Big-Three prophecy.
Not exactly the wake-up the demigoddess would’ve preferred, that was for sure.
Especially as she, much like Luke, could easily see the temptation of Kronus’s
offer to the half-bloods who were helping him overthrow Olympus.
She was a half-blood with one hells of a grudge against the Olympians…not the
best candidate to either raze or save them.
Percy and Grover had given up on distracting or talking to either girl earlier,
finally delving into either playing cards or chatting quietly amongst
themselves, as Frey pretended to sleep while still keeping watch with his
powers over their compartment on the train speeding along with a soothing
clatter of wheels on rails towards New Mexico.
If it wasn’t for the ever-increasing presence that he associated with the
spartoi gaining on their eastern flank and the looming taint growing with every
mile closer to the West they get, Frey would probably rest in truth…but as it
was, rest was the last thing on his mind.
…
They made good time to New Mexico – but not good enough as not long after
disembarking the train they found themselves once again hiding and running to
evade the spartoi who had grown in number from the small troop they’d shaken
off in D.C.
Frey was in the process of trying to rent another car to get them out of the
dusty town when Grover stopped dead in his tracks from his pacing.
“What is it, Grover?”  Thalia asked, cocking her head to one side – and then
she felt it to, not just her but all of them.
Frey paused mid-sentanced, letting the sheer power roll over him, filling him
with the scent of ice-capped peaks and deep, dark forests.  Blood pumped
through his veins, and the urge to run and jump and fight filled him.  Shaking
himself, he eyed the others, who if by the looks on their faces had had a
similar experience.
“What is that?”  Percy breathed, nearly panting with effort to stay still as it
washed over him in a cacophony of crashing waves and the cries of gulls and
whales and the scent of the deepest sea.
“Pan.”  Grover said as if in benediction – which to a satyr it truly was.  “The
Great God Pan.  He’s here.”  Grover moved as if to run only to be stopped in
place by a hand fisting in the back of his shirt and holding firm as Grover
struggled and bucked to run and chase and finally find the missing god.  “Let
me go, Frey.”  He pleaded, nearly bleating in distress.  “He’s here, I have
tofind him!”
“No, Grover, we can’t.”  Frey told him, voice firm but not unsympathetic to his
plight.  He could only imagine how distressed he would be if his Far
disappeared for any amount of time and he was stopped from following up on a
lead like the one they had just gotten.  “We can come back and search later. 
But right now we have to get out of here before the spartoi find us or
something happens to our friends.”
“He’s right, G-Man.”  Percy told him with a frown and a comforting clasp to his
shoulder.  “Annabeth first, Pan later, okay?”
“Right.”  Grover shuddered, tossing his head as if trying to shake out the
urge.  “Right.  Annabeth.  Titans.”
“That’s right.”  Zoe soothed him as only an acolyte of another wild-god – in
her case goddess – could.  “We will come back and help you search out Pan, but
my lady must be found before the conclave.”
No sooner had she spoken than two things occurred almost in sync – the troop of
spartoi rushing around the corner as if to attack, and a high ear-piercing
squeal reverberated off the surrounding desert.
Frey goggled a moment at the sight of the massive boar as it threw the spartoi
out of its path with an enraged shriek.
“The Erymanthian Boar.”  Grover grinned, grabbing hold of Percy and Thalia and
towing them behind him, calling out to Zoe and Frey who ran to keep up.  “Frey,
quick!  Rope it with your magic!  It’s one of the fastest creatures on the
planet, way faster than any old car!  Pan smiles upon us.”
Sharing a rare moment of companionable consternation at Grover’s plan, Frey
sighed and shrugged as Zoe grimaced.
This was not going to be the most comfortable ride in existence, though the
plan did have merit.
Here was hoping that the massive boar was heading northwest, otherwise they
might end up wasting a lot of time trying to backtrack.
…
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, Frey was both
right-and-wrong.
The boar was spectacularly uncomfortable to ride.
However, it did cover a lot of ground at a rapid pace, getting them west and
away from the spartoi in a matter of moments before beginning to turn south.
“We have to jump!”  Frey shouted over the sound of the boar and the rushing
wind.  “We’re going the wrong way!”
“On three!”  Thalia called.  “One, two, three!”
On count, Frey loosed his hold on his magic and they sprang away from the boar,
landing with varying degrees of grace – or a lack thereof as Grover tumbled to
the ground.  While Percy helped the satyr up, the others stood and watched as
the boar disappeared from sight within moments before turning and seeing where
they’d ended up – in the middle of nowhere with nothing but sand surrounding
them and the glint of what might be metal towards what Frey thought was the
northwest horizon.
“Where are we?”  Percy asked, head turning as he took in the sprawling, vast
desert plain.
“Hard to say.”  Zoe said with a shrug.  “Probably not New Mexico with as fast
as the boar was moving but other than that…”  She tsked.  “The southwestern
U.S. is basically one massive desert sprinkled with mountains and cities,
crisscrossed by roads.”
“Which way?”  Thalia directed at Frey, who of the lot of them had the best odds
of figuring out where to go between his powers and his natural senses…though
why he was so strong had never quite been explained to her satisfaction.
“I smell exhaust and tar that way.”  Frey pointed.  “Probably a road.  If we
can find a road sign we’ll have a better idea of how to continue from here.”
As they set off, Percy drew back to talk to the older demigod as Zoe and Thalia
glared at each other and took point.
“You doing okay?”  He asked, the most sensitive to Frey’s plight with his
powers.  After all, Percy wasn’t up to his best either in a desert.  It wasn’t
like there were large bodies of water anywhere nearby from him to draw from. 
Though he was pretty sure if he had to that he could tap into the reserves
hidden below ground…he just didn’t want to have to, afraid of what that might
do in a place that was already low on water year-round.
Frey grimaced as he breathed in and the nasty-ass taint of Kronus coated the
back of his throat.
“I’ll survive.”  He told the younger male, jaw set.  “In the end…that’s all
that really matters compared to how many half-bloods don’t live long enough to
know what it’s like not to have monsters chasing you every hour of the day.”
…
Events passed in a large blur for Frey after Grover had received Pan’s blessing
via giant boar.
Percy faced off with Ares – again – and was given a rather ominous peak at his
love-life thanks to Aphrodite.
They traversed the junkyard of the gods without becoming demigod jelly on the
sand, but nearly bit it at Hoover Dam only to be saved by a pair of
Hephaestus’s creations.
Which brought them to San Francisco – the root cause of Frey’s powers being
unpredictable and his mind a bit fuzzy.
It was official…he hated the West Coast…or at least he would so long as it was
tainted by Kronus, a contagion that was worse than when he’d been in LA helping
Percy against Ares and a hundred times worse than his and Luke’s trip to the
Garden of the Hesperides.
Percy sending off the ophiotaurus, which had been helping the demigod navigate
through the challenges of the task, which he’d named Bessieof all things, was
no more than a blip on Frey’s radar, though Grover heading back to camp with
Bessie in tow did wake him up from his funk at least a little.
Frey at least wasn’t the only one off his game.
Being so close – but at the same time so far – from her sisters who had cast
her out was taking its toll on Atlas’s daughter, while the visions both Percy
and Zoe had been having weren’t helping things to say the least.
Still…thanks to Frey having been there before, they knew their way to the
Garden and the entrance of Mount Othrys…if they could only get past Ladon.
“Did you think we would just stand aside, sister?”  One of the Hesperides
mocked her without mercy.  “After you betrayed us?  And for what?”  The same
sister asked, obviously the leader.  “A hero that betrayed you?”  She hissed,
spying Riptide held by Percy.  “You even have the audacity to bring that cursed
blade here?  With heroes in tow?”  She snorted turning her back on them, the
other Hesperides joining her.  “Ladon!  Ladon!  There are intruders in the
Garden!”  They called then disappeared.
“Wow.”  Thalia said under her breath.  “And I thought I had family problems.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”  Percy grimaced as in a near-identical circumstance as the
Museum they heard a great roar and then the sound of a massive monster coming
their way.  “Kinda puts having thousands of cyclopes half-brothers into
perspective.”
Zoe was pointedly ignoring them even as Frey shot them a chiding look, knowing
the best out of all of them just how bad her sisters spurning her had to hurt
the Huntress, what with having a grandfather – adopted or not – that would
likely smite him as soon as look at him.
“Ladon’s a dragon right?”  Percy nibbled at his lower lip in worry, shuffling
his feet.  “Can’t you talk to him?”
Frey snorted.  “Yeah, right.  And say what?  Sorry, old chap.”  He snarked. 
“We’re just here to rescue a goddess?  I’m sure Ladon will just calm right down
and let us pass.”
“What’s the plan this time?”  Thalia asked, flicking her wrist and having her
massive shield Aegis emerge.
“You all run.”  Zoe said, squaring her shoulders.  “Ladon will focus on me – if
for revenge over my helping Heracles than nothing else.  Once you’re clear,
I’ll catch up.”
Or at least…she’d try.
She wasn’t kidding herself, she’d heard the prophecy the same as everyone else.
And given that they were about to enter her father’s prison…she wasn’t going to
make any bets on coming out of this alive.
But she could risk going up against Ladon, if Atlas was destined to be her
undoing.
As if he could read her very thoughts – which wasn’t as ludicrous as she might
like – Frey met her eyes and nodded once, his unnaturally green eyes somber.
He realized what she had…even if none of the rest had.
Prophecy could be beaten, be undone…but only rarely when it came directly from
the mouthpiece of the gods like the Oracle of Delphi.
…
“You holding up?”  Thalia eyed Frey with worry.
She’d never seen the older – well, now, at least – half-blood so off his game.
“I’ll make it.”  Frey shuddered out a breath as the entrance to the Titan
stronghold came into sight.  Closing his eyes, he cracked his neck and shut
down his preternatural senses.  He had to.  The taint was just too strong – it
threatened to overwhelm him.  He could fight through the nausea and headaches
the taint caused – but the fuzziness from the taint interacting with his power
was something else entirely as both Ladon and the manticore had proven out.
They paused for a moment at Frey’s signal, all smiling – though tinged with
worry – at the sight of a battered but still-standing Zoe catching them up.
“Good.”  She said with a rare smile for the Thanatos-legacy.  “We’ll need your
strength and your sword if we face what I fear.”
Nodding, Frey held out his hands in a wordless command.
“What about your powers?”  Percy’s brow puckered even as they all clasped onto
Frey’s arms, each leaving room for sword or shield in case Frey sets them down
in the midst of the enemy.
“I’m not going to be able to use much of it here.”  Frey told him honestly. 
“Not if I want to keep a clear head.  The very air is tainted.  This at least,
I can do to keep us from having to fight our way in and out.”
Understanding nods came from the trio, and with a flex of power and will, they
appeared – still wreathed in shadow – where Atlas was imprisoned.
Or at least…where he was supposed to be.
Zoe, made to move forward in a bound, only to be held back in an echo of Frey’s
cautioning of Grover’s response to Pan’s presence being felt in New Mexico.
Only it wasn’t Artemis’s power that caused Zoe’s instinctual reaction, but the
sight of her lady pinned beneath the sky – just as her and Percy’s visions had
suggested they might find.
Frey held her bow-strung-tight body against his own, one hand covering her
mouth and his opposite arm a steel-band against her waist where he could feel
sticky blood coming through her armor and onto his palm.
She was injured by Ladon…a highly poisonous dragon.
Frey would venture that the only reason she was still standing was both her age
and power – which were considerable given her heritage and high place among the
Huntresses – and her birthright as one of the Hesperides.
They waited like that for long moments as they took in the scene in its
entirety – not just the attention-grabbing form of Artemis laboring beneath the
sky.
Frey was afraid that he was going to run out of hands when both Percy and
Thalia nearly gave them away at the sight of Annabeth bound in chains beside
the form of Ethan who was in council with “The General” who Percy had heard of
from Doctor Thorn the manticore but not realized quite who it was – Atlas
himself, perhaps the strongest – and angriest – of all the Titans.  Thankfully,
they caught each other, Thalia’s nails nearly drawing blood on Percy’s arm even
as she dug into his pocket – which brought a bright red blush to the younger
male’s cheeks – and taking out Annabeth’s hat which will turn the wearer
invisible.  From there a bit of a plan was made all in silence, even as Frey’s
eyes clocked and accounted for each and every Titan or monster present, among
Atlas and Ethan’s number were also Krios, the Titan of Stars and Lord of the
South, as well as more spartoi and telekhinesthan Frey really wanted to count.
Once the plan was in place, Frey risked another flex of power to cloak the
others in shadow, then took up position…in Artemis’s place under the sky.
Artemis gave a bloodthirsty grin even as an alarm rang out as her father’s
lover took her place.
They would have to be fast.
Even a half-blood as strong as Frey would not last long under the Titan’s
Curse.
Fortunately for them, her grandmother Rhea had ensured that only others would
have to take on the curse consensually, while any Titan would be bound against
their will to the task of holding up the sky.
With a battle-cry, she summoned her weapons and met Atlas, her captor, head-on
with the clang of steel on steel.
…
It was without end.
Moments became hours and centuries and ages, as the weight of the sky crushed
him down, leaving him breathless and stunned, clearing all thought but that of
pain.
Frey panted, finding it nearly inconceivable that Ethan, let alone Annabeth,
had known what they would have to take on along with the Titan’s Curse.
Annabeth, for all that she should have been a Ravenclaw if she’d gone to
Hogwarts, had clear Gryffindor tendencies along with more than a dash of
Hufflepuff for trying to save Ethan from the Curse.
Too noble for her own good, that girl.
Though if the Curse was good for anything, it cleared his mind of the tainted
power that encompassed Mount Othrys, letting him – in the small portion of his
mind capable of thought – watch and appreciate the plan even as it fell apart
not long after he set Artemis free and Percy and Thalia did the same for
Annabeth.
Artemis found herself pressed on all sides, Zoe coming to her aid only to be
picked up and flung into a solid-rock wall by her erstwhile father while Percy,
Thalia, and Annabeth held off Ethan and the monsters.
They were losing ground, and fast.
“They need you, my son.”  Loki breathed into his mind, even as he watched a
section of his son’s hair turn white from strain at the crown of his head from
root to tip.  “They can’t give the Huntress enough time without your sword and
spear.”
“Percy!”  Frey called out to the closest – and strongest next to himself –
demigod, regretting it even as he knew it had to happen.  They needed him on
the line more than they needed him pinned under the sky, as his father’s word
attested.
Loki was many things, a general and strategist among them, and thanks to the
Seeing pools had a better perspective than Frey did under the sky.
He trusted that his father – while willing to lie to him to save him if
necessary – wouldn’t lie about this when he knew good and well that it would
take him a long time to die under the Curse.
Much longer than it would take any of the others save Artemis and the Titans.
“Tag!”  He shouted, Percy getting the point immediately and giving a rolling
dive, knocking Frey loose from his position kneeling on the ground in the
classic “Atlas” pose immortalized by countless sculptures and paintings. 
Percy’s pose wasn’t nearly so graceful, ending up on all-fours.
Rolling his neck and summoning the self-same sword he’s used to slay a basilisk
– and was poisoned as a result – and his spear, Frey leapt into battle as
strength ran though him with the distinct flavor of his father’s power, batting
Krios away from Artemis with a meaningful glance at Percy and taking her place
against Atlas even as the Lord of the Stars taunted the Huntress regarding her
wounded-and-dying lietenent.
“Ahh…”  Atlas drawled, even as his eyes lit with challenge.  This one was
different from the rest, even the too-sentimental goddess.  He would have never
taken on the Curse to save another.  Let alone been so ready to battle after
gaining free of it.  “You smell of ancient power, godling.”  He smirked as he
placed just why this one was giving him one hell of a fight, parrying every
strike from Atlas’s sword and slashing furiously with both sword and spear.  He
was becoming…but wasn’t quite there yet.
In fact…Atlas would bet that taking on the Curse had set this one back at least
a few years in his becoming.
A shout and cry from their side drew Atlas’s attention as Artemis lunged and
tripped Krios, sending him tumbling beneath the sky and Percy rolled out from
under it as Krios raged and howled, Frey leaping without pause as Atlas stood
in shock, his guard lowering for no more than a split-second…all that his
opponent needed.
Frey’s spear tore through skin and muscle with inhuman strength – a Jotun’s
strength, his eyes flashing red for a long moment – the momentum of the throw
toppling Atlas backwards even as Ethan roused the vanguard to attack anew
despite the General’s fall, his rallying cry too little too late as Frey stood
over the pinned-and-gurgling Atlas, his spear having torn through the Titan’s
exposed neck.  Eyes flashing at Ethan as the other stared at him in seething
fury, he wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword and plunged it down
through armor and bone, straight through the Titan’s heart, three words
tumbling through his lips in an echo of Percy’s defeat of the Lion.
“For my father.”
The others rushed him quickly as the Titan forces spilled out of every corner,
surrounding them as they stood over the fallen form of Atlas as it crumbled
into dust, the Titan banished to Tartarus.
Artemis had Zoe in her arms, following the motions of the others as Percy,
Annabeth, and Thalia all laid hands on Frey and with one last fuck-you to Ethan
shadow-stepped from Mount Othrys, getting as far from Kronus’s taint as he
could before collapsing, leaving them tumbling to the ground somewhere in the
Midwest.
“Di immortales.”  Thalia crouched over Frey’s slumped form, as Artemis laid an
ever-weakening Zoe on the ground beside him as the others hovered.  “Is there
anything we can do?”
“Not for me.”  Frey waved her off, coming up on one elbow to stare in worry at
Zoe.  “I’ll be fine in a day or two…is she…?”
Artemis nodded with a pinched look on her face – and with good reason.
Zoe Nightshade had been her constant friend and companion for thousands of
years.
And now thanks to her own father…she was dying.
“Percy.”  Zoe coughed up blood, even as her eyes took on a fever-bright sheen. 
“Be better than the one I made that sword for.”
“I will.”  Percy vowed, one hand brushing over Riptide where it rested in his
pocket now that the overt-danger was over, the post-battle crash coming up on
him fast.
“Boys are stupid.”  She smiled weakly at Annabeth.  “Make sure he lives up to
that, yeah?”
Annabeth nodded, a tear slipping from her eye even as Artemis and Zoe exchanged
a few words, and the first among equals of the Huntresses slipped away, her
body disappearing in a shower of rich gold and purple dust.
“Purple?”  Percy wondered.  He’d never seen that before.
Frey just hummed as the others eyed him knowingly, while with a whistle Artemis
summoned her chariot.
“I have a conclave to make.”  She said, armoring herself in her ceremonial garb
with a thought.  She could – and oh, she would – mourn later.  For now, there
was a greater danger than her follows knew rising in the West.  “And no time to
drop you off.”  She smirked a little despite the dullness of her usually vivid
eyes.  “So I suppose we have no choice but to have you accompany me and give
witness to all you’ve seen…wouldn’t you say?”
“Will they listen to us this time?”  Percy couldn’t help but ask, given his
experience with the other gods.
Artemis hardened, reminding them all of just why others feared her.
“After what it cost to gain this information…they must, or they’ll have to face
me.”
***** Chapter 30 *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: As always, the majority of the prophecy that the Oracle gives is
straight from the PJ books, but tweaked to work better with my plotline.  The
description of Kampe comes straight from Wiki for the most part.
                   Chapter Thirty: By the Ghost King’s Hand
“Well…”  Frey tsked to himself in the wake of the conclave.  “That could have
gone better…”
He was right – as usual, much to Luke’s eternal irritation – as the two friends
watched as Nico stormed away after Frey banished the spartoi he’d raised.
The young – though not as young as they’d first thought when he’d arrived weeks
before – had not taken his sister’s defection to the Huntresses well, any more
than Zeus had taken the same decision from Thalia, effectively freezing her
before her sixteenth birthday and making his child the hero of prophecy.
Luke just snorted and rolled his eyes.
“I suppose you’re going back to England now?”  He asked, Frey giving a humming
nod in response.
“Don’t worry.”  Frey smiled.  “I’ll be back, and Zeus can’t really afford the
distraction of me right now.  Or any of the other gods for that matter.”
Luke grimaced.  “Please tell me my old man hasn’t hit on you.”  The demigod
nearly begged as they wandered off towards the Big House where Luke now lived
with his wife Silena along with Chiron and “Mr. D” or Dionysus, though the god
at least would likely prove to be gone much more often with Artemis’s stirring
the Olympians to action against the growing Titan threat.
Frey gave an honest guffaw at that.
“No, not him.”  He told him between laughs, wiping at a tear that threatened to
spill in humor at the very idea.  “I’m a little too male for Hermes…well, that
and I’m your best-friend and he doesn’t want to screw up your relationship any
further.”
“Then who besides Zeus and Ganymede have made a pass at you?”
“I don’t know if it counts as a pass, but.”  Frey shrugged.  “I’m pretty sure
Apollo is a little more interested in me than just my ability to help Percy
with his fate.  And Zeus doesn’t have any problem with sharing me any more so…I
might see where that goes.”
Luke winced at the very thought.
Best-friend or not, he would never understand the mindset that most immortals –
including his friend who wasn’t there yet – had regarding relationships.
“Away with you, you smug polyamorous bastard.”  Luke shoved him away as they
reached the steps of the Big House.  “Shoo.  Go hug my godchildren or irritate
Draco or something.”
With a mocking bow and a shove to the shoulder, Frey stepped into the shadows,
making it home to the U.K. just in time for bedtime stories.
“Papa!”  The chorus of shouts from his children made him laugh – this time in
pure joy – and he knelt down to wrap them in his arms and just breathe in their
innocent toddler scent.
This.
This, right here, was why he fought.
For them, and the type of world he wanted to give them.
“Everything alright, Harry?”  Draco asked with soft concern, easily spotting
the signs of exhaustion riding his longtime lover hard.
Blaise had been called off on a business meeting in Japan, leaving Draco and
his parents to manage the kids while Frey was away.
“I am now.”  He said, looking up into icy-blue eyes that in time had grown from
ardent desire and loving into a more mellow – but stronger at the same time –
loving comfort and friendship.
The desire was still there, it likely always would be.
But what he had now with Draco, and yes, Blaise was stronger and more lasting
than any hot-blooded adoration ever could be.
“I am now.”
…
It was a feeling that carried him along for many months, into late the next
summer as he delighted in watching his children grow and popping back over to
New York as often as he could to help train the half-bloods there or up to
Olympus to add his two cents on Zeus’s strategies and battle plans or to
Jotunheim or even the mirror-Earth that would likely become his home one day if
his Far was right.
Still, he knew that the calm idle following the crushing blow he’d dealt Kronus
in slaying his first General would eventually come crashing down.
He simply didn’t expect it to be as catastrophic as it turned out to be when
the hammer came down.
…
“Who’s in trouble this time?”  Frey asked right off the bat when he’d been
ushered from the Thanatos cabin on his regular schedule arrival time from the
U.K. and straight up to the Big House.  It was said with more than a little
tone of weariness and posed to Silena who was looking lovely – and blooming –
at just gone three months pregnant.  “Percy, Annabeth, Grover, or somehow all
three?”
Silena snorted.  “As if you can talk mister trouble-magnet.”  She pointed out
good-naturedly, one hand coming to rest elegantly on her stomach.  “How many
scrapes have you gotten into now – both with and without my husband?”  She
arched a knowing brow as Frey looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“So it’s not…”  He trailed off in question.
“Oh, no.”  Silena chuckled, shaking her head and sending her loose long hair
tumbling down her back.  “It most definitelyis.  Both Percy and Grover, though
my money is on Annabeth being right in the thick of it with them.”
“What’s happened in the last week?”  He frowned, perplexed.  He’d just been at
Camp before being out of touch for a brief period to celebrate his
birthday…late due to issues with the kids and the annual Malfoy holiday in
France, but still…  “The sky hasn’t fallen or anything has it?”
“No.”  Silena sighed, waving a hand.  “It’s just…well.   You’ll see.”  She
promised darkly.
“Uh oh.”  Frey winced.  When Silena wasn’t happy, that usually meant either
someone was trying to break up her and Luke – as had happened more than once
even before they were married – or her goddess-given powers from Aphrodite were
bugging her.
In other words…teenaged angst of the looovvvevariety.
“Ah, Frey, you’ve arrived.”  Chiron greeted one of his favorite – if most
mysterious – protégé’s with genuine relief.  “Most excellent.”
Frey clasped arms with the wise immortal centaur, all the while eyeing the
motley crew assembled behind him around the dining room table.  As usual there
was a new face – probably another activities director since they seemed to have
issues with staffing with Mr. D off helping with the oncoming war – at the
table…though a curious one that felt very much not right to Frey’s senses which
were recovering nicely from his ordeal under the sky.  Percy, his twin sky-
bearer with a matching white streak to prove it, was sitting across from – and
eyeing warily – a fuming Annabeth, and next to a clearly worried-and-nervous
Grover.  Luke, Clarisse, Michael from the Apollo cabin, Castor and Pollux
representing the only Dionysus half-bloods, Charles from Hephaestus, and the
rest of the cabin heads were all present and trying not to draw Annabeth’s
attention…probably due to the fact that her glares at Percy were fierce enough
to kill.
With a sigh, Frey settled in for an evening of playing mediator, starting off
with: “what’s the emergency?”
“There’s an entrance to the Great Labyrinth in the Camp.”  Luke led with at
once, shooting a warning look at Annabeth.  “One that Ethan probably used to
poison Thalia’s tree two years ago and from what we understand might be
planning to use for an invasion force.”
Groaning, Frey leaned forward and buried his head in his hands, already seeing
where this was going.
“Yup.”  Luke said with mock-cheer clapping his friend on the back.  “Welcome to
my world.”
“Has a quest already been sought?”
“No.”  Chiron spoke up, stamping one hoof.  “We thought it best to wait for
you.”
“Absolutely not.”  Frey hissed, narrowing his eyes at his former mentor.  “I’ve
already fulfilled my fate.  The Oracle probably won’t even speak for me. 
Next.”  He set his jaw and crossed his arms.
There was no fucking way he was going to set himself up for Fate to fuck with
him again.
The last time had done enough damage to his psyche for two lifetimes.
Pass.
“I’ll go.”  Annabeth said before Percy could heroically – and stupidly –
offer.  Seaweed Brain was already the central figure for an ongoing prophecy,
there was no need to paint an even bigger target on his back…no matter how
pissed she was at him over the whole Rachel situation.
Standing at once, Annabeth braved the attic, only to return milk-white and
shaking.
“What is it?”  Percy jumped to his feet, rushing to her side and hesitating
just a moment – but more than long enough for her to move out of hugging range
after his hesitant – and hurtful – pause.  “What’s wrong?”
Annabeth looked up into those sea-green eyes and repeated the Oracle’s words,
words that had already burned themselves into her brain.
            “You shall delve into the darkness of the endless maze,
                The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise.
               You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand,
                      The child of Athena's final stand.
                Destroy one’s hope with a hero's final breath,
                   And make an enemy far worse than Death.”
“Don’t panic.”  Frey advised immediately, seeing the three points of contention
– and worry – in the prophecy.  “Prophecy is wooly and rarely obvious until
after the fact.  You’re hardly the only child of Athena roaming the world, the
same with heroes, and as a legacy of Thanatos I can tell you that it’s not hard
to have a worse enemy as he’s invariable fair – if unyielding.”
Shuddering out a breath she nodded, Chiron taking that as leave to ask after
who she wanted to accompany her on her quest.
“Percy, Grover…”  She paused, knowing it was unconventional but not caring. 
“And Tyson.”
Now, that surprised them.
For two reasons, one being that unless it was specifically states in the
prophecy quests rarely had more than three members…and extras tended to end up
dead as Zoe’s death had recently reinforced, and second that Annabeth while
warmed to the cyclopes now, had hardly been his biggest fan when he’d first
arrived with his half-brother Percy.
“You know that will increase the danger.”  Luke cautioned her.  “Taking more
than two others often winds up deadly.”
“I know.”  She gave a wobbly smile.  “But with Frey here to help plan and guard
the camp – you are staying aren’t you?”  She checked and then continued with
more confidence after he gave a slow nod, his eyes dark with worry – though
over what she wasn’t quite certain.  “And the prophecy itself…well.”  She
nodded.  “Better safe than sorry.  We’ll four go seeking Ariadne’s String in
the Great Labyrinth.”
“So mote it be.”  Frey murmured, almost under his breath.
…
Percy entered the Thanatos cabin with a heavy step, the scene he’d just scene
by collect Iris-message playing in his head, and drawing him straight to the
one person who he knew would be able to answer his question.
“Percy?”  Frey asked, sleep still rich in his voice as he rubbed at his eyes. 
He’d been deep in conversation with his Far when the wards on the Thanatos
doorway had gone off.  With Bianca off with the Huntresses and Nico…who knew
where…he’d set them back up.  “What’s wrong?”
It couldn’t be an assault on the camp as that would have been a different alarm
altogether.
“I just…I just saw something.”  Percy rushed to explain to the adult half-
blood, eyes drawn immediately to a couple things he’d never seen before.
Frey always wore shirts to the wrist.
Always.
But from what Percy had understood of the gossip around camp, it hadn’t always
been that way.
And if the scars on his chest and the tattoos on his arms were any hint, now he
knew why.
“Holy shit.”  Percy breathed out, eyes wide with shock.  “Where did you get all
those scars?”
Frey jerked a shoulder.  “Training.”  He said brusquely.  “Adventures.  Rites
of Passage.  Pretty standard for my lineage.”
“O-kay.”  Percy blinked then shook it off, getting back on point.  “I got an
Iris-message.”
“O-kay.”  Frey half-grinned, moving to the “kitchen” area of the massive cabin
and getting them both something to drink – soda for Percy and firewhiskey for
himself.  “How’d that bring you to me?”
“It was a collect message, and it showed me Nico.”  Percy explained, sipping at
the soda and letting the familiar taste settle his nerves.  “He…he didn’t know
I was watching, I don’t know who sent me the message or why.”
“What was he doing?”  Frey set the firewhiskey aside, leaning forward, his
interest well and truly peaked.  The questers were due to set out tomorrow,
whoever sent Percy that message did it for a reason, even if that reason was as
simple as rattling Percy and throwing him off his game.  But Frey would venture
that it was a bit more involved than that, or else why the subterfuge of the
collect Iris-message?
“He was making a deal with his…father.”  Percy grimaced, joined by Frey. 
Neither of them was the biggest fan of the Lord of the Underworld.  “To bring
his mom back to life…”  He trailed off then sighed.  “Zeus killed her while
trying to kill Nico and Bianca.”
Frey growled a bit, sending a furious glance up at the ceiling, but knowing now
wasn’t the time to take his lover to task over shedding innocent blood.
But believe him…there would be a reckoning between them before long.
“What were the terms?”
“Hades would bring Nico’s mother back to life…”  Percy shifted.  “In exchange
for the life on one who has cheated death.”
“And you think that’s you?”  Frey arched a brow.  “That’s a bit of a leap. 
Granted, there’s been a few close calls…but you’ve never outright cheated
death.”
“Well.”  Percy muttered a bit.  “Nico kinda still blames me for Bianca joining
up with the Huntresses and leaving him alone so…”
Frey shook his head, falling back against the armchair with a sigh.
“Look, Percy.”  Frey told him with steady calm.  “You’re getting a little
paranoid.  Not without cause,” Frey assured him when the younger half-blood
looked mutinous.  “You’ve had a lot of stuff happen the last couple of years. 
But as someone who has been given a quest to hunt down a soul that had cheated
Death…”  He trailed off, shaking his head.  “Trust me, you don’t qualify.  Come
on.”  He motioned Percy up and escorted him over to one of the bunks that he’d
added once his cabin became an extension of the “unclaimed/death deity” area
from the Hermes Cabin.  “You can sleep here tonight.  I’ve woven so many wards
around this place it’s one of the safest rooms there are in this universe.”
…
“You can’t seriously still be upset over the Prophecy?”  Frey arched a brow at
Zeus, green eyes flashing a warning while Ganymede choked back a laugh at the
pouty – yes, the King of the Gods was pouting – look on their lover’s face. 
“Let alone your brothers breaking a pact not one of you should have ever made
given your collective track record for staying away from tempting mortals.”
“He has a point, love.”  Ganymede told him between snorts of laughter.  “Look
at it this way – now Thalia is able to bond with one of her half-sisters!”  The
beautiful cupbearer barely got the words out of his mouth before he was
hunching over and holding his sides, guffaws pouring from his lips.
Zeus scowled.
This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when the three of them retired to his
chambers after Frey arrived from standing guard over Camp Half-Blood.
Though given that Poseidon had become increasingly chilly the last several
months as the focus was put more and more on the Western front and less on
protecting his brother’s underwater realm…not to mention Hades steadfast
refusal to participate at all in the offensive against their father.
Zeus had been ranting about his brothers – which led to a rant about their two
sons who could fulfill the Prophecy – when Frey had cut in.
“Which reminds me.”  If Zeus had thought he’d seen Frey angry before, it was
nothing compared to now when his eyes began to glow an eerie bright green and
power seemed to crackle and spark from his skin.  “Where in the hells do you
get off killing an innocent to get back at Hades?  Maria di Angelo was guilty
of nothing but loving Hades and you killed her.”
“I’m hardly the only one guilty of that, godling.”  Zeus ground out, his own
formidable temper roused at his lover’s – and more importantly one of his
strongest allies – words.
Ganymede groaned and flopped over onto his stomach as his lovers went at it
hammer and tongs, their power rumbling and shaking and cracking all throughout
Olympus and making many of the lesser gods and goddesses abandon the palace for
their favored Earthen haunts rather than risk being caught in the crossfire
between Zeus and whoever had drawn his ire this time.  The Cupbearer was
unsurprised over the title given to Frey by Zeus, over the years he’d been
joining them in their chambers he’d figured it out for himself.  Still, he kept
it to himself, as he did the rest of Zeus’s secrets.
That was his vow and promise to his love, to keep his secrets, no matter how
explosive or vile.
Though on days like today, when Hera had been particularly vicious before
taking her leave of Olympus for a time, or Frey managed to get Zeus right
hacked off, he often wondered why it was he’d been willing to tie his lifetime
to the sometimes foul-tempered creature he called love and king.
Then Zeus would look at him with those liquid brown eyes, lightning cracking in
them and promising untold delights, and he would remember.
…
It was an exhausted – both from the fight and the making up that came after it
– but exhilarated Frey that shadowed back down to Camp Half-Blood the next
morning, only to walk out from his cabin into a mess far more troubling than
Zeus’s ongoing and innate lack of self-control when it came to his vengeful
tendencies.
A darkness had come over the camp, as real and visible to Frey’s senses as
thick fog, though invisible to his eyes.
Breaking with ease from his normal graceful stride into an athletic run, Frey
hit the porch of the Big House and burst through the front door into the dining
room, only to find a red-eyed Annabeth and several crying campers, along with a
saddened Chiron and Luke, while Silena and Annabeth worked on a death shroud
that laid on the table before them.
He quickly made note of the trio that were missing from the scene: Tyson,
Grover, and worst of all, Percy.
“What has happened?”  He demanded, eyes shooting to lock with Chiron’s mournful
gaze.
“You heard, no doubt, of the explosion at one of Hephaestus’s forges that was
previously taken over by the Titan forces.”  Chiron stated, though it was a
partial question, the centaur continuing once Frey nodded.  He’d thought as
much, but then, Chiron was perhaps one of the only beings at camp who actually
knew where the enigmatic godling went during the nights he wasn’t patrolling,
with the others limited to his best friends Luke and Silena.  “Perseus was…lost
during the explosion.  Annabeth survived.”  Chiron waved to the stoic but
clearly distraught inside teen girl.  “And reported the loss of a hero as well
as the decimation of the enemies at the forge.”
Frey rocked back on his heels for a moment, then closed his eyes, reaching out
to the life that he’d come to know over the last three years.
Atlas had been right, though he would never know it, Frey taking on the curse
of holding up the sky had slowed down his becoming…but it hadn’t hindered
powers he already possessed, just extended the timeframe a few years until he
would freeze into his immortality.
And some of the first powers he’d developed had all revolved around life and
death.
So it was with no little amount of relief that he smiled after a long moment
and then said:
“No,” Frey chuckled.  “I’m afraid he’s not dead after all.  Lost, perhaps.  But
have a little faith that he’ll find his way home, yeah?”
“What?”  Annabeth’s head snapped around so fast Frey was tempted to check her
for whiplash.
“Percy’s alive.”  Frey told them with a nonchalant shrug.  “I can’t get a bead
on where, but his thread is still whole, it hasn’t been cut.  Probably ended up
in one of the pockets of space that’s between one world and another.”
That made most everybody blink, save for Chiron who already knew of what Frey
was speaking of and the couple of Luke-and-Silena who had heard him speak often
of the places between places.
“What, like Limbo or something?”  Clarisse asked, confused.  There wasn’t
anything like Limbo in the Greek pantheon, instead they had the Fields of
Asphodel which weren’t quite the same thing.  Still, most anyone raised in the
western world knew of the concept from Catholic myth and legend.
“Nothing so prosaic.”  Frey snorted.  “There are pockets and pathways and holes
in the fabric of the various ‘verses that allow someone with enough power – or
who has had power worked upon them – to slip through either for a time or
permanently.”
“And you think Percy is stuck in one of these…time-space pockets?”  Annabeth
asked, brow puckered as she considered the possibility even while most of the
others looked lost beyond knowing that Percy was alive but somewhere else.
“Mmm.”  Frey hummed in agreement.  “Or under some seriously powerful wards that
is hiding his signal.”
Looks were exchanged all around before Michael from Apollo spoke up and asked:
“How powerful would they have to be to block you?”
Frey just smiled and said:
“I think it’s time I did a little…work on the warding scheme for the Labyrinth
entrance.  Make sure that all the campers stay in their cabins and away from
that area – including those who are supposed to patrol the grounds – tonight.”
A look of understanding crossed Chiron’s face, though the others reminded a bit
bewildered by the subject change.
“Who are you going to have help you?”
“Oh…just a few friends…”  After a fashion, anyway.
…
Chiron stepped up beside the still form of who he was tempted – though he’d yet
to do it – to deem the finest hero he’d ever mentored.
The immortal trainer of heroes, Chiron had had students who had lifted him high
with their deeds, who reminded him each and every time his mind turned towards
their memory why he watched over the half-blooded children of the gods.
Then there were the others.
Those, who like the soul Frey had been sent to collect piece-by-piece, who had
been great…but terrible.
His favorite half-bloods, quite often in fact, were those who fell between the
two extremes, neither shining symbols of good nor cautionary tales of evil, but
just…people who fought and loved and lived without making it into the tales of
the Muses.
Half-bloods like Silena, who had been a kind girl who had grown into a strong
woman and the rock that most of the camp – knowingly or not – leaned on in
times of trouble and stife, or Charles, the head camper from Hephaestus who was
quiet and kind and protective without the flash and dash of Luke or Percy or
Frey.
But Frey…
Chiron shook his head as he eyed the tall figure that had grown from the small,
wounded child Thanatos had brought him to look over all those years ago.
Frey was a different creature entirely from the rest of those he’d taught in
the past – and likely any that he would teach and mentor in the future.
Raised to be both prince and poet, warrior and healer, general and diplomat,
Frey’s mind worked in intricacies that Chiron couldn’t even put a name to or
label on such as “genius” or “artist”, and at a speed that shamed most modern
computers.
His favorite half-bloods might be who got him through his times of being ready
to give up, but those like Frey and Percy were why he’d taken up this charge in
the first place, heroes who could – and often did – change the face of the
immortal world for  the better.
“You realize.”  Chiron had to point out.  “That among the monsters and the
Titan forces will be half-bloods.  Children, likely even some we both have
mentored and trained, who have been lured to the false-promises of Kronus.”
“Yes.”
Chiron sighed.  The acknowledgment was nothing less than terse.  Frey knew that
if he tightened the wards – or as Chiron feared militarized them, turning them
from a passive defense into a full offensive measure – it would likely catch
not just the enemy but those who have simply turned down a poisoned path. 
Demigods and goddesses that might still be turned back.
But with that single word, Chiron understood something himself.
It wasn’t warrior Frey, or poet Frey, or his student Frey he was dealing with
this night, but the scion of an ancient house, a Prince and a General, and yes,
a becoming immortal.
One who would give no quarter.
Not that Chiron was surprised, as Frey had been born into war, it had marked
him from his very beginning.
While the godling was capable of mercy, of kindness and forgiveness, it was
that of a victor or a mentor or a friend, not of an opposing general or an
enemy.
As his vicious destruction of Voldemort had shown, as relayed by Chiron’s
brethren in the Forbidden Forest, Frey was nothing less than a merciless
tactician and general.
Rolling his eyes, almost able to see Chiron’s thoughts on the subject, Frey
relented a bit: “They’re going to be blood-wards, Chiron.  They’ll only be
lethal to anyone non-human.  Monsters, giants, Titans, etc.  Half-bloods will
be in a world of hurt…but still alive as long as they don’t do anything
particularly stupid.”
Frey had just finished speaking when a series of pops sounded in the clearing
surrounding the Labyrinth entrance, Chiron doing a double take at the strange
group of beings that had arrived almost simultaneously, who Frey was smiling
and clasping arms with or being swept up into vigorous hugs and exclamations of
joy.
It was an interesting group, Frey would be the first one to admit, but
powerful…and more importantly powerful in a way that Kronus or the Titan’s
wouldn’t expect, going back to some of his first teachings in tactics:
Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and
confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of
response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment —
that which they cannot anticipate.
Sun Tzu’s Art of War had been – and still was – one of the reasons why his Far
had grown fond of humanity long before he had his son with a pair of human
wizarding kind, and he had used it as both bedtime-story and strategy primer. 
Hence, Frey had donned masks for Kronus and Voldemort before him, being a
wizard when confronted with magic, being a half-blood – if an extraordinary one
– when facing a Titan.  A demigod in one land, a wizard in the other, only
rarely had the two met – and hardly ever in battle.
Frey’s defeat of Atlas was an excellent example of such, beating the great –
and infamous – Titan general through only strength of arms and mind, not an
ounce of magic used in their fight.
He’s faced Kronus – always – as a demigod, and now the time was coming to
spring the trap that he’s laid to cost them an easy victory and perhaps turn
some of Kronus’s allies who might waver in the wake of Atlas’s death, Krios’s
bondage, and Percy’s destruction of the Mount St. Helen’s forge.
Kronus was arrogant, believing anything short of divinity was no match for
himself or his forces.
Frey would make certain it was his undoing, whether in this coming battle or
another.
“Frey.”  Chiron stamped a hoof to gain the godling’s attention.  “If you would
be so kind as to introduce your friends…other than Lord Apollo of course, who
needs no introduction.”  Chiron nodded in respect to the sun god – among many
other things – and likely the reason why Frey had been so insistent on the
campers remaining inside.
“Chiron.”  Apollo smiled, though it lacked the shine that usually beamed from
the often-casual god.  This was a serious matter, one that he was glad to lend
his strength and power to…for more than one reason.  The others were focused on
Kronus to the extent of all else.  He wasn’t.  With the potential loss, by the
Styx, with the loss that they have already been dealt with this newest war, of
the lives of their children, Apollo refused to ignore the Camp and their hour
of need the way the others have chosen to do.
He would not lose another child because he was too detached from them, that he
had begun seeing them as some of the others did – as mere pawns in the never-
ending game of the divine.
That it gave him an opportunity to once again stare-er-inspect Frey away from
Olympus was besides the point.
“Apollo is here to monitor the outer wards and make certain they don’t lash out
at those I’m going to weave over the Labyrinth opening.  They are…”  He sought
the right words to explain – both to Chiron and those who had answered his call
for aid – purely defensive, warning in nature.  They welcome all of divine
heritage and drive off those who are a danger to them, among other things.”
“Like Hogwarts then.”  A blond wizard that Chiron recognized from Frey’s
descriptions as his former father-in-law mentioned, one elegant hand’s fingers
tapping idly on the cane at his side, while another wizard all in black –
Severus Snape, or Chiron was a mule – both nodded and shook his head at the
connection his friend drew.
“Yes and no.”  Severus drawled, then introduced himself and Lucius before
continuing.  “Hogwarts is usually a defense warding structure…but she has
offensive measure woven in that can be activated…they just have never been
needed as yet.”
“What vould you haf of us, Frey?”  Viktor asked in his accented English, after
exchanging a deep hug with his former lover.
“Chiron, this is Viktor Krum,” Chiron nodded in greeting to the large wizard
who he would dare say could be described as hawkish.  “Lucius and Severus have
already been introduced: a trio of the finest Dark Wizards I’ve ever met.”
“Well met.”
“And this trio:” Frey pointed to the others.  “Cedric Diggory, Neville
Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood, Light Wizards – and witch – all.”
“I am beginning to see your plan, young Frey.”  Chiron nodded, then stepped
back.  “Very well.  However, please do keep in mind that whatever choices the
combatant half-blood have made – this is still Camp Half-Blood and their home.”
With that, the centaur whirled and cantered away, leaving the seven magicals to
eye each other, not to mention Frey and Apollo, with no little amount of
curiosity.
Frey had made a rather intentional choice of leaving Draco and Blaise out of
this…project of his, the same with Sirius and Remus.
Severus and Lucius on the other hand, at least understood the idea of
discretion, if not being the very soul of it.
Cracking his neck, Frey set to arranging the others, having them stand in a
circle around him as he kneeled on the rock above the Labyrinth entrance,
laying their wands with the tips making a spiral if seen from above, the tip of
Viktor’s wand just brushing the crown of Frey’s head with Severus’s on his,
then came Neville’s cheery wood wand, Cedric’s, Luna’s, and finishing with
Lucius’s wand to finish – Dark anchoring Light to power the offensive blood-
wards Frey was casting, each of them adding a thread to the weave.
Viktor brought strength of resolve, Severus the fierce protectiveness and
creativity that had become his trademarks – making the wards uniquely flexible
and able to read intent – Neville’s ferocity in battle and unrelenting goodness
standing as both judge and jury, Cedric’s streak of vengeance that he kept
carefully concealed from even those who knew him best, Luna’s quick mind and
ability to See, and last Lucius’s viciousness to threats against his family all
woven in and around and between Frey’s spellwork to both protect his charges
and to punish those who would harm them.
Over an hour of chanting and bloodletting later, it was a tired Frey who stood
and was steadied by Severus before bidding the others goodbye and giving his
thanks for lending their power and signatures to the wards.
Severus left last, casting one last worried look at the boy who was still
giving him grey hair, only slightly mollified by Apollo coming to Frey’s side
and walking with him back towards Frey’s New York home.
…
“Chiron won’t be pleased by that last addition to the wards, Frey.”  Apollo
warned with a quirk of a golden brow standing just a smidge too close for mere
acquaintances – or even friends – as he made certain that the half-blood who so
frequently caused the god of Prophecy’s vision to cloud.  “But…”  He drawled,
with a put-upon sigh.  “As a father whose children it will help protect, I’m
glad you prevaricated.”
Frey gave a half-hearted shrug, still a bit uneasy over not being as honest as
he could have been with Chiron.
“I’ll take them back down once the war is over.”  Frey groaned a little as he
stretched and saw his cabin coming into sight.  “Until then…blood or not,
they’re the enemy.  None of them are children who have joined Kronus.  Mislead
– certainly.  But I won’t allow a danger to the camp to remain.  No matter how
pissed off Chiron gets at me over it.”
Chiron’s parting words had put Frey on notice that he was risking more than his
mentor’s ire over the last twist he’d put into the wards.  He was risking his
relationship with the centaur entirely.  And as Chiron had been one of two
forces of stability Frey had had all growing up – the other being his companion
Heidi the Harvestmaiden – that was one hells of a risk to take.
He simply had to hope that after Chiron’s temper cooled and the war was over
with less casualties that the centaur forgave him.
If not…well.
Frey knew what he was risking after all.
And he’d done it away.
He would mourn Chiron’s friendship and companionship – perhaps even his own
welcome at Camp Half-Blood.
But he believed that innocentlives were worth the price he would potentially
pay to save them.
Apollo read much of Frey’s thoughts in his silence.
“For what it’s worth.”  Apollo reiterated, shining, unearthly-blue eyes serious
and almost seeming as if they would pierce straight through Frey and down into
his very soul.  “I thank you for it.”  Then, as if a switch had been flipped,
the moment of seriousness was over.  “On the other hand, I’m definitely
beginning to see what all the fuss is about you, Frey Haraldr.”
A smirk was Frey’s only warning as they both climbed the steps to his cabin and
paused before the door, Apollo unable to enter what was effectively still
Thanatos’s domain without the elder god’s permission, before he was swept up
with an arm banding like steel against his waist and a hand like silk but with
the hint of an archer’s callous rough against his neck and tilting his head to
meet searing-hot lips.
Apollo’s kiss blazed like the sun he was lord of, it was sense-stealing and
intoxicating, leaving Frey dazed long after the Lord of the Sun had stepped
back, winked irreverently, and disappeared in a shower of gold and white
sparks, no more than a streak against the near-dawn sky that flared for a
split-second at the eastern horizon just before the sky began to lighten with
the rising sun.
…
Chiron was furious alright.
So furious that he was still giving Frey the silent treatment nearly a week
later when Percy finally arrived bearing tales of meeting Calypso and staying
with her on Ogygia…and a little baffled over the sudden disappearance of a
dozen campers he’d seen before leaving for the Labyrinth.
It was Annabeth in the end – after squeezing the stuffing out of him – that
explained it to him.
“Frey told us all to stay inside the cabins while he checked the wards for
whatever holes might be letting the monsters so close to breaching Camp.” 
Annabeth told him with a sigh.  She was of two minds over Frey’s actions
herself so it was a bit hard to explain without coloring the information with
her own biases on the subject.  “He…added something to them.”
“What?”  Percy asked with a puzzled frown.  This still wasn’t quite explaining
to him why Chiron was giving Frey the cold-shoulder.
“Camp Half-Blood is supposed to be open to anyone with divine blood.”  Annabeth
said, then grimaced thinking over the screaming knock-down-drag-out fight
Chiron and Frey got into at the Big House.  The words weren’t audible to those
who hadn’t been in the room but…that didn’t really matter.  Everyone knew that
things had nearly been bent beyond repair between the two main heads of the
camp with Mr. D so often gone.  “Frey…sort of…rescindedthat.  Through the
wards.”
“What?”  This time the word was a shout as Percy took a double take at
Annabeth’s drawn face.  “He can do that?”
“He has probably the most control over the wards except for the gods
themselves…so yes.”  Annabeth nodded with a pinched frown.  “While we were
sleeping he used the wards to search our minds somehow and expel anyone who had
sided with Kronus but was staying here to spy or report back or undermine our
defenses.”  She rattled off, seething, though this time over the betrayal and
not Frey’s actions.  “He sent them – or so he said – to just outside the wards
but they weren’t there when we woke up the next morning.”  She shifted, biting
at her cheek.  “We mostly figure that they had a way to contact Ethan and got
picked up.”
“Oh…well.”  Percy scratched as his head.  “That’s a good thing isn’t it?  He
did it to keep us safe I mean…”
“Yes and no.”  She blew out a breath.  “Chiron takes the sanctity of his oath
to train us and watch over us very safe…and he feels like Frey made him
unintentionally betray that by trusting him to tweak the wards.  Plus…”  And
this was where Annabeth did tend to agree with Chiron.  “All we have for proof
is Frey’s word that that’s what he did so…”
“But.”  Percy interrupted her, startled to realize that for once he was being
the rational one of the two of them.  “They were gone, picked up.  Do you
really think Ethan would have done that if they weren’t on his side.”
“No, I don’t.”  Annabeth agreed.  “But Frey didn’t give them a second chance
either.  He just…banished them, like that.”  She snapped her fingers.  “And
only on his own authority.”
“I hate to say it.”  Percy rolled his eyes.  “But given who he is – and his
connections up there,” he pointed towards the sky – and Olympus.  “He kinda is
the authority down here for how to handle this…this war with the Titans. 
Chiron’s not a general, Annabeth, you’ve said that yourself.   He’s a trainer
of heroes.”  He shrugged and wandered off to find the half-blood in question
before heading out after the clear-sighed Rachel to help him see through the
maze.  “Frey, however, is a general.  And a good one so far.  If the others who
sided with Kronus want to come back after the war is over, then we should have
some say then about it.  Now?”  He shook his head.  “I’m with Frey on this
one.”
…
“Calypso, huh?”  Frey rubbed at the back of his neck a bit sheepishly.  “She
hear about her father yet?”
Percy snorted.  “I know I’m younger than you, but I’m not a total idiot.  She
didn’t know and I wasn’t about to tell her considering that I was on the other
side of the fight that got Atlas banished to Tartarus.”
Frey couldn’t help but wince.
Annabeth was already dealing with the fallout of having a goddess pissed at her
– Percy certainly didn’t need a fucking witch who was also a goddess with an
axe to grind for him.  Say what you liked about Calypso, she was a loyal
female, even when her father had abused her loyalty for his own ends.  While
Percy obviously felt something for her – as most of the heroes who end up in
her care for a time do – and she him, it wouldn’t be enough to protect him if
she found out he was involved Atlas’s slaying, even though Frey was the one who
wielded the sword.
For Frey’s part…he hoped she stayed on her little paradise…otherwise he was
planning on being a universe or two away once she was freed.
“That’s good.”  Frey heaved a sigh.  “Very good.  Your clear-sighted friend is
a good plan – the best you’re going to get anyway, short of the String to
navigate the Labyrinth.  Best make haste.”  He advised the younger half-blood. 
“Ethan and Kronus have been too quiet lately, even with running into the Titan
forces below-ground.  The battle is coming soon…wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
“Ha ha.”  Percy rolled his eyes.  “This will just be so much fun.  Annabeth and
Rachel trying to find Daedalus before Ethan when they can hardly stand to be in
the same room.  Yay.”
“Could be worse.”  Frey offered after a moment of silence sounded in the cabin,
each of them sipping at either their cold soda or on this occasion elf-made
wine.
“How?”
“You could have gotten your brain nearly snogged out by your lover’s son.” 
Frey resolutely refused to look over at Percy, even as the younger male stared
goggle-eyed at him before bursting into laughter upon realizing that his semi-
mentor was being utterly serious.
“By the Styx, Frey.”  Percy had to set the soda down before he either spilled
it or tried to take a drink and snorted it all over himself.  “Only you, I
swear to Zeus…”
“Please don’t.”  Frey’s tone was nearly a whine.  “Since it’s his bloody handsy
hot-mouthed son that’s going to get me zapped like one of those electrified
fly-swatters!”
That description didn’t quite help Percy get a hold of himself, Frey still
ignoring him even as he started muttering into his wine and making Percy’s
laughter worse with each description or disparagement of Apollo and/or Zeus
himself.
…
It seemed like barely any time had passed when Frey felt a sudden surge of
death-magic emanating from the West and looked over at Chiron with a curious
half-grim half-proud smile.
“What is it?”  The centaur asked, no longer giving Frey the silent treatment
but still not over their argument either.
“Unless I’m mistaken.”  Frey cocked his head to one side and gave a whoop once
he felt the life-cord of Percy and the others still whole and undamaged.  “The
Ghost King has finally shown his hand.”
“But you’re…”  Chiron started to say, then realization broke over his unaging
face.  “Nico…”  He said it like a blessing.
“Mhmm.”  Frey nodded, grinning.
“I could have sworn it meant you.”  Luke commented from where he was sitting on
the sparring-yard fence, the three of them having been watching – and coaching
– some of the younger campers on their swordwork.
“When it comes to Prophecies.”  Frey snarked, having more than a little
experience with the fucking things.  “I’ve found the obvious answer is rarely
the foretold one.  Oh, there’s exceptions.”  He tapped the faded outline of the
rune Sowilo that was still marking his forehead.  “But often, prophecies are
fulfilled in ways that are both self-evident and unexpected.  Like Nico being
the Ghost King instead of me or King Minos who betrayed him, or even his father
Hades.”  He waved a hand in a rolling gesture.  “And so on.”
“What about the rest of it?”  Luke asked, then called out a correction on a
stance to one of their young charges, listening to Frey and Chiron break the
current state of the Prophecy down.
“You shall delve into the darkness of the endless maze,
The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise.
You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand,”  Frey quoted, then ticked
items off one by one.  “The maze is self-evident, and now the third line as
well with Nico’s intervention in their favor…though how then wandered back into
Mount Othrys I’d really love to know.”
“The Labyrinth is just that.”  Chiron noted, folding his arms over his chest. 
“And it has access points quite literally all over the surface world.”
“Noted.”  Frey nodded then continued.  “I think that the last one has been
fulfilled, possibly twice over.”
“That’s And make an enemy far worse than Death,right?”
“Yes, and like I told Percy…”  Frey sighed.  “Death really isn’t all that bad.”
“From your perspective, Frey.”  Chiron counselled him.  “To most beings,
especially young men and women, even those of divine heritage…death is
something to be loathed and feared.”
“I know, still doesn’t make me any better able to understand it.”  He
answered.  “But Annabeth did piss off Hera, as evidenced by her divine sigil
leaving presentsall over camp when she was here…”
Luke snickered at that and even Chiron had to hide a grin.  Frey wasn’t much
better.  After all, Hera’s sacred animal – or one of them anyway – was the
cow…and the bovines had been leaving their patties all over camp during the
short week the girl had been in New York while Percy was on Ogygia.
“And well…”  Frey sighed and then retold Percy’s tale of meeting Calypso,
ending with: “and he didn’t inform her about her father, or anything really. 
So, that could be it too, a woman scorned both of them.”
“Calypso…”  Chiron sighed.  They were cousins…after a fashion, as Chiron was
the son of Kronus and nephew of Atlas while Calypso was Atlas’s daughter. 
Still, it was hardly a relationship either claimed, like most children of the
Titans who hadn’t been punished alongside them.  “She’s as mercurial and
unpredictable as the seas she rules…but given her very nature I would wager
that you are in much more danger from her than Percy ever will be, Frey.”
“Yeah,” Frey groaned, covering his face with his hands before shaking it off
and going out to train the kiddos on some drills.  “I kinda figured that…”
Luke watched him walk away then mentioned to Chiron:  “that still leaves two
lines unfulfilled.”
“Don’t.”  Chiron flicked his tail in annoyance.  “Given the wording of those
two lines…I’d rather not think on them before they come true.”
…
“They’re coming.”  Annabeth burst out, and Chiron lifted his horn, giving three
sharp blasts to summon the campers to take up arms.
“Correction.”  Frey said, unsheathing his sword and summoning his spear,
twirling them idly before coming to a rest position with the head of the spear
angled towards the ground while the shaft laid diagonally across his back and
up between his shoulders, sword edge resting on one shoulder as his clothes
faded away, leaving dragonhide armor in its wake.  In his mind he heard the
thrum of the wards – particularly those surrounding the mouth of the
Labyrinth.  “They’re already here.”
“To arms!”  Chiron shouted, a cry taken up by each of the cabin heads – and the
captains of the half-blood army.  Bow strung and an arrow on the string, Chiron
ran for the rocks, not one doubt in his mind that Frey was absolutely correct,
the half-blood in question keeping the pace while the others, Nico among them,
fall behind, already winded and tired from the rush to beat the army to the
camp.
Horns and war-cries sounded through Camp Half-Blood, as for the first time in
memory a war came right to their doorstep with the shouts of a monstrous army
that had been swelled by the absent-minded neglect of Olympus and flooded with
disenfranchised lesser gods and half-bloods, many of whom barely warranted a
thought to the Olympian Council let alone any real concern.
A foolish – and arrogant – oversight that Kronus was more than happy to reap
the rewards of.
To give the Titan King credit where it was due, Kronus never once
underestimated the damage his own flesh and blood were capable of – not that it
had saved him from being torn to pieces in the end, a slight the Lord of Time
was more than willing to avenge.
All the while, as campers were forming up and Chiron took his place commanding
the archers and the rear guard while Frey took his commanding the vanguard as
general, Luke at his side with Silena hidden far from New York – a safety
measure she’d been infuriated by but one neither Luke nor Frey would relent
over given her pregnancy – Frey kept his inner gaze locked on the wards and the
army that was throwing squad after troop at to breach.
“Will they do it?”  Luke asked in the sudden hush before the sharp plunge of
first-blood.
Frey nodded, mouth tight and eyes bright.
It had never been a question of if, but of when and at what cost?
His goal had simply been to make it as costly as possible for Ethan and Kronus,
along with a hidden something that Lucius and Severus had helped him fashion.
Let them come.
He had a surprise waiting.
Luke gave a blood-thirsty grin, blood pumping in anticipation.  “Good.”
He had an axe to grind of his own against the Titan forces, and before now it
had been far too dangerous for him to risk going on any of the quests to meet
the enemy.  Now that they’d come to him…well.  That was a differently thing
entirely, wasn’t it?
“Hold steady!”  Frey ordered, nodding once in a wordless wish to stay safe and
fight well to Luke, then continuing through the crowd until his was standing at
the very top of the rocks – and directly above the crevice where in mere
moments monsters and enemy half-bloods alike would come pouring out onto them
like waves crashing against sea-stacks.  “Hold steady!”
By now even the furthest-flung camper could hear the sound of the army that
laid just feet away on the other side of the magical entrance to the Great
Labyrinth, the cries and crash of the horde that wanted to destroy their home,
for many of them the only safety they’ve ever known, something Frey wasted no
time in reminding them.
“They’ve come to kill us!”  He cried.  “They’ve come to destroy our home!  What
will be our answer?!”
“Death!  Death!  Death!”  The camp shouted in answer.
“For our home!”  He cried back, raising his sword and pointing towards New York
City and the disguised Olympus.  “For Olympus!  May Ares bless our weapons and
Lord Thanatos cut down our enemies!  For Death!”
“Death!  Death!  Death!”
Frey nodded, lowering into a crouch and whispering under his breath: “For
Death, and for my Far.  May this army fall and flounder.   Custódiet nos Di
immoratles nobis.”
Watch over us the immortal gods.
…
“My favorite knife and a month’s worth of stable duty that the Warrior Mage has
a trap hidden in those wards.”  Loki said as soon as his son’s brief call to
battle was finished.
As had become almost a custom, the Aesir nobles were gathered to watch – and
bet – over the newest trials of his son.
That certainly didn’t help his nerves, nor did the knowledge that Frey had most
definitely faced longer odds and scenarios more likely to be undoing than a
simple pitched battle against monsters…but he had face to keep, and a
reputation that given his “close” relationship to his former-acolyte’s
offspring, couldn’t withstand the scrutiny that a closer look at his behavior
regarding Frey.
“Done.”  Sif took him up on the bet with a sneer.  “He’s a warrior through and
through.  He’ll abide by honorable combat rather than mere parlor tricks for
all that he is a mage.”
Loki snarled at her, his temper hardly helped by the barely-veiled jab over his
own abilities – and how he often uses them to either keep his brother, and by
extension Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, alive or to clean up after one or
another of their messes before Odin finds out and ends up banishing his
adopted-brother’s friends to the furthest reaches of the Yggdrasil.
“Friends, remember?”  Fandral drawled, arching a brow with a significant look
at the still smiling but not as loudly joyous Thor.
“Of course.”  Loki gave a polite nod towards “Lady” Sif.  “I’m sure she meant
nothing by it – as usual.”
“Shh!”  Volstagg hushed them.  “I think I see some yielding in the wards!”
With that, the betting picked up apace, though Loki would like no wager so much
as the stable-duty Sif was about to have to serve.
He wasn’t even cheating – this time.
Communication between them was once more done in the utmost of secrecy given
the renewed interest Asgard had shown in Loki’s son after the dual against
Ares, and the longer the two sides clashed – Olympian and Titanomachy – the
higher their fervor grew.
He grimaced into his mead horn.
The sooner all this was done and over with, and his son could go back to world-
hopping, teaching budding heroes, and being a father himself, the better.
…
Asgard wasn’t the only observer of Frey at that pivotal moment - the first
sortie between armies and not just skirmishes between groups for the conflict
thus far.
Hardly.
Krios beneath the sky howled – and was again mocked by his fellow Titans – as
they watched from the Titan-side of the conflict – while on Olympus the Council
and many other gods watched from on high, all with bated breath and
apprehensive looks.
Save between Zeus and Ganymede, especially between looks shot at Apollo.
There was a fresh…fire in Frey, something that had been banked and smoldering
since the godling had nearly been taken over by the essence of a Dementor a few
years prior.
And if Apollo was the cause…well.
Zeus was selfish – he knew he was – but he was rarely jealous save over his
power and Ganymede.
If giving his permission for Apollo to pursue Frey would warrant a return more
often of the fiery general who could rouse an army to battle in moments more
often, then it might be in Zeus’s own best interest to take a small step back
and allow things to run their course.
It wasn’t as if Frey had proven unwilling to have multiple lovers, and sharing
him with one more would hardly be a hardship with most of Zeus’s attentions
focused on stuffing his dearly unlamented father back down the dark hole he’d
crawled out of in Tartarus.
…
Zeus wasn’t the only one to notice the change in Frey.
Luke couldn’t help but grin, even as he cheered and cried along with the others
at his best-friend’s speech, and seeing the fire back in Frey’s eyes, the sheer
life that had been missing for a long time…he was ecstatic for his friend even
as he worried over the target Frey was painting on his own back with every word
and action against Kronus.
It was almost as if…blue eyes shot wide.
No, there was no if about it.
Frey was doing it on purpose, painting that target and drawing Kronus’s ire
away from Percy.
Trying to keep the light inside Percy – some strange combination of innocence
and hope and joy that had been snuffed, at least temporarily, in Frey – going
strong, even when his own had almost disappeared under the weight of the
destiny Frey had both been born into and actively chosen.
Luke smiled to himself.
The sly fucker.
And very much like the man who had faced down a Titan head on – twice – to save
someone he cared about, first Luke when he was struggling with Kronus for
control of his very self, and then to save the entire quest group last year.
For all the grand gestures and heroic deeds that Frey seemed to act out the way
others ate breakfast – with habitual regularity – it was the little things that
no one ever noticed and Frey never mentioned that showed Luke time and time
again that when the moment came, godhood wouldn’t really change Frey one little
bit.
Like trading a massive debt from Zeus so his best-friends could have their
divine parents at their wedding.
Or drawing the fire of a Titan King and general to buy someone else time to
find a way to end them once and for all.
Both completely in character, and both done with zero intention of ever being
noticed doing it or thanks for it – just because from Frey’s point of view,
they were what was right.
The barrier bent and flowed out, bringing the Titan army with it even as Luke
laughed quietly to himself.
It was things like that, the quiet things, unnoticed and underappreciated, that
to Luke screamed out Frey’s parentage for all the worlds to see…though it
seemed no one ever did.
After all, they wouldn’t be the tricksters they are, let alone father and son,
if Frey and Loki couldn’t their audience blind to their sleight of hand.
…
A roar of triumpth was the sign Frey had been waiting for, the godling swiping
his hand – in which he’d poured out the contents of the vial he’d been wearing
around his neck since setting the wards on the Labyrinth, the mingled blood of
himself and the six who’d lent him their power – across the grounding rune and
activating the first part of the “surprise” for the advancing force, making the
wards seem to break – but instead bend and flex and ripple around them as they
rushed from the underground tunnels, blind to the lines of power that wrapped
neatly around them as they paid no heed to barrage after barrage of arrows and
spears raining down on their heads from the campers.
The first wave fell in moments, the second not long after, but it was with the
third – and the arrival of Kampe, snake-haired winged centauroid creature who
is half-woman, half-dragon with the heads of various mutated wild animals
growing from her human torso.  She was a monster who imprisoned the Hundred-
Handed Ones and Cyclopes during the First Great War, feared by all, and had a
grudge against Percy and Annabeth as they had fought and evaded her grasp in
her lair in the Labyrinth, including helping to free many of her prisoners. 
Kampe was also one of Kronus’s fiercest generals with Krios imprisoned and
Atlas slain and banished to Tartarus.
With her at the knife-point, the Titan forces were finally able to break
through the wall of death-from-above and engage Frey’s vanguard of swordsmen,
led by Luke and positioned in classic phalanx with shield-bearers carrying
spears covering and protecting Luke and the best they had to offer with a sword
darting out to cut down the enemy before retreating to the safety of the shield
wall.
Cracking his neck, Frey leapt from the boulders, flipping in mid-air and
thrusting his goblin-forged spear straight through the wing-joints of Kampe,
grounding the monstrous bitch with a roar.
Shrieking curses in her rage, her snakes hissing insults that Frey stored away
for later use – creative creatures these ones – he landed before her with a
light step, twirling his sword in his hand, all the while waiting, waiting,
there was something, some strand of Fate that he couldn’t see, that was staying
his hand and keeping him from springing his trap…at least not yet.
Bodies fell and swords drank blood, and the Titan forces seemed unending, when
a massive cry – and the ear-deafening bay of a hellhound – shook the forest.
Daedalus and Mrs. O’Leery, his massive pet hellhound, had finally arrived,
bringing with them someone – or perhaps something – that Frey never thought
he’d see in all his life, no matter how long it managed to be.
“It’s Briares!”  Percy shouted for joy.
Briares, the last of the Hundred-Handed Ones, the progenitures of the cyclopes
and the mightiest of the gigantes.
More importantly, someone with a massive bone to pick with Kampe, who no longer
knew whom to focus her rage on – the prey in front of her who had wounded her
so grievously, or her escaped pet who she had kept cowed and afraid for years
beyond memory, all the way back to the First Great War between the Titanomachy
and the Olympians.
With a roar, Briares picked up stones with his hundred hands and began pelting
them at Kampe after she unwisely taunted him, leading to Frey making a swift
retreat – he had no desire to be buried alive, as Briares was in the process of
doing a rather spectacular job of doing to the Titan general.
Lowering his sword, Frey looked around, seeing that the momentum was beginning
to swing once more in their favor as he saw Mrs. O’Leery shaking a Scythian
Dracaenae, humanoid females with twin tails who made a large portion of the
Titan forces from their information, and the archers were being harried by a
group of cannibal Laistrygonian giants, among other battles being fought, many
– far too many – between demigods on opposing sides.
Before Frey could act, another noise sounded, making Frey’s head whip around in
shock.
It was a Panic, the power of the great Lord of the Wild who Percy and the
others had finally found through the Labyrinth before returning to camp.  He
was the lost from the prophecy, faded now, but not before bestowing a gift on
all who had been there to witness his passing, save for Nico who as a being of
death was anathema to all Pan had been.  Grover had apparently been given a
little more than the others, as the Panic ability had helped win the First
Great War in the hands – or voice – of Pan, making all his enemies scatter and
run in fear.
Perfect timing, Frey smiled, and whispered a single command:
“Levicorpus.”
For those with at least a fraction of human and divine blood – read: demigods –
and encased in the wards, the spell worked as designed, lifting them by their
ankles to hand helplessly in the air.
For those not demigods, such as giants and dracaenae…well.
At least monster bodies disappear easily once they’ve been beheaded, Frey using
Lucius’s vicious protectiveness to turn a simple pranking jinx into a lethal
garroting curse.
However, he’d keyed it specifically into the camp wards surrounding the
Labyrinth entrance, so anyone who had been wise – in other words, the most
dangerous among the Titan offensive – and fled with Kampe’s entombment weren’t
affected.
Panting a bit from the sudden magical drain, Frey wobbled, then plopped
ungracefully down onto one knee, using his sword to steady him and keep him
from toppling over completely, his spear now buried with Kampe.
The sound of hooves on grass had him lifting his head and paying attention to
his surroundings, able to hear the cheers of the camp, over the rushing of
blood in his ears.
“I am sorry, Frey.”  Chiron said with true regret as he stared down at the
exhausted Frey.  What had seemed like moments and hours all at once had in
reality been close to an hour of open battle.  A battle that had been won…but
at a heavy price of lives on both sides of the field.  “I should have trusted
you.”
Frey laughed, more than a hint of bitterness in the sound as he lifted his
weary head to stare up at the unchanging face of his former mentor.
“Why?”  Frey asked, a bit breathless as he struggled back to his feet,
shrugging off Chiron’s offered hands.  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“You didn’t turn the wards against the others, not fully as I feared…”  Chiron
began to explain.
“I should have.”  Frey cut him off.  “On another day I wouldhave.  I can, I
could.  I have that in me, Chiron.”  He gave a quirk of his lips far too world-
weary to be a smile.  “Not everything I got from my parents was good.  You
didn’t trust me.  Good.  You never know, that distrust one day might keep you
alive.”
With that he wandered away, at least the appearance of graceful, predatory ease
returning that was his hallmark, to assist Nico with the maneuver he was
attempting, freeing Daedalus’s soul from its construct to level the Labyrinth –
and ensure it could never be used against anyone ever again.
And leaving behind him a thoughtful – and strangely proud – centaur to think on
his words…and what they implied about the mystery surrounding the divine parent
of one Frey Haraldr, chosen of Thanatos.
***** Chapter Thirty-One *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: As I’m certain my Facebook lovelies already know, this is the
last “real” chapter for Lokison, with only a short epilogue coming after it to
set up for the next installment in the Frey of Asgard saga.  Yes, I’ve dubbed
it a saga as it has grown and gotten away from me in ways I’m still goggling
over.
That said, this chapter is a beast so I wouldn’t sit down to read it unless
you’ve got some time on your hands.
Credit where it’s due: as usual, the Oracle’s Prophecy is taken almost entirely
from the Percy Jackson books, as are some portions of dialogue or descriptions
of the more unique PJ characters as well as a big chunk that is almost word-
for-word from the book when we get to the end...you’ll probably know it when
you see it if you’ve read the book.
All that said, please enjoy!
(Second Note: for those of you not up on PJ cannon, Hitler was a half-blood.)
                  Chapter Thirty-One: Of Legends and Legacies
    “Wars don’t simply go away.  They are only postponed to someone else’s
                      advantage.”  - Nicolo Machiavelli.
                                       …
In the aftermath of the Battle, Frey had faced a serious dilemma: what to do
now that he’d yanked the tiger’s tail for good and all?
As Luke had confronted him over once the post-battle furor had died down, he’d
painted himself as a target, one that had seriously undermined Kronus’s hold
over his troops and allies, and with that came a level of danger Frey would
never willingly subject his children to.
Which had made for a very…intense discussion via paired mirrors with Draco over
Frey’s decision to stay in New York until Kronus was defeated, with an unspoken
dark or hanging over their heads, one where Frey never came home because his
father’s fears were fulfilled and he failed to live long enough to become
immortal.
The attacks on the camp by Kronus’s army had stopped – which only made Frey and
the others suspicious of what, exactly Kronus had planned, a paranoia that
hadn’t been alleviated in the weeks since the Titan King had faced a
devastating loss thanks to the combined efforts of Frey, Percy, Nico, and the
now-dead Daedalus who had allowed Nico to release his soul from his golem to
destroy the Labyrinth and fulfill the Annabeth’s quest from the Oracle.
Hermes was harried beyond belief running between the Western front where the
Olympian gods were battling the great elder monster Typhon, who had sired many
other monsters with the “Mother of Monsters” Echidna, and the Eastern front
beneath the waves where Poseidon’s realm was under constant attack from
Oceanus, the Titan Lord of the Ocean.  The latter news of which was rather
disheartening, as with many others Oceanus had not taken up arms against Zeus
during the First Great War.  That he – and others – had chosen to support
Kronus now, was merely more fuel to the fire surrounding Zeus’s imbalanced,
selfish rule.
As for Typhon…well.
He’d been imprisoned and sleeping beneath Mount St. Helens…but had nearly been
awakened by Percy’s destruction of the forge, allowing Kronus to finally find
the elder monster.
Between the two fronts, storms were slamming both sides of North America, so
such an extent that even the Myst didn’t suffice to keep mortals blind to the
danger they were in as their country became the battleground between the two
ancient armies.
Not all the half-blood had decided to remain based at Camp, several such as
Percy who lived in the City tended to commute back and forth between home and
Camp as needed for missions to harry the Titan lines, as Hermes stopped often
between the two fronts to bring news to the Camp and relay points where their
forces might be of help.
Nico, in his way, had disappeared not long after the Battle, only popping back
in to congratulate Percy on living to sixteen and officially becoming the
bearer of the Great Prophecy…as well as a rather cryptic message regarding his
uncovering the secret of Ethan’s near-invulnerability.
The enemy leader had faced off against Percy several times, including in open
combat at Mouth Othrys where he fell from a great height – a height that should
havekilled him, only for Frey to disabuse them of that notion after he’d sought
the son of Nemesis’s life-string and confirmed him as still among the living
after each and every confrontation.
From his father, Percy had been given a sand dollar that he wore on a cord
around his neck, Poseidon’s version of the tattoos that Frey had been given on
coming of age – though being Norse and not Greek, Frey’s rites of passage had
been at thirteen and not sixteen like Percy’s.
Honestly, if it weren’t for Zeus, Ganymede, and Thanatos running interference
with the other gods and using the Myst to cloak some of Frey’s essence, he
would have been discovered as a Norse half-blood ages ago, Loki likewise using
his powers upon the Aesir nobility to help keep them from growing too curious
about the strange warrior-mage that had become the equivalent of their favorite
reality tv star.
“Hey, Frey!”  Charlie Beckendorf called out from the pegasi paddock.  “Ready to
head out, you coming?”
Frey called back an affirmative, slinging his pack over this shoulder and
making for Knave, his favorite among the winged horses, Percy’s Blackjack
taking wing along Knave and Charlie’s mount Diamond.
Percy wouldn’t thank them for interrupting his time away from camp…but they had
a lead and they needed to act on it before the chance was lost to deal Ethan
one hells of a blow, even if it still wasn’t equal to the losses of Atlas and
Krios, it would hopefully curb their numbers if nothing else.
For long moments, Frey just closed his eyes and let the wind rush over him,
enjoying the freedom down to his toes.
He didn’t often fly, even after he’d taken up with Zeus, but every time he did
it was almost impossible for him to force himself back to the ground and the
responsibilities that waited for him there.
Far too soon for his taste, they were coming up on Mrs. Jackson’s car that the
newly licensed Percy had taken out for a drive…apparently with company.
Frey winced at seeing the seething glance Rachel cast them for interrupting her
“moment” with Percy, if his ears were working right – and of course they were –
then she’d just been inviting the handsome half-blood to come with her on her
yearly vacation with her family down in the Bahamas.
Rachel was a conundrum to Frey.
She was clearly more than a garden-variety mortal, her clear-sight ability that
saw through the Myst as if it wasn’t even there was one hell of a clue after
all, even if you ignored her willingness to step up and fight to help Percy and
the others escape from Mount Othrys…even if her weapon of choice at the time
had been a plastic hairbrush that she threw with great accuracy and nailed one
of the Titans in the eye.
Wealthy – and hating every moment of it – she was an artist and not the
socialite her family would have preferred.
Her interest in simple – to a mortal anyway – Perseus Jackson had been shrugged
off by her distant parents as just another rebellion.
Frey was a little worried – for her sake – just what it was she’d had to trade
in order to get Percy an invitation to the Bahamas…especially now that they
were about to wreck those plans before they even came to fruition.
Well…Annabeth might finally stop acting like a bear with a sore paw after she
hears that Frey and Charlie kept Percy from going off with the mortal
girl…though likely would be more than a little miffed that the young man had
been hanging out with her anyway.
For a girl that wasn’t dating Percy, and still called him Seaweed Brain more
often than his name, she certainly didn’t act like it.
“What is it?”  Percy sighed.  He was a little bugged that they’d interrupted
his meet-up with Rachel…which he was now realizing was more like a date than he
was entirely comfortable with.  Yeah, he liked Rachel.  She was pretty, and
smart, and funny.  She also wasn’t a demigoddess with all the baggage that came
with it.
But he always got a little uncomfortable when she did things that made him
think she liked him as more than a friend…and with the world being like it is
he wasn’t sure about to do about it.
And all of that was before you added Annabeth into the equation.
“Time to go, Perce.”  Charlie told him, Blackjack nudging the half-blood
insistently.
Charlie felt for the guy, he wouldn’t like it either if his date with Cassie,
daughter of Demeter, was interrupted.
Still, they had a mission, and given that it was the Princess Andromeda, the
ship that they knew from previous encounters carried a large number of Titan
forces and had been spotted off the New Jersey coast…well.
They needed to haul ass and blow the fucker sky-high, which was Charlie’s job.
Frey and Percy’s was to guard him and help him scatter the charges all over the
ship.
They had the perfect plan, and the element of surprise.
Which meant, naturally, that everything went straight to hell in short order.
…
They made it on the ship and down to the forward engine room without trouble
other than a handful of telekhines which weren’t much of a match for a trio of
half-bloods, Charlie while not being as vigorously martial in his training as
Percy had been from the start and Frey could be at times, was still a
blacksmith like Hephaestus his father, and had the massive strength from long
hours at a forge to prove it, swinging both sword and hammer with an ease that
well-deserved to be feared.
At that point, after spotting a diagram of the ship in the engine room, it was
decided that they make the same mistake that had taken down many a character
from horror films – they had to split up.
Percy volunteered to venture down into the belly of the ship and plant charges
along the hull to ensure the swift-sinking of the vessel – and its monstrous
cargo – while Frey and Charlie would take care of the secondary engines in the
rear of the ship.
All in all, it should prove to make on hell of a boom.
Charlie had rigged them with a short timer and the detonator was in his watch,
so having Frey to guard his back was paramount or the whole operation would
have been for nothing.
That said, he still cursed the air blue when a voice resounded through the
ship.
“Intruders.”  The smooth male voice rang with power and made the hair on the
back of Frey’s neck rise.
He knew that voice.
He’d heard it twice before – once from a golden glowing coffin pulsing with
divine essence in Mount Othrys, and the other booting out a squatter from his
best-friend’s mind.
Kronus had finally regenerated and taken living form.
“By the Styx.”  Charlie cursed, echoing Frey’s unspoken thoughts.  “They’ve got
Percy, that has to be it.”
“Probably to buy us time.”  Frey agreed, eyes grim as they met Beckendorf’s. 
“C’mon then.  Let’s wrap this up and then go haul his fish loving ass out of
Kronus’s slimy paws.”
“This is the last one.”  Charlie told him, rushing over to the tank on the far
side of the smaller engine room – a fuel tank or Frey would eat his sword
scabbard and all.  He fiddled with the squarish, brown-paper wrapped package a
moment, before sliding it down to jam between the tank and the outer wall. 
“And done.  Let’s go ruin Kronus’s day, shall we?”  He asked, hefting his
warhammer in one hand and a short sword in the other.
“Let’s.”  Frey gave a vicious grin that echoed Beckendorf’s own, unleashing his
Peverell sword from it’s place at his back.
There were only two friendlies on this ship after all, not like the Labyrinth.
He could keep two people clear of his poisoned blade while still being
effective, dozens was a different animal entirely.
“Captain’s cabin is this way.”  Charlie started down a hallway with sure feet. 
“Let’s hope Percy can keep him busy while not driving Kronus to murder all at
the same time.”
“Here’s hoping.”  Frey laughed a little.  “But given how smartassed the little
fucker can be I wouldn’t count on it – better make haste.”
…
Getting close to the Captain’s office where the generals and Kronus had
gathered – along with Percy – was easy enough thanks to Frey’s ability to cloak
them in shadows.
Dealing with the fact that a boy Frey had helped train since he was a skinny
little shit of a ten-year-old had been completely taken over and subsumed by
Kronus who was possessing him…that was hard.
All that had made Ethan Ethan was absent in those glowing golden eyes – well,
eye.
Sometime between poisoning Thalia’s tree and meeting him at Mount Othrys over a
year ago, Ethan had lost his right eye, and now the figure of Kronus-in-Ethan
wore a golden patch over the empty socket.
No one knew how it happened – not even Chris Rodriguez, one of the
disenfranchised half-bloods that had been won over by Kronus, and later found
in the Labyrinth half-mad by Percy and Annabeth, had any idea.
Still, it was eerie, worse by far than facing Kronus inside Luke’s mind had
been.
Percy was taking it rather well, but then he’d barely known Ethan, not like
Charles who had known him for years, and Frey who had trained and taught him
for years more than that.
It gave Frey a unique perspective on what it must be like for Chiron each and
every day to train heroes, only to have them become people of myth and legend
that he didn’t even recognize any more like Heracles or Hitler.
The trio of empousaiwith their beautiful faces a discordant note when placed on
their bodies that had one leg of bronze and another like that of a goat
answered Frey’s question of how Percy had been found – the leader, Kelli, had
faced and been slain by Percy before…and had remembered his scent.  Empousai
were similar to vampires, and preferred to feast on beauty – whether male or
female.  Kelli, it seemed, was currently begging “The Great Lord Kronus” to
gift her with Percy’s death.
“Dude…”  Charlie whispered in disbelief.  “Are those demonic cheerleaders?”
Frey bit back a laugh at that.
Yes, the empousai were dressed as cheerleaders.
The why he had no idea of…but somehow he found it rather fitting.
In answer, Frey reached down and hit the start on the detonator, ignoring
Charlie’s shocked look, then with a “follow-me” look, sprinted down the hall
and towards the deck, flicking a minor pinching hex towards Percy as he went.
He would just have to trust that as a son of Poseidon, Percy would be able to
make his own way home – which is exactly what he told Beckendorf when the other
half-blood bellowed at him mid-swing of his hammer as they fought their way to
where they’d left the pegasi.
“This barge is warded!”  Frey shouted back.  “Kronus knows about my shadow-
stepping after I used it at Mount Othrys and has protected both the mountain
and this ship against it!  We have to go, now!  Percy’s a big boy in the middle
of the ruddy ocean with all the powers of a Poseidon-sired half-blood at his
fingertips!  He can take care of himself!”
With a final kick-to-the-head of a fellow half-blood, one who’d chosen the
wrong side and that he would mourn later in private, Frey leapt up onto the
back of Knave and cut the line tying Blackjack to the deck, Beckendorf
following seconds behind him.
As they launched up and to the east, Frey saw a figure dive off the poop deck
with a celestial bronze sword in its hand.
With a laugh, he urged Knave further away as a quiet beep sounded from
Beckendorf’s watch and the Andromeda blew sky-high.
“Let’s go!”  He called.
“Not to be a broken record.”  Beckendorf called back ill-tempered by the rash –
but effective – run for their lives.  “But what about Percy!”
Blackjack snorted in agreement, the feisty Pegasus looking like he’d like
nothing more than to give Frey a mighty kick to his ass.
In answer, Frey jerked his head towards the sea surface, where a whirlpool was
forming with a limp figure in the very center before sucking it down and away,
then disappeared.
“I think he’s due for a meeting with his old man.”
…
Frey was right, if a little overconfident in Percy’s skills as he’d not quite
cleared the ship far enough and took some backlash from the Andromeda
explosion.
Still, considering that immediately prior to waking up in his father’s palace
beneath the waves the last thing he remembered was booking ass away from a
giant crab that he’d killed – by going for the underbelly with Riptide…and that
had been a raunchy smell that made him glad his clothes apparently didn’t
survive the explosion other than his camp necklace – and enraging Kronus to new
heights before jumping off the nearest railing and into the sea, he couldn’t
really blame Frey for starting the timer on the charges and leaving a son of
Poseidon to escape via the sea.
Not that he wouldn’t deck him – or try anyway – later for the stinging hex to
his ass, but that was more principal than anything.
It was something that he and other half-blood appreciated about Frey, no matter
their other issued with their fearless and Olympus-appointed war-leader.
He trusted them to do their part, no matter how small or large, no matter the
age or powers or determination (read: divine parentage) of the half-blood in
question.
You signed up for a job, he let you do the job.
And if you fucked it up?
Well…he’d run your ass ragged in the training ring until your only desire in
the universe was to never have to climb into the ring with Frey in that
disappointed-but-determined-to-save-your-ass mood ever, ever again.
Annabeth had told him once, that not too long after she came to Camp she’d done
some digging on why a young beanpole of a kid – her words – was training and
helping and going out on missions when nobody else his age did.  He’d been,
like, eight or something when he’d saved Annabeth and Luke and helped turn
Thalia into a tree, so he could see why she’d been curious.  What she told him
she found had blown his mind.
Frey was their general, their leader, because he’d been living – and actively
training – at Camp Half-Blood since he was fifteen months old.
The only half-blood in history to have had a monster draw or that kind of
tragedy in their life prior to Frey was Heracles.
That was it.
Two half-bloods in all the history of the Olympian pantheon, but while Heracles
had gone on and been raised among mortals, Thanatos had brought Frey to Chiron
and given him a rotation of pretty but seriously scary teachers from the
Harvestmaidens in addition to his main caretaker, a Harvestmaiden captain named
Heidi who was gone before Percy ever made it to Camp the first time.
He’d been trained, almost from birth, to survive a prophecy that had killed his
mortal parents.
It kinda helped Percy get a bit of perspective on his own destiny-of-doom
hanging over his head, especially with his father refusing his help to stay and
fight Oceanus’s forces and sending him back to hear the Great Prophecy for
himself…and maybe, finally, understand both why it’s been kept from him and why
everyone fears it so much.
Percy at least got to be a regular kid up until one of his teachers turned out
to be a Fury and the other one a centaur.
Frey never really got that.
The only regular in Frey’s life from the little Percy was allowed to see of it
every now and again, was probably contained in the single photo on Frey’s
nightstand in the cabin, which showed a white-blond haired guy who was so
pretty he could be on of Aphrodite’s children being held from behind by a
laughing and smiling Frey, an expression that was rarely seen on the often-
serious half-blood unless he was pulling a prank with Luke or the Stoll
brothers or being teased by Silena.  Cradled in both men’s arms – and Percy
still didn’t know how it was possible but had been told that Frey and his
boyfriend back in England had somehow used magic to have kids, how that
happened he didn’t even…anyway – were three swaddled bundles, two in green and
one in purple, all with the still-scrunched but not too red faces of almost-
newborns.  Percy would be a year’s kitchen duty with the harpies that if they
opened their eyes, one of the kids probably had eyes like quicksilver after
their one dad and jewel-green like the other, with a genetic-throw back for the
third.
Happy was rarely a word used in conjunction with Frey of the line of
Thanatos…and Percy really couldn’t think of anything sadder than that as he
easily swam to the last bit to the water’s edge, bidding the hippocampi that
had given him a lift goodbye.
Tyson, who he’d also reunited with beneath the waves, as well as getting a look
at his father’s wife and their son-and-heir Triton…both of whom had been
understandably unimpressed with hispresence in their home…had remained to work
in the forges of their father’s palace, helping the best way he knew.
Other than filling Percy in on the state of the war – Typhon ever-moving and
growing more powerful, Oceanus and Aigaigos (Oceanus’s partner) were attacking
relentlessly, Hades staying stubbornly secluded in the Underworld, and lastly
Aigaigos protecting Kronus and several others from going down with the Princess
Andromeda when Poseidon had lashed out at the wreckage in retaliation for
nearly killing his son – and insisting that it was time to hear the prophecy,
Poseidon had been rather…weary.
Well, that and epically pissed off at his brothers for leaving him to fight and
defend his kingdom alone.
Shaking it off, having too much already on his plate to worry himself to death
over a god that’s been kicking Titan ass since not long after the formation of
their universe, Percy set his jaw and marched determinedly up to the Big House.
It was time to get some answers.
Answers which were apparently kept in a beaded leather bag hanging around the
nearly-mummified remains of the Oracle of Delphi.
Which was just…eww.
…
“He’s back?”  Frey asked Chiron as he joined the council-in-progress in the Big
House dining room.  The centaur had sent out the call as soon as Percy had
entered the cabin and beelined straight for the attic stairs.  Chiron nodded,
the two of them keeping their own counsel as the cabin leaders for Ares and
Apollo – Clarisse and Michael respectively – devolved into yet another argument
over a stupid spoil of war.
Granted, even Frey thought the flying chariot they’d liberated from the Titan
forces last week was pretty fucking awesome, but you didn’t see him losing
sight of the big-picture for the sake of wounded pride either.
He was going to have to do something about Clarisse, especially as he could
almost visibly see her getting ready to dig in her heels and pitch a wobbly.
At this point he was simply hoping that whatever rash decision her temper led
her into – like many children of Ares – that it was one that was remedied with
a smack to the face with reality and not one he’d have to take drastic measures
to correct.
When Percy came down the stairs, leather pouch held tightly in one hand and a
crumpled piece of aged paper in the other, teeth clenched so hard Frey could
nearly hear his molars crying out in pain, the array of squabbling teenagers –
plus a watchful Luke – instantly silenced.  As if moving on automatic, Percy
opened his mouth and repeated the words that had already burned themselves into
his consciousness.  Granted, Frey could still say his own prophecy word-for-
word even now that it had been fulfilled for years so it wasn’t like he could
talk.
                    “A half-blood child of the eldest gods
                     Shall reach sixteen against all odds
                      And see the world in endless sleep,
                   The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap
                      A single choice shall end his days,
                         Olympus to preserve or raze.”
“Raise?”  Connor Stoll, one of Luke’s younger half-brothers, perked up. 
“That’s not that bad is it?”
“The word is a homonym.”  Annabeth pointed out with a strained voice, her
perpetually-serious gaze looked on washed-out sea-green.  She went on to
explain at once, used to using words around some of the campers that had to be
given context for them to understand what she was saying.  “One that is sounds
the same, but has different spellings and meanings.  Raze, with a z and no i,
means to destroy or complete entirely.”
“Like ‘the Visagoths razed Rome.’”  Luke supplied, netting an approving nod
from Annabeth.
“Oh…”  Connor whispered, white-faced and serious for once.  The Stoll twins
were the living personifications of Hermes’s “mischief” title at times, but
they were fierce fighters and shockingly good thieves…not that that last bit
was encouraged but…sons of Hermes after all, they tended to get a bit of
leeway, if spending a lot of time running from irate campers who hadn’t yet
figured out how to booby-trap their cabins well enough to keep them out.
“Percy.”  Frey said with command.  “Do we have to repeat the conversation I had
last year with Annabeth about reading too much into Prophecy?”
“No.”  Percy whispered roughly, shoving down the knee-jerk reaction of panic
and fear in the face of Frey’s unimpressed and signature eyebrow lift.  The guy
could give Spock lessons on vocal brow raises.  He shuddered out a breath,
trying to expel the terror at the same time.  It helped – if only a little –
the faces of the head campers and the trio of Frey-Chiron-Luke doing more than
any platitude regarding prophecies being wooly or hard to figure out in the
moment or whatever.  “No, you don’t.”  He said stronger, straightening his
shoulders and coming to stand at the table which was covered with a map of New
York.  “What’s going on with the campaign up here?”  He asked, diving into the
war with both feet.  He’d freak out some more later over being possibly reaped
by a “cursed blade.”  “Has Grover reported back yet?”
After getting tossed out of the Council of Clover Elders by the stick-in-the-
mud satyrs who had accused him of blasphemy for reporting Pan’s fading – even
with a trio of half-bloods and Tyson to back him up – Grover had gone out to
spread the news of Pan-in-us-all to encourage the creatures of the Wild such as
satyrs and centaurs and nyads and nymphs to take up the charge of protecting
the wilds, and standing against Kronus’s destructive ways.
“No.”  Annabeth nibbled at her lower lip, distracting Percy for a split-second
before he dragged his mind back into focus on the war and not the gutter. 
Having ADHD was a bitch when they weren’t in battle and able to use their hard-
wired abilities as they were meant to be used – to keep them alive.  “I was
talking with Juniper,” Grover’s girlfriend who was a dryad, “last night while
keeping watch and she’s a wreck.  He hasn’t reported back now in weeks.  Do you
get anything over your sympathetic connection?”
Percy and Grover for some reason – either their friendship or having saved each
other again and again – had a sort of telepathic connection that usually
manifests through visions.  Annabeth and Chiron were certain it had more to do
with Percy’s power, many powerful half-bloods often had visions – sometimes
inconsequential and sometimes not – and Percy was certainly that.  He also
tended to have more – and more accurate – visions than most.  A fact that he
was pretty sure had something to do with Apollo trying to get around the curse
Hades had placed on the Oracle than anything else.
Apollo and Artemis were hands-down Percy’s – and most half-bloods’ – favorite
gods for being much more active and helpful than the others, often including
their own divine parents.
Percy was no different, except that his dad came first on his very short list
of favorite deities.
But since he’d actually been able to meet and talk to his dad, and more than
just at the yearly Solstice meet-up, he wasn’t a normal sample of half-blood
either.
Closing his eyes, not unlike how Frey would often do the same to focus on
someone’s living-or-dead status, Percy felt for the link that existed in his
mind and finding…nothing.
Well, not entirely.
“He’s sleeping.”  Percy frowned, opening his eyes to the expectant looks on his
fellow-campers’ faces.  Except for Clarisse who was some form of half-worried-
about-Chris, who she’d taken a shine to while helping him recover, and half-
pissed.  “Like, really, really deep.  I’m not even getting an impression of
dreams or anything.  It’s…odd.”  He settled on that, it was the best he could
describe the feedback he was getting from the connection.
Setting it aside for the moment, Percy reported what his dad had told him about
Typhon, and that another Titan had entered the war and was helping Oceanus
against his dad and had saved Kronus and some of the Titan army from going down
with the ship.
“Oceanus taking the field, like many others, is not a good sign by any means.” 
Chiron sighed, shifting restlessly.  “Neither is the constant division among
the Olympian ranks.  They only one last time because they were united against
Kronus.  I fear the outcome of this war if they’re not able to put their
squabbles behind them.”  He finished with a pointed stare first at Clarisse and
then Michael.
Which only served to start Clarisse back up and into her rant against the
“injustice” of the Apollo cabin being granted the flying chariot.
She was halfway through a threat to force the Camp to fight without the Ares
half-bloods when Frey shut her down – hard.
“Clarisse.”  His voice was soft.  “That’s enough.”
“You can’t!”
“I can.”  He said, cutting her off again and making her face turn an
unattractive shade of purple.  “And I have.  Now get up.”  He stood.  “We’re
going to take a walk.”
Silently, the war council watched as one of the most temperamental leaders left
a step behind one of the most rational…well, most of the time anyway.
The quiet rang through the Big House for several long moments after the bang of
the front door slamming behind the unlikely pair.
“I’ve never seen him like that.”  Percy whispered, as if Frey could hear him
still and drag him along for Clarisse’s imminent “come to Jesus talk” as his
mother Sally would put it.  “That anger…it was so…”
“Cold.”  Luke groaned out a sigh, slumping forward to rest his forehead against
the wooden table.  “He’s going to tear her a new one.”
“You’ve seen him like that before?”  Annabeth asked, mystified.
She wasn’t alone, the rest of the campers traded perplexed glances over the
abrupt end to both Clarisse’s rant and their meeting.
“We both have,” Luke wobbled a thumb between himself and Chiron.  “Frey’s
temper may be hot but his true fury, his rage?”  He clicked his tongue under
his breath.  “Ice cold.  That is how you know the shit is really going to hit
the fan.”  Luke shivered a bit, remembering the one time he’d seen it – when
Luke had left him behind and nearly gotten killed by Ladon on his stupid failed
quest.
There was nothing in the world that would entice him into trading places with
Clarisse in that moment.
No way in Tartarus would he ever face Frey like that again.
Not if he could help it.
…
“Where are we going?”  Clarisse snapped, only to shut her mouth with a click of
teeth at the roiling temper and icy fury locked up tight in the gaze that Frey
leveled on her.
She was a child of Ares, she knew bloodlust and a warrior on the edge of
berserker rage when she saw it.
And Frey was dancing on the knife’s edge, her words back in the Big House
setting light to something she was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain she
wouldn’t survive if it was unleashed upon her.
So, she shut up and followed, even if her feet started to slow and drag when
she realized just where Frey was taking her.
Half-bloods didn’t go for graves, or graveyards.
When they were gone, unless their mortal parents decided to put up a headstone
somewhere, the Camp just burned a shroud and let their spirits go on.
Partly, because it was tradition.
However…in part because if they did bury their dead and set up a memorial, Camp
Half-Blood would be nothing but a graveyard, packed cheek-to-jowl by
tombstones.
Only a few exceptions to that rule existed, often erected in the forest after a
number of half-bloods died at the same time, and by the same cause.
Frey was taking her to the newest.
It was a ring of yew trees that he’d planted from seeds and then convinced the
Demeter campers and the dryads to help grow into a towering ring of trees,
using his powers to help shape them into living embodiments of the campers who
had fought – and died – at the Labyrinth…both fighting with the Titans and
against them.  Each tree had taken on the likeness of a dead half-blood, as
seen through Frey’s eyes.  And Frey’s eyes had seen quite a lot.
There were thirteen in total, only three from the Camp forces, the other ten
from fighting against them.
Here was that girl’s smile, there a boy with a sword in one hand and a
playstation controller in the other with a cheeky grin often seen on Hermes
half-bloods.
They faced a simple piece of white marble that had the sigil of Daedalus
engraved upon it, and  the date that they had all fought – and all died.
A carpet of laurel made up the ground between the ring of trees and the marker,
the flowering bush growing low to the ground and somehow never higher – Frey’s
magic she would guess, like much of the memorial.
None of the campers ever saw the passionate general shed so much as a tear,
they never saw him mourn.
But the day after they burned thirteen shrouds, honoring their dead, they had
woken up to Juniper waiting to escort them here, to Frey’s living proof of the
depths of his grief.
Two of the half-bloods he had killed himself, the rest dying by another’s hand
or another cause.
If two of the trees were done in finer detail and the utmost of care, no one
commented on it.
“The time for games and powerplays is over, Clarisse, do you understand me?” 
Frey whispered the question, even as his gaze turned from staring in silence at
the trees to burn upon her disquieted face.  “Over.  And done.”
Biting back a reply that would only come out as petty or petulant in the face
of his living pain, she nodded, once.
After all…in the wake of what they’d already lost to Kronus, what more needed
to be said.
With one last glance at the grove, Frey spun on his heel and walked away with
his cat-like grace, leaving Clarisse to stand with silvery tears coasting down
her cheeks at the visage of her youngest half-blooded sibling starting out from
her in yew wood.
Her littlest brother and cabin mate, Darius hadn’t been one of the three
casualites from Camp Half-Blood during the Battle.
And Clarisse swore then and there that she would make Kronus pay for that – for
forcing her to make and burn his shroud for a boy only twelve years old – in an
ocean of his army’s blood.
…
“What did you say to her?”  Luke asked idly as they watched Percy slip off into
the shadows in the company of Nico de Angelo, likely to go make good on his
promise of information regarding Ethan’s ability to house Kronus without
burning to cinders.
Frey would follow in a moment, Nico had asked for him to tag along – at least
for this first part – and help with getting the person they sought to speak
with them.
First, he’d stopped by the Big House to fill Luke in, only to see his whip-
smart best-friend watching them with a half-smile from the porch.
“Enough.”  Was all Frey told him, then stepped away into shadow with a mock-
salute for his brother-in-arms.
“Reticent fucker.”  Luke muttered under his breath, staring up at the moon and
thinking wistfully of his wife and unborn child, tucked away in the safety of
Peverell Castle along with Frey’s family before turning to go back inside and
at least try to get some sleep.
It was a commodity that seemed to be in short-supply these days, for everyone.
…
Frey stepped out of the shadows to the sight of Percy and Nico carrying on a
low-pitched – and very tense – conversation by the side of an isolated temple
in Northern Attica.
Looking around he pegged where they were – and why Nico had needed him to tag
along.
There were few temples solely dedicated to Nemesis – goddess of vengeance in
modern times, though her original purpose, even her name meant “to give what is
due.”
Worshipped by mortals before Zeus was even born, and the daughter of Nyx, she
was also the mother of Ethan Nakamura…and Frey believed he was beginning to see
where Nico was going with his little show-and-tell.
Someone had been talking to the souls of past heroes.
Clever little fucker, though some information – like that of Horcruxes – should
remain only among the dead.
Thissecret wasn’t nearly so terrible, but it was equally as deadly…especially
considering that as the Avatar of Necessity, which was often called Balance by
mistake, and an ally of Thanatos, Nemesis was one of the few deities whohadn’t
yet chosen a side in the war, despite her son’s alliance with Kronus.
A situation that could change in a blink if they pissed the goddess
off…especially here, in what equated to holy ground.
Frey cocked his head as he followed the other two into the temple, smiling a
bit at the statue which bore a striking resemblance to Aphrodite – only with
great wings and holding both a dagger and whip rather than the more modern
scales and measuring rod.
Nemesis’s temple was a primal place, hardly having anything in common with the
nearly-demure aspect the Renaissance artists and sculptures “gifted” her with.
“Woah.”  Percy whispered, eyes shot-wide at they came to the foot of the
massive sculpture.  “This is bigger than the statue of Athena we saw at the
Parthenon reproduction in the States.”
“Early Greeks worshipped Nemesis – and feared and respected her – in equal
measure.”  Frey commented, tucking his hands into his pockets as he watched
Nico set up an offering to the goddess with wary eyes, even as Percy started to
help him arrange the wood in the brazier and set out herbs and meat and wine
for the goddess as her due.  “With good reason – a big part of her duties was
punishing those whose fortunes were too good, or were seen as overly gifted
without reason, or guilty of hubris.”
Percy let out a soundless whistle at that.
No wonder no one spoke much about Nemesis at Camp Half-Blood, hubris being many
a demigod’s fatal flaw.
Nico’s next words confirmed that thought: “Nemesis has smote more half-bloods
than most other gods and divine beings combined.  Only Hera and Hades have
higher body-counts, though with this war Kronus will overtake her soon.”
Which considering that Hera hated half-bloods on principal since most deities
were married, and Hades just hated everybody not his wife or lovers or
children…that was saying something.
“Considering that he has taken over my son.”  A voice as dark and rich velvet
as midnight with an underlying smoker’s rasp came from the shadows before Nico
could even set flame to the offerings, scaring half the life from the younger
two half-bloods while Frey just arched a brow at their surprise.  “I wouldn’t
count on his being alive and kicking too much longer.”
“I keep telling you guys that names have power.”  Was all Frey said to the pair
who were still gaping at the goddess made flesh who was watching them from
fathomless dark eyes.
Nemesis was a beauty – as her statue suggested – though dressed nothing like
Aphrodite, to whom her resemblance often gave rise to speculations on their
being related – which no deity has ever confirmed one way or another.  Her hair
and eyes were both black as her mother’s name, Nyx, the darkness.  Skin was a
perfect sun-kissed gold, and her form was small but packed with feminine muscle
and lithe curves poured into skin-tight black leather pants that clung to her
hip bones and a cropped red vest that failed to cover much more than her
breasts and part of her ribcage.
A dagger could be seen tucked into both belt and the top of her boots, and her
whip was coiled at her left hip – she was right-handed then.
“My lady.”  Frey bowed low, Nico and Percy waking from their shock long enough
to echo him.
“Chosen of Thanatos.”  Nemesis nodded genially, then eyed the two with him with
nothing short of amusement.  “Half-bloods and heroes…my my, aren’t I popular
tonight.”
“My lady,” Nico stepped forward, more hesitant in the face of her than he’d
ever been before his father or lady Persephone, who despite her rolling eyes
and loud sighs at the sight of him treated him much better than he’d ever
expected – even if he did get tired of her mother Demeter trying to stuff
cereals down his throat.  “We have come…”
He was cut off by the lady in question.
“I know why you have come, child of Hades.”  Nemesis said, eyes narrowed and
sharp.  “You face my son…who is not my son all at that same time.  You wish to
know how to defeat him.”
“Yes.”  Percy said, elbowing Nico in the ribs with a firm jab when the ghost-
king would have prevaricated.  “We do.”
“And what will you give in return?”  She arched a brow.  “My son gave his eye
for the chance to bring balance to the world.  What will you give now for the
chance to stop him?”
“What will it take?”  Frey asked, holding up a hand to silence his companions. 
“Lady and avatar of Necessity.”
“Smart lad.”  Nemesis nodded in approval.  She could see why Thanatos favored
him so.  “Nothing much – a life for a life.”  Her smile was nothing more than
wicked.  “Kronus has burrowed himself deep into my son, entwined himself into
him like the parasitic disease he is.  But he’s an Avatar, like myself and,”
she nodded towards Frey.  “Thanatos.  He won’t be easy to kill.”  White teeth
flashed in the darkness of the temple.  “Nonetheless – that is the cost. 
Kronus’s life for my son’s.  Fail and…”  Her chuckle was dusky and terrifying,
sending a chill up each of their spines.  “It’ll cost each of you yours.”
“Done.”  Frey said at once, without even pausing, all the while knowing that
his father – and Thanatos most likely – were railing at him for being so bloody
stupid as to agree with a pact from Nemesis.  “How do we kill him?”
“Ethan’s body was too weak to withstand Kronus.”  Nemesis pulled out a clove
cigarette from the pocket of her jeans and lit it with an absent flick of her
fingers, setting the offerings ablaze as she was at it in wordless acceptance
of the gesture.  “He needed to be something else, something more.  I took his
eye in exchange for my blessing, but even that didn’t stay him from his
course.”
“He did it then?”  Nico leaned forward on his toes, excitement spilling from
every pore.  “He took on Achilles’s curse?”
“He did.”  Nemesis blew out a stream of smoke, her power lacing it and shaping
it into the scene of a form stripping off its armor and descending into a dark
river.  “Though what he used as anchor I do not know.”
“Thank you, milady.”  Frey nodded, and held out his hand to the others in
wordless command, who thanked her as well before grabbing hold.
“Don’t.”  She bit out sharply, flicking away the ash from her smoke, eyes
glittering with feral light in the darkness.  “Don’t ever thank me for giving
you the key to destroying my own child.  Even though my very nature demands
it.  Right the balance – that’s all I ask should you succeed.  And I’d hurry.” 
She advised as shadows rose to cover their lean forms.  “The board is set – the
pieces are moving.  All that’s left is to see where they fall.”
…
“This is where I leave you.”  Frey told Nico and Percy, a thoughtful look on
his face as Nico slumped – just slightly – with relief at his words.
They’d reappeared in the hall outside Percy’s apartment, where Mrs. O’Leary was
guarding – and getting many belly rubs – from Mrs. Jackson, the indomitable
Sally taking well to the tamed hellhound that Daedalus had asked Percy to look
after before sacrificing his life to bring down the Labyrinth – the two being
tied together.
Something was up, that much Frey knew just from reading Nico’s body language
and how…insistent he’d been on getting Percy to come along on this mini-quest
of his.
But this wasn’t Frey’s journey, not this time, and all he could do is let them
go – wherever it might take them.
Gods above, he was turning into Chiron!
He vowed then and there to sow some mischief amongst the Titan forces, lest he
sink further into respectable stoic-ness.
“They need me at Camp, and the Underworld is one of the few places the Titan’s
aren’t actively battling so it should be safe enough.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”  Nico tried to say, only to be met with twin
snorts from his companions.
“Someone has to take a dip in the Styx to equal Kronus,” Percy said, with a
roll of his eyes.  “And since I’m the only one with a mother handy – no
offense,” “none taken,” Frey murmured, Nico going blank-faced.  “It looks like
I’ll be getting a head-start on that prophecy.”
Clapping the younger man on the back, Frey jerked his head towards the door.
“Better get on with it then.”  He winked at Percy.  “It isn’t every day one
becomes invulnerable after all.  Just make sure you pick a good anchor point,
yeah?  Something better than the back of your heel.”
The crux of Achilles’s curse – as Frey knew full-well having been tutored under
the great warrior who was now going as “Alexios” one of Thanatos’s Shadow
Warriors – was his heel or rather the anchor point where his mother had held
him by the heel and dipped him into the Styx.  Each of the rivers flowing
through the Underworld had their effects, the most well-known of which was the
Lethe which would empty a being’s memory in nothing more than a moment, leaving
them a shell of their former selves.  Achilles was merely the first warrior to
be given his “curse” – or attempt it anyway, though it was done to Achilles/
Alexios and not by him.
Mortal forms were not made to be invulnerable, even a half-blood’s, so as the
Styx burned away their mortal shells, a single point of vulnerability was left
behind, a point that which if wounded would undo the “curse” and leave the
afflicted wounded and weak.
Achilles, after all, didn’t die of a wounded heel, but of an arrow to the heart
after being brought low by one through his anchor point.
Which meant that Ethan – and Percy if he both gained Sally’s blessing, a key
component of the curse, and survived the Styx – had a weakness.
Good news, considering who was swanning around wearing him as a suit these
days.
They simply had to find it…which would be easier said than done.
…
Percy and Nico walked into the apartment, only to see that they’d acquired an
additional guest in the time Percy had been gone on his missions.
It takes Percy a minute, but he places where he’d seen the young girl sitting
beside the hearth before.
“You’re the girl who tends the bonfire at Camp.”  He states, wondering a bit
about how and why she was here.  “But I never see you around…”
“My name is Hestia,” the girl morphed into a pretty woman before their eyes,
still beautiful like all the goddesses Percy had met, but somehow…softer, even
than Hera who was more matronly than Aphrodite or Nemesis or Artemis.  “The
Goddess of Hearth and Home and Family.”
“My Lady.”  In echo of their words in Attica, both demigods bowed – but much
lower than they had to Nemesis.
“I was the First-Born of Kronus and Rhea.”  She continued, stroking one hand
down the back of Mrs. O’Leary who had obligingly shrunk down in size to sit at
the goddess’s feet, panting happily at the attention.  “And of them all, all my
siblings, it was I who my father feared most, though I never have taken up
arms…do you know why young heroes?”
“No.”  Nico answered, brow furrowed.  “You…you gave up your throne, even,
didn’t you?  When Mr. D had grown up?”
“Yes,” she smiled, the warmth of the hearth-fire flames dancing in her dark
eyes.  “I did.  Peace.  Warmth.  Comfort.  Those are the powers of the home. 
To fight is not in my nature, though I understand why others do.  What my
father would bring to this world…”  She sighed, shaking her head as she
scratched being Mrs. O’Leary’s ears.  “It is contrary to all I am.  So I have
come to give you what comfort – and counsel – I can.”
“Yes, my lady.”  Percy stepped forward, coming down to kneel at her feet, Nico
following though with much more hesitation, even as Hestia waved her hand and a
lunch of their favorite foods appeared on the coffee table, even with blue soda
for Percy and a root beer float for Nico.  “We will listen.”
“I hope you do.”  She said with a glance at Nico before focusing once more on
Percy.  “There is a power that you have yet to learn young heroes – a power you
will need to win this war.”
She waited a moment or two until they had started eating at a look from her
warm eyes before continuing.
“You are strong, and fierce, and powerful.  And that is good and just.  But my
father is also strong and fierce and powerful, as are my uncles and cousins and
all the Titanomachy.  To defeat them you must become what they are not.  Do you
understand?”  She asked, holding in a sigh at their confused glances.  They
were young, there was still much for them to learn…though little enough time to
do it in.  “As you said, young Nico, I gave my throne to Dionysus.  I yielded
to prevent a struggle upon the council.  And yet,” a mischievous smile flirted
upon her lips.  “I am still the First-Born.  Still the most powerful.  I lost
nothing a’tall for having the grace and power to know when to yield.  My voice
is still heard, my counsel treasured.  They come to me – one and all – for
healing or care or comfort or wisdom and I give it to them without prejudice. 
You must learn to do the same if you wish to bring balance back to this world.”
With a flick of her finger, she banked the flames in the hearth before stepping
into them with one last caution:  “you cannot stand alone, young ones.  Learn
to yield, to embrace the power of others if you wish to win this war.”
…
When next Frey saw Percy, he noted the difference immediately, though only
commented on it with a: “guess you got Sally’s blessing after all…I was
starting to wonder,” in reference to the extra time it had taken Percy to
return from the Underworld thanks to Nico’s double-dealing with Hades.
Not that Percy could really blame Nico for trying to please his father and get
information about his mother, who must seem like the only family he had left
with Bianca’s abandonment for the Huntresses and Hades being…well…kind of a
dick.
Still, he had helped spring Percy from the cells in Hades’s palace, and stayed
behind to try and convince his old man to help with the war, so it wasn’t as
bad as it could have been.
Percy brought with him the missing Grover…and some interesting if dire news.
“It was just…weird.”  Grover reported, scarfing down burrito after burrito with
Juniper petting as his curly brown locks.  Sleeping for weeks straight built up
one hells of an appetite.  “Last thing I remember is this strange guy walking
through Central Park then…boom, naptime.”
“That sounds like Morpheus.”  Chiron pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Another
minor god gone over to the Titan’s side if he wasn’t off fighting Typhon like
the rest.  His abilities over sleep and dreaming would have been invaluable to
the Olympians…and give the prophecy…”
Well the rest save for Hades, Poseidon, and Hestia but that was beside the
point.
“And see the world in endless sleep.”  Frey murmured the line of the prophecy
as Percy winced next to him.  “Does he have the power?”
“To cast a spell over all the world?”  Chiron snorted.  “Not likely, even with
whatever other tricks Kronus has up his sleeves.  But a city…”  He drawled
meaningfully.  “That might be possible.”
“New York is undefended.”  Percy breathed out, eyes wide with horrified
realization.  “The Olympians are all gone.”
Clarisse cursed under her breath, joined by many of the others as they saw what
he did – Olympus was undefended.
Typhon, Oceanus – mere distractions.
If Kronus could take the Olympian’s power base from them…the war would be far
shorter and with a different outcome than Zeus was counting on, seeing Typhon’s
release as merely the newest salvo.
“Okay, Percy.”  Frey said, taking a figurative step back a small smile on his
face.  Yeah, the kid was coming along just fine.  “What’s our play?”
“We defend it.”  Percy said, fire in his eyes.  “We hold Olympus until the gods
can be convinced to return and face the real threat.”
“Good luck with that.”  Frey muttered under his breath.  “Hope you have better
luck than I did convincing Zeus’s inflated head to part with his asshole.” 
Thunder and lightning cracked overhead, causing Frey to scream up to the sky:
“Yeah!  You heard me shithead!  You’re being a stupid prat!”
When the others stared at him, jaws hanging low, he simply shrugged and turned
towards Chiron.
“So, holding New York against the Titans.”  He continued on, his tone as
cheerful and carefree as if they weren’t discussing a massive siege and he
hadn’t just screamed obscenities at the King of the Gods.  “Think we should
import some allies now, yeah?”
…
Standing in the elevator that led to the 600th floor of the Empire State
Building and Olympus, Frey leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
They’d been quiet in their arrival – as quiet as a group of over sixty half-
bloods could be – while Grover had gone off to rouse the wild creatures that
still populated the island – if sparsely – and Chiron was off to recruit some
of his brethren.
Frey had taken care of sending a message to the Forbidden Forest, saving the
trainer of heroes one stop at least.
Percy had sent a message to Zeus…but Frey was afraid it would do all the good
of talking to the wall.
His lover was many things.
Rational wasn’t always among them.
They would have to prove that the threat was real before they had any real hope
of convincing the king that he’d fallen for a diversion…and even then he likely
would never thank them for it.
Arriving in Olympus was jarring for Frey after so many visits with it bustling
with life.
Only a few minor beings remained, and glancing at Percy and Annabeth he knew
they felt just as unsettled as he did, though the sight of Hestia in the throne
room tending the sacred hearth was a balm to their strung-tight nerves.
Before they could speak, Lady Hestia beat them to the punch:
 “I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have
gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian.”
With that, the rich red flames flared and she disappeared into them, an
exhausted Hermes popping into existence a mere moment afterward.
“By the Styx, Dad.”  Luke muttered, coming over and giving his old man a
shoulder to lean on.  Wrapping one arm around the god’s lean waist, he ignored
the bright grin his pops gave him for the action.  “What the hells?  Zeus can’t
give you a break now and then?”
Hermes gave a dry laugh.
“Not so much.  At least not right now.”  Straightening up, he nodded towards
Annabeth.  “Besides, it’s that one’s mother that sent me.”  Dusting himself
off, he detached from his son with visible reluctance, savoring the rare moment
of feeling between them.  Luke would never forgive him for leaving him with his
mother, or even for allowing her to try and take on the Delphic essence after
Hades cursed the Oracle when his Maria di Angelo was killed by Zeus, blaming
her Prophecy for the pact and Zeus’s retaliation for breaking it.  Still,
thanks to Silena and even Frey, the wound was slowly healing.  “Athena – and I
for that matter – agree with you that Typhon is a distraction.  We’re working
on the great lunkhead, believe me, but Zeus isn’t easy to sway unless you’re
Ganymede and well…”  Hermes scratched at his head.  “He’s a little tied up
right now…”
Literally, Zeus having resorted to stashing his love away somewhere and tying
him to the bed.
It wouldn’t kill him, Ganymede was a god, but oooh was Zeus going to pay when
the Cupbearer was finally freed.
Frey snorted a laugh, reading what Hermes wasn’t saying and being well-aware of
that particular dynamic.
Hells, now he hope they won just so he can watch Ganymede dish out punishment
for the next century or so until he got over it.
“Athena says to use Plan 23 to defend New York.”  Hermes reported with a snappy
little salute at Percy.  “General, sir, Athena says remember the rivers and
stay away from my daughter.”  With a wink and a laugh for the bright-red blush
on both Annabeth’s and Percy’s faces, Hermes poofed into his typical golden
dust, off to return to the war of attrition with Typhon.
Annabeth smacked at both Luke and Frey for snickering, then explained “Plan 23”
as they descended back down in the elevator to gather in a park nearby – which
was when the reality of the situation came crashing down and sobered them when
they saw that while they’d been busy with Hestia and Hermes on Olympus, Kronus
had begun his devastating plan, putting all the mortals in Manhattan Island
asleep, and somehow slowing time leading to the island to prevent more mortals
from coming and interfering.
“Fuck.”  Frey summed up all their thoughts with a weary sigh as he looked
around, even the arrival of the Huntresses led by Thalia and Percy dividing
everyone up to guard the tunnels and bridges didn’t quite bring him out of his
reverie until Luke nudged him when the others began to depart.
Focusing on Percy, he gave him the good/bad news.
“I can move them.”  He said.  “Maybe even heal some of the injuries while
getting them out of the killing zone but…”  He waved his arms helplessly.
“It’s a big area to cover, and a hell of a lot of people.”  Luke finished the
thought for him, the most familiar of the group of leaders with Frey’s powers
and how they worked.  “You won’t be worth shit after – maybe not for days.”  He
groaned, rubbing at his eyes.  “It’s a bad time to be out of commission.”
“Yeah, no shit.”  Thalia agreed, crossing her arms over her breastplate – which
Thalia being Thalia was worn over a Ramones t-shirt instead of chainmail. 
“What’re you going to do shadow-boy.”
Rolling his eyes at the nickname, Frey focused on Percy.
“That’s up to Percy.”  He said simply.  “Your plan – your play.”
Percy rolled it around in his head, then focused on what Hestia had said about
knowing when to yield, when not to fight, and decided.
“Do it.”  He ordered.  “From Olympus so I know you’ll be safe and Hestia can
help you if you collapse after.  We’ll have to struggle along without
you…somehow.”
“Aye aye.”  Frey smirked, bowing a little.  “Knock ‘em dead, champ.”
...
Nodding to Hestia as he passed through the Throne Room and out to the balcony
overlooking the city, Frey ignored her otherwise as she fell into step beside
him.
“You could have prevented this, you know.”  She mentioned, apparently her idea
of idle chit-chat.
“So could you.”  Frey pointed out with a lifted brow.  “But Fate does like to
have her way in the end, doesn’t she?”  He posed the question to the Olympian
Avatar of Life.
Unlike the primordial beings they represent, Avatars could be any race, any
gender, from any pantheon, though strictly limited to one per universe per
primordial.
Thanatos was Death’s – male to Her female or gender-neutral self depending on
the day.
Kronus for Time – male to gender-neutral, and Eros – though Frey only knew it
from Thanatos, the others being kept in the dark about the love-god’s true
nature – had been chosen by Chaos…which really explained a lot when you thought
about it.
Hestia was the fourth Avatar of this ancient universe, that of Life, and female
to His male, and perhaps in another universe was the consort of Thanatos as
Life was to Death…but in this universe Hestia was a virgin goddess, and
Thanatos had a harem…hardly a match made in Elysium.
Not all universes had a complete set of Avatars either – the paired Yggdrasil/
Cosmic multiverse certainly didn’t with Loki as the Avatar of Magic and Hela as
Death’s being the only two…though it was still a relatively young multiverse as
such things go.
Nemesis’s position was Avatar of Necessity gave this universe five out of six
Avatars alive and actively in play – a rarity as most only have three or four
at one time.
“That it does, young godling, that it does.”  She agreed with a comforting
smile.  “Tell me – how long are you going to stay away from your family?”  She
arches a brow.  “Children need their fathers, much as fathers need their
children.  This half-life can’t be sustained forever – something will have to
give.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”  Frey muttered, though not bad-temperedly, as
Hestia’s words were meant to be kind.
“The meaning of life is 42.”  Hestia snarked back, snickering when given a
shocked look from enchanting emerald-green eyes.  “What?”  She asked with mock-
indignation.  “A goddess can’t read?”
He laughed along for a minute than focused on his task, power building in his
eyes and crackling along his skin.
“Do me a favor?”  He asked, Hestia humming in response.  “Cloak me?”  He
glanced down into understanding flame-red eyes.  “It’s been too long since
I’ve…ah…”  He blushed a bit, well-aware of her virginal status.
“Borrowed some of my brother’s – and his love’s – signature?”  She suggested
with a knowing – and entertained – life of her brow.
“Yes, that.”  He sighed in relief that she wasn’t going to make him say it in
front of her.  He normally wasn’t bashful or unsure, but something about her
make him as clumsy as Sirius in Padfoot form after one too many firewhiskeys.
“You’re doing what you can to protect my family.”  Hestia told him.  “I’m more
than prepared to return the favor.”
“Thank you, Lady Hestia.”  He nodded his head then lifted his hands, ready to
begin.  “That means more to me than you know.”
…
“What is that?”  Annabeth asked as she and Percy rode Blackjack to begin
activating Plan 23.
Plan 23, designed by Daedalus was simple – and intricate – all at the same
time.
Taking a page from Hephaestus’s book, Daedalus had worked with his mother
Athena to secretly commission and plant automaton all around New York in the
form of the many famous or infamous statues such as the majestic lions outside
the New York Library or the misogynistic testament to Wall Street – the Bull. 
Once she commanded enough of the human-formed automatons to activate, they will
awake and begin activating their brethren and so on and so forth, until there
was a veritable army of machines ready to defend Olympus from attack. 
Ingenious, really.  She wished she’d thought of it, but then hubris, like many
other half-bloods was her fatal flaw.
Percy’s – she knew – was the inability to sacrifice another, his great heart
and compassion that led him into often stupidly-suicidal heroic acts.
Luke’s was his rage, Clarisse’s her easily offended pride, and so on.
The only one she didn’t know for sure was Frey’s…but given what she knew of him
she was banking on it having more to do with either Percy’s or Luke’s than her
own.
“Frey.”  Percy said simply as they watched the mass of sleeping mortals seem to
levitate into the air at once – looking like some scene from a bad alien
abduction movie, and move towards random buildings all well-out of the path
between any of the island’s entry points and Olympus.  “He’s actually managing
it.”
“I know I’ve said this before.”  Annabeth commented with no-little amount of
wonder.  “But just how powerful is he?”  She waved a hand towards the limp and
floating bodies in emphasis.  “Who has that kind over power outside the gods?”
“That’s the million-drachma question, isn’t it?”  Percy murmurs thoughtfully,
an idea occurring to him before he pushes it away for consideration another
time.  “C’mon.  We’ve gotten a good start on the statues, let’s let them take
it from here.  Michael could probably use our help on the Williamsburg
Bridge.”  He decided, looking off towards Brooklyn where fighting had already
broken out.
“You’re the boss, Seaweed Brain.”  Annabeth told him as she jumped back up
behind him on Blackjack.  “Lead the way.”
…
Frey wobbled, catching himself against the balcony railing as Hestia watched in
concern.
He could see what Percy did – the largest force of the Titan vanguard was
attacking the Apollo campers.
But he could barely stand, let alone fight, after moving a literal million
people back to safety.
“Come.”  Hestia commanded, lifting the massive warrior into her arms as if he
was no more than a babe.  “You must rest.  Ah!”  She hushed him before he could
even make the weakest of protests.  “You asked me for my help, now I’m giving
it.  You’ll rest, and recharge.”  She arched a brow.  “You honestly don’t
expect this to be over with a single skirmish do you?  And they’ll need you to
be able to fight when the next round comes or I don’t know a thing about my
father.”
…
Hestia ended up being right – and almost wrong all at once.
How Annabeth had figured out where Percy’s Achilles point was he’d never
know…but she’d taken a knife for him, leaving herself seriously wounded at the
strike by Miles, one of Ethan/Kronus’s half-blood commanders, one a bit older
than most of the others, and with a grudge against the divine parent who had
never claimed him.
It also – when combined with Michael’s tumble from the bridge at the hands of
one of Kronus’s minions – left Percy seriously pissed off.
He hadn’t gotten used to his own strength yet – which with his dip in the Styx
had grown to near-legendary levels.
“Retreat!”  He called out, the others taking it up as they saw him tear through
a handful of empousai with barely an effort.  “Retreat!”
It was an order easily obeyed as the Titan forces parted and showed the form of
Ethan – still with one glowing golden eye.
Kronus himself had at last taken the field.
Not that it would do him any good.
With a smirk, Percy leapt up and then plunged down in a massive show of
strength, burying his sword to the hilt and breaking the bridge, cracks
appearing and spiderwebbing out, and the unwary Titan minions plummeting into
the river while the smarter ones quickly dodged back from the now-useless
bridge.
“Search for Michael.”  Percy orders some of the missing captain’s half-siblings
who scatter at one look from sea-green eyes.
Moving over to where Annabeth was being tended by one of the Apollo healers, he
asked: “how is she?”
“Rough.”  The demigoddess answered, barely looking up from her work with the
knife wound.  “But she’ll make it.  Where are we going to make camp tonight?”
At random, Percy decides on one of the hotels bordering Central Park, as he
rather doubted any of the gods would be happy if they started squatting in
Olympus when there were other options, finding himself just…drained as he
stared at the post-battle drained and grieving campers all around him, many
crying over a handful of bodies that had been draped with sheets pilfered from
a nearby apartment building.
Rough, he decided, was the best description he’d heard in his life for the
controlled-chaos surrounding him.
…
When Frey awoke the next morning, he didn’t know which disturbed him more –
that Rachel had arrived despite the dangers inherent in her trip, or that she
was somehow getting along with Annabeth.
Making his way to where – with the advancement of the Titan forces – the
wounded had been brought, he arched a brow at the two girls surprisingly
talking congenially…only to find that Rachel had symbolically “bowed out” of
her former pursuit of Percy, stating that she had something else waiting for
her, something she just hadn’t found yet.
Brought up to date – sixteen combined losses between the campers and the
Huntresses, sixteen – Frey blew out a breath and with more than usual effort
magically switched out his clothes for his armor, spear and sword at hand and
hip, going out to join Percy who was rounding up a contingent to head towards
Central Park thanks to another of his visions.
Seriously, the kid had more people shoving messages into his head than Frey’s
old friend Luna had wrackspurts.
Though when they met the Titan forces, Frey was glad of it, as they’d brought
with them some big-guns this time: the Titan Hyperion.
Wearing armor of living flame and standing at over ten feet high, it was almost
on par with a fire-giant from Muspelheim…though shorter.
Cracking his neck, he nodded at Percy, already knowing where this was going to
go, and strengthening his glamor that kept him from being recognized by Asgard
as having distinctly Loki-ish features…or in this case that of a Jotun.
“Oh, look.”  Frey smirked, pointing at the Titan who had stepped out on to the
lake, using his powers to walk across the water, the lake hissing and sizzling
when coming in contact with his fire.  “He’s making it easy for us.”
Percy shared his smirk, the others cheering them on as they broke into a loping
jog and easily repeated Hyperion’s feet, Percy walking on the water while Frey
froze it under his feet, much like he did during the Triwizard Tournament.
Both sides cheered, each content – for the moment – to watch their champions go
at it, Hyperion yelling insults at them and proclaiming how they would fail to
defeat him.  That Atlas was weak and Krios a fool to fall to either of them.
It made no difference to them, as they quickly engaged the Titan, Frey just a
fraction slower than normal from his great feat of magic the day before…though
he always was noticeable sticking to his Jotun abilities with ice and his
weapons which had Percy side-eyeing him a bit in concern, as was Luke watching
from the shore.
Then Frey went high, Percy low, and you would have never known that the two of
them had spent all the night before collapsed in heaps of exhausted
unconsciousness.
“What in the…”  One of the younger campers near Luke breathed, eyes wide, as
they all watched the spectacle, a hush falling over each group until only the
sounds of bronze on iron rang across the lake accompanied by the banter and
roars of the three battling figures, almost seeming that if they didn’t know
better they weren’t just watching one Titan do battle but three, so powerful
were the auras pulsing off of Frey and Percy.
Eventually Hyperion realized that taking on a son of Poseidon on the fucking
water wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had and broke for the shore – too
late.
His fiery boots had barely touched ground when Frey let out a blast of super-
cooled air, Percy gathering it up into a maelstrom and hitting Hyperion full-
blast with his newly-formed hurricane, the torrential downpour dousing the
Titan’s flames as Frey’s ice climbed quickly up his body in eerie resemblance
to the exact same act a few years before in a graveyard – though not with the
same outcome as Grover charged in with satyrs and dryads at his hooved heels,
chanting quickly and linking hands to make a circle around the semi-frozen and
wet Titan Lord of the East, Frey breaking off his ice in relief as vines and
roots shot up from the ground, seeming to swallow the Titan whole even as he
raged.
Within minutes, where the Titan of the East had stood, was a massive oak tree
with an alarmingly lifelike face open in a roar, though Frey had felt it when
Hyperion’s life-line had snapped and banished the Titan to Tartarus.
Laughing in deep relief that his glamor had held – and that Hyperion hadn’t
tried to out him as a godling the way Atlas almost had, though it hadn’t been
purposeful – Frey clapped Grover and Percy on the back with each hand, joking:
“Welcome to the club, Titan-Slayers.”
Percy groaned a little, rolling his eyes and then lifted one hand to his neck
where a sand dollar still hung as the Titan forces were chased from the park by
the demigods, realization crossing his face as he stared off towards where the
Hudson met the East River.
“I’ve got an idea guys…”  He told them, whistling for Blackjack.  “I’ll be
back.”
“Huh.”  Frey grunted watching Percy run off.  “So that’s what this feels like.”
“Yep.”  Luke jostled him with a smirk.  “Annoying as hell isn’t it, watching
someone heroically run off into certain danger on a wild idea that they won’t
explain?”
Frey just rolled his eyes and told his best-friend as they made their way back
towards the Empire State Building where they – well, Luke more than Frey given
that he’s been unconscious most of the time – helped sort out the various
demigods and huntresses and other beings that were helping with the defense of
Olympus.
“You need to get laid.”  He commented.  “You’re starting to get snarky – like
Sev snarky and that’s never a good thing.”
“I’d love to, Frey, I really would.”  Luke snarled at his best-friend, who was
less-than-sympathetic to his plight.  “Except my wife is in England and she’d
have my balls on a hibachi if I ever even breathed the words open relationship
in her direction you polyamorous bastard.”
“Touché.”
…
Pushed back to the blocks surrounding the Empire State Building, the holding
force nonetheless cheered as they watched the River gods Percy had gone off to
bargain with – Hudson and East who were apparently rivals – overturn ship after
ship of Titan reinforcements, even though it didn’t do much in the long run to
stem the flow of monsters into the city, as Kronus/Ethan kept watch from a
highpoint just beyond the reach of their forces.
…
Frey eventually ended up passing out again in the wake of Clarisse finding her
inner-berskerer and destoying a drakon, then when waking after a short nap,
went out to join Luke…where he was watching a still raging-Clarisse roar up and
down the street in her chariot, the drakon she’d defeated being towed behind
her as she threatened the Titan forces.
“Well.”  Frey propped one shoulder against the doorway.  “This kind brings back
memories…not all of them good.”
“Stories of your uncle?”  Luke guessed, shooting a look at Frey’s pensive
face.  Percy was passed out again upstairs, probably in the throes of another
vision like the one that warned of Kronus unleashing the drakon in the first
plan.
“He’s not my uncle.”  Frey replied automatically.  “That said: yes.”
…
During his nap Frey had missed Percy doing one of the smartest moves he’d known
a half-blood offered temption to make – giving the Spirit of Hope still trapped
in Pandora’s pithos to Hestia for protection.
In Percy’s words: “Hope is strongest beside the hearth.”  And he “refused to
give up hope that they would get through this.”
Smart lad.
Jumping up onto his old man’s thrones and nearly getting barbequed just to make
a point?
Not so smart…though apparently effective, as when Typhon finally reached New
York despite the other gods’ best efforts, Poseidon was there to greet them
with his undersea army, forsaking his own kingdom to help them keep theirs, and
together with his younger brother Zeus finally bringing the “Father of
Monsters” down and sending him to Tartarus where he belonged, as shown to all
the campers via Iris-message, though they were in the midst of a battle of
their own.
Poseidon wasn’t the only Olympian to pull the stick out of his ass, as when
Kronus had at last made a great push for Olympus, spurred on by the defeat of
Typhon and his soon-to-arrive children and their offspring, unleashing all of
his forces only to have them met by centaurs – both those from the Forbidden
Forest and their cousins the “Party Ponies” – campers, Huntresses, and the
mighty ghost army led by Hades himself, his son’s pleas finally breaking
through his thick skull.
Not that it mattered or kept Kronus at bay, the Titan King making it all the
way to Olympus – though only him alone – before finally being confronted by the
quartet of a wounded Annabeth, Percy, Frey, and his one-time pick for his meat-
suit: Luke.
“You’re out of time, Kronus.”  Luke couldn’t help but smirk and make the
obvious pun.  “You’ve lost and they’re coming.  They’re going to send you right
back to Tartarus where you belong.”
Kronus/Ethan chuckled harshly.
“You think so, you insignificant speck?”  Kronus spat, grinning evilly,
Backbiter, his massive scythe of mixed celestial bronze and Stygian iron
spinning in his hand.  “You who could have been my finest General?”
“Yeah,” Frey drawled tsking.  “We’ve seen your finest and have to say – not all
that impressed.”
“You…”  Kronus seethed, eyes flashing.
“Yes, me.”  Frey taunted before leaping out of the way of a vicious arc of the
scythe.
“Guys!”  Annabeth shouted, figuring something out.  “He’s stalling!  He’s not
in full control yet!”
“Ha!”  Kronus roared with laughter, even as he batted her aside, sending the
wounded Annabeth crashing into the foot of Athena’s throne.  “This one is so
weak he could barely withstand me!  Soon there will be nothing left but my
glorious form!”
“Oh, fuck.”  Percy breathed.  “He can’t attain his divine form while Ethan is
still alive in there…he’s trying to burn him out.”
“Di immortales.” Luke cursed, knowing from his brief encounters with Kronus in
his own mind that Percy was right.  Divine forms and mortal forms are mutually
exclusive – and once Kronus was capable of assuming his true form he would have
no use of Ethan’s “shell” anymore…and the process would likely burn them to
cinders where they stood.  “Quickly!  Attack!”
As one, the trio harried Kronus, called up all the power at their hands…which
considering the half-bloods in question was quite a lot, the battle beginning
to literally shake the wrecked Olympus that Kronus had ravaged as he rampaged
his way to the throne room.
A bit too much for the Titan King who even then was yet to reach full-power, a
strike from Percy’s Riptide sending Backbiter spinning through the air to land
in the sacred fire.
Batting Luke out of his way, Kronus charged for it, the son of Hermes rolling
with the swing and avoiding a nasty collision with either wall or thone.
But when Kronus went to reclaim his weapon, his First-Born’s power – and
displeasure – were made known, as they watched the eyes of Hestia peer out from
the flames, and the super-heated scythe literally melt and burn Kronus’s
invulnerable hands.
With a shriek, Kronus fell to the ground, eye flashing between golden and dark
brown as his daughter’s power weakened him temporarily.
Falling back at a slash of Frey’s sword that did little more than ruin his
tunic, Ethan looked up from out of his own eye for the first time in weeks.
“I only…” he gasped, fighting with the wounded Kronus who was reeling from his
“weakest” daughter’s full displeasure at his actions.  “I only wanted…them…to
finally see us.”
“I know.”  Luke said crouching next to the downed figure, Percy and Frey
joining him.  “When I said yes, for that one moment, all I could think about
was if only they all had cabins.  I hated, I hated so hard and so long it was
almost impossible to think beyond, and I had Frey and Silena there to slap me
upside the head and pull me out.  You?”  Luke shook his head.  “You got dealt a
crap hand.  The only question is – what are you going to do about it?”
“Where’s the Achilles point, Ethan?”  Percy whispered softly.  “I know Miles
told you mine.  I saw it in a dream.  Where’s your’s?”
“You, you can’t…”  Ethan gasped out, Kronus enraged by the question almost as
much as he was by Ethan taking control – for however brief a period.  “He, he
won’t let you.  Even now…I…”
Weakly, Ethan untied the armor that covered his shoulder and underarm, raising
it as his eyes flickered between brown and gold.
“He’s almost…there.”  Ethan whispered.  “You have to choose…”
Percy looked down at the dagger Frey had given him just that morning, that he’d
tucked absently into his belt with no idea of the significance until Luke had
recognized with a sad look in his eyes calling it a “Cursed Blade, something
that might even work against Kronus, Frey made it himself…with a little help
from my old man.”  Another scene played through his head then another.
Rachel, coming to warn him about the drakon: “You’re not the hero, Percy.”
Then Hestia: “Sometimes, the greatest power isn’t anything flashy or
impressive.  It’s to be able toyield.”
Glancing into the flames, he met the watchful red eyes and nodded, then
unsheathed the blade, the very aura of which had Ethan’s body convulsing as
Kronus tried to retake control from his host, and pressed it into Ethan’s hand.
“Make…” Ethan stuttered, even as he lifted the blade to his armpit and held the
point there, just resting, while he gathered his conviction.  “Make sure…they
know.  They can’t…forget about us…anymore.”
“I will.”  Percy swore, and Ethan plunged the dagger – Frey’s dieumort, his
godkiller, into his Achilles point, the enchanted blade parting skin like a hot
knife through butter.
It was silent save for the crackling of flames as five sets of eyes – Percy,
Luke, Annabeth, Frey, and Hestia – watched as Frey’s Cursed Blade began to glow
and then pulse as if it was sucking Kronus right out of Ethan’s body.
The pulses spend up faster, and faster, until they were nearly strobing as one
brilliant golden light, then a faint ringing was heard, the magical pressure
rising and forcing the watching half-bloods to their knees, as the blade pulsed
one last long beam of dark light and then shattered, the gold tint leaving
Ethan’s eye and then the hero breathed his last – freed of Kronus’s taint
forever.
Within moments the ringing in their ears from the magical explosion died down,
and the white and black spots left their eyes, Frey the first among them to
notice that the shards of the dieumort had joined with the molten puddle of
metal from Backbiter and were draining into the sacred fire – Hestia’s work, no
doubt.
Before they could really take in that it was over, the wards that Kronus had
originally placed around all of Manhattan with help from Hecate and Morpheus
and then pulled in to just surround a square block around the Empire State
Building, trapping a small group of heroes as well as his vanguard inside,
collapsed and the gods came rushing into the Throne Room, prepared for either
Kronus to have achieved his goal of total regeneration – and fight him if so –
or for the hero of the prophecy to have overcome him and been victorious.
“Percy…”  His father called, voice cracking a bit at the sight of the body on
the floor and the blood dripping from each of the four who had taken on the
Titan King…and won.  “Percy…what is this?”
Percy turned and faced the Olympians.
“A shroud!”  He called, a tear dropping unhindered from his eye.  “A shroud for
the son of Nemesis!”
…
In the wake of the battle – and Ethan’s body being taken by the Fates
themselves – the Olympian Council convened once the wounds of the half-bloods
and satyrs and the like had been tended to.
Percy was more than a little spooked by the three Fates, both when he’d first
seen them cutting a life-thread, and again now, even as one of them held up the
blue yarn and faced him, her eyes flashing and a thought that wasn’t his own
flashing through his mind:
It is done.
Years before, he’d thought that it was his life they’re spun and measured and
knitted into a weave before cutting it far too short.
But it hadn’t thought he’d been on the right path.
They’d been showing him what it would take – the cost of a life that it would
require to set things right.
He’d just thought – especially with the prophecy – that it would be his own.
Instead…it was Ethan and all the others that had paid the price, and now Percy
stood among the other heroes of the day to be lauded and feted and given gifts
by the gods he’d saved.
As the Fates carried out Ethan’s body now wrapped in a black and red shroud –
his mother’s colors – Nemesis called for them to wait.
Just…wait.
Wait as she unwrapped his face, so peaceful in his death’s respose, as he’d
been at peace in those final moments.
Wait as she, arrayed in her black wings and blood-red toga with a golden whip
around her waist, bent down to murmur something in a language Percy couldn’t
decipher – though if he read the look on both Frey’s and the other gods’ faces,
they all could – and then press a final kiss upon his brow.
Wait as she rewrapped him, and pressed something onto his chest that Percy
couldn’t see…but would wager was a golden eye.
As they left, Percy thought about the Great Prophecy. The lines now made sense
to him. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. The hero was Ethan. The
cursed blade was the knife Frey had given Percy, a knife that was cursed
because it could kill even a god, or an Avatar. A single choice shall end his
days. Percy’s choice, to give him the knife, and to believe, as Luke had, that
he was still capable of setting things right. Olympus to preserve or raze. By
sacrificing himself, he had saved Olympus. Rachel was right. In the end, Percy
wasn't really the hero. Ethan was.
The gods set about repairing the throne room while the half-bloods and others
were healed or rested, which went surprisingly fast with twelve divine beings
at work.  Connor and Travis Stoll had made it through with only minor injuries.
They promised they hadn't even looted the city much...Frey and Luke just
laughed at that as they sat side-by-side and watched Percy hover over Annabeth,
despite Apollo healing her after she passed out from pain.
Their “best-friend vibes” as Apollo put it were only broken up by the arrival
of a laughing – and rather round – Silena who had been fetched to attend the
Council and watch as her husband was honored.
Nico di Angelo came into Olympus to a hero's welcome, his father right behind
him, despite the fact that Hades was only supposed to visit Olympus on winter
solstice. The god of the dead looked stunned when his relatives clapped him on
the back. Frey snorted at the flabbergasted look on the swarthy face.  He
rather doubted Hades'd ever gotten such an enthusiastic welcome before.
Clarisse marched in, still shivering from her time in the ice block, and Ares
bellowed, "There's my girl!" The god of war ruffled her hair and pounded her on
the back, calling her the best warrior he'd ever seen. "That drakon-slaying?
THAT'S what I'm talking about!" She looked pretty overwhelmed. All she could do
was nod and blink, like she was afraid he'd start hitting her, but eventually
she began to smile.
Hera and Hephaestus passed the small group, and while Hephaestus was a little
grumpy about Percy jumping on his throne, he thought they'd collectively done
"a pretty bang-up job, mostly."
Hera just sniffed in disdain. "I suppose I won't destroy you and that little
girl now."
"Annabeth saved Olympus," Percy told her. "She was the first one to realize how
to stop Kronos."
 "Hmm," Hera whirled away in a huff, but everyone figured our lives would be
safe, at least for a little while.
Dionysus's head was still wrapped in a bandage. He looked Percy up and down and
said, "Well, Percy Jackson. I see Pollux made it through, so I suppose you
aren't completely inept. It's all thanks to my training, I suppose."
"Urn, yes, sir," Percy agreed with a bemused look.
Mr. D nodded. "As thanks for my bravery, Zeus has cut my probation at that
miserable camp in half. I now have only fifty years left instead of one
hundred."
"Fifty years, huh?" They tried to imagine putting up with Dionysus until they
all were old men – woman in Silena’s case, assuming they lived that long.
"Don't get so excited, Jackson," he said, and Percy realized he was saying his
name correctly. "I still plan on making your life miserable."
Frey couldn't help smiling. "Naturally."
"Just so we understand each other." He turned and began repairing his grapevine
throne, which had been singed by fire.
Grover stayed with them.
From time to time he would break down in tears.
"So many nature spirits dead, Percy. So many." Percy put his arm around his
shoulders and gave him a rag to blow his nose. "You did a great job, G-man. We
will come back from this. We'll plant new trees. We'll clean up the parks. Your
friends will be reincarnated into a better world."
He sniffled dejectedly. "I . . . I suppose. But it was hard enough to rally
them before. I'm still an outcast. I could barely get anyone to listen to me
about Pan. Now will they ever listen to me again? I led them into a slaughter."
"They will listen," Silena promised with a soft smile. "Because you care about
them. You care about the Wild more than anyone."
Grover tried for a smile. "Thanks, ‘Lena. I hope . . . I hope you know I'm
really proud to be all of your friends."
Frey patted his arm. "Luke was right about one thing, G-man. You're the bravest
satyr I ever met."
“Hey.”  Luke protested, weakly, was Silena laughed at his mock-offended
expression.
Grover blushed, but before he could say anything, conch horns blew. The army of
Poseidon marched into the throne room.
"Percy!" Tyson yelled. He charged towards his brother with his arms open.
Fortunately he'd shrunk back to normal size, so his hug was like getting hit by
a tractor, not the entire farm. "You are not dead!" he said.
"Yeah!" Percy couldn’t not laugh at the tone of surprise. "Amazing, huh?"
Tyson clapped his hands and laughed happily. "I am not dead either. Yay! We
chained Typhon. It was fun!"
Behind him, fifty other armored Cyclopes laughed and nodded and gave each other
high fives.
"Tyson led us," one rumbled.
"He is brave!"
"Bravest of the Cyclopes!" another bellowed.
Tyson blushed. "Was nothing."
"I saw you!" Percy said. "You were incredible!"
Frey honestly thought poor Grover would pass out. He's deathly afraid of
Cyclopes after his misadventure in the Sea of Monsters. But he steeled his
nerves and said, "Yes. Um . . . three cheers for Tyson!"
"YAAARRRRR!" the Cyclopes roared.
"Please don't eat me," Grover muttered, but didn’t think anyone heard him.
The conch horns blasted again.
The Cyclopes parted, and Poseidon strode into the throne room in his battle
armor, his trident glowing in his hands.
"Tyson!" he roared. "Well done, my son. And Percy—" His face turned stern. He
wagged his finger at Percy, and for a second Frey was afraid he was going to
zap his own kid. "I even forgive you for sitting on my throne. You have saved
Olympus!" He held out his arms and swept Percy up into a hug.
It felt so good, Percy was willing to admit he teared up a little. Until that
moment he hadn't allowed himself to realize just how terrified he had been the
last few days, even with people like Luke and Frey there to support and help
him.
"Dad—"
"Shhh," he said. "No hero is above fear, Percy. And you have risen above every
hero. Not even Hercules—"
"POSEIDON!" a voice roared. Zeus had taken his throne. He glared across the
room at Percy’s dad while all the other gods filed in and took their seats.
Even Hades was present, sitting on a simple stone guest chair at the foot of
the hearth. Nico sat cross-legged on the ground at his dad's feet. "Well,
Poseidon?" Zeus grumped. "Are you too proud to join us in council, my brother?"
Luke looked like thought Poseidon was going to go off, but he just looked at
Percy and winked. "I would be honored, Lord Zeus."
Apparently, miracles do happen.
Poseidon strode over to his fishing seat throne, and the Olympian Council
convened.
While Zeus was talking—some long speech about the bravery of the gods,
etc.—Annabeth woke up and stood next to Percy.  He though she looked good for
someone who'd recently passed out.
"Miss much?" she whispered.
"Nobody's planning to kill us, so far," Luke whispered back. "First time
today."
Percy cracked up, but Grover nudged him because Hera was giving them a dirty
look.
"As for my brothers," Zeus said, "we are thankful"—he cleared his throat like
the words were hard to get out, but given that Ganymede was glaring up at him
from where he stood hip-shot beside the throne with his arms crossed and finger
rattling against one arm, he knew better than to test his Cupbearer’s temper
right at that moment—"erm, thankful for the aid of Hades."
The lord of the dead nodded. He had a smug look on his face, but most figured
he'd earned the right. He patted his son Nico on the shoulders, and Nico looked
happier than even Frey had ever seen him, and they didn’t have nearly as
contentious a relationship as Percy and Nico still did.
"And, of course," Zeus continued, though he looked like his pants were
smoldering, probably from the ever-darkening look on Ganymede’s face the longer
he stalled, "we must . . . um . . . thank Poseidon."
"I'm sorry, brother," Poseidon said. "What was that?"
"We must thank Poseidon," Zeus growled. "Without whom . . . it would've been
difficult—"
"Difficult?" Poseidon asked innocently.
"Impossible," Zeus said. "Impossible to defeat Typhon." The gods murmured
agreement and pounded their weapons in approval. "Which leaves us," Zeus said,
"only the matter of thanking our young demigod heroes, who defended Olympus so
well—even if there are a few dents in my throne."
He called Thalia forward first, since she was his daughter, and promised her
help in filling the Hunters' ranks.
Artemis smiled. "You have done well, my lieutenant. You have made me proud, and
all those Hunters who perished in my service will never be forgotten. They will
achieve Elysium, I am sure." She glared pointedly at Hades.
He shrugged. "Probably." Artemis glared at him some more then shot a pointed
look over to where the three present Avatars – Thanatos for Death, Nemesis for
Necessity, and Hestia for Life stood.
"Okay," Hades grumbled when Thanatos arched a brow at him in wordless command.
"I'll streamline their application process."
Thalia beamed with pride. "Thank you, my lady." She bowed to the gods, even
Hades, and then limped over to stand by Artemis's side.
"Tyson, son of Poseidon!" Zeus called.
Tyson looked nervous, but he went to stand in the middle of the Council, and
Zeus grunted.
"Doesn't miss many meals, does he?" Zeus muttered, only to give a soft yelp
when a stinging hex hit him from the audience, which had Ganymede nodding in
thanks towards the watchful form of Frey.  He cleared his throat and continued,
trying to hold onto his dignity with the tips of his fingers.  "Tyson, for your
bravery in the war, and for leading the Cyclopes, you are appointed a general
in the armies of Olympus. You shall henceforth lead your brethren into war
whenever required by the gods. And you shall have a new . . . um . . . what
kind of weapon would you like? A sword? An axe?"
"Stick!" Tyson said, showing his broken club.
"Very well," Zeus said. "We will grant you a new, er, stick. The best stick
that may be found."
"Hooray!" Tyson cried, and all the Cyclopes cheered and pounded him on the back
as he rejoined them.
"Grover Underwood of the satyrs!" Dionysus called.
Grover came forward nervously.
"Oh, stop chewing your shirt," Dionysus chided. "Honestly, I'm not going to
blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah, and since we have
an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the
Council of Cloven Elders."
Grover collapsed on the spot.
"Oh, wonderful," Dionysus sighed, as several naiads came forward to help
Grover. "Well, when he wakes up, someone tell him that he will no longer be an
outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will
henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and
honors, blah, blah, blah. Now please, drag him off before he wakes up and
starts groveling."
"FOOOOOD," Grover moaned, as the nature spirits carried him away. His friends
all shared laughing glances, figuring he'd be okay. He would wake up as a lord
of the Wild with a bunch of beautiful naiads taking care of him. Life could be
worse.
Athena called, "Annabeth Chase, my own daughter."
Annabeth squeezed Percy’s arm, then walked forward and knelt at her mother's
feet.
Athena smiled. "You, my daughter, have exceeded all expectations. You have used
your wits, your strength, and your courage to defend this city, and our seat of
power. It has come to our attention that Olympus is . . . well, trashed. The
Titan lord did much damage that will have to be repaired. We could rebuild it
by magic, of course, and make it just as it was. But the gods feel that the
city could be improved. We will take this as an opportunity. And you, my
daughter, will design these improvements."
Annabeth looked up, stunned. "My . . . my lady?"
Athena smiled wryly. "You are an architect, are you not? You have studied the
techniques of Daedalus himself. Who better to redesign Olympus and make it a
monument that will last for another eon?"
"You mean . . . I can design whatever I want?"
"As your heart desires," the goddess said. "Make us a city for the ages."
"As long as you have plenty of statues of me," Apollo added.
"And me," Aphrodite agreed.
"Hey, and me!" Ares said. "Big statues with huge wicked swords and—"
"All right!" Athena interrupted, with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "She
gets the point. Rise, my daughter, official architect of Olympus."
Annabeth rose in a trance and walked back towards the group of friends.
"Way to go," Percy told her, grinning. For once she was at a loss for words.
"I'll . . . I'll have to start planning . . . Drafting paper, and, um,
pencils—"
“Luke Castellan!”  Hermes cried, interrupting Annabeth’s rambling before she
could get lost in her architect’s daydream.
Taking a bracing breath, as the rewards were only going to get bigger now that
they’d gotten to the four heroes who had stood alone against Kronus, Luke
squeezed Silena’s hand and stepped forward, though rather than kneeling, he
stood with his head high and locked gazes with his father – which had more than
a few of the sticklers for propriety grumbling before a tch from Hestia had
then minding their manners…even if Luke wasn’t interested in minding his
considering he’d risked never seeing his wife again, or never seeing his child
period by staying to stand against the Titanomachy.
“My son.”  Hermes breathed.  “You who stood strong against Kronus, even when he
tried to taint you.  I realize – even if none other does – that it could have
just as easily been your body carried off by the Fates today.”
“That was actually the original version.”  Apollo chimed in, getting a scowl
from the others for the interruption…though many were surprised to hear that it
could have gone another way.  “Would have been waayyy harder to beat too.  Good
thing someone decided on a rewrite.”  He winked at a stoic Frey.
Ignoring his idiot half-brother, Hermes continued.
“All great heroes must be rewarded.”  He announced, using words that would
become a refrain for all three of the half-bloods who had actively fought
against Kronus.  “Is there anyone who denies that my son is deserving?”
Many of the half-bloods waited with baited breath.  The gods, let alone the
Council, never agreed completely on anything.
“It is decided.”  Hermes announced with a grin that promised nothing but
trouble – just like his sons and daughters who all seem to inherit it.
“Luke Castellan.”  Zeus said.  “You shall have one gift from the gods.”
“Any gift?”  Luke asked, cocking his head to the side in thought, turning a bit
to look at his wife who was beaming at him – half-proud and half-sad.  There
was a usual gift that those granted anything ask for, in fact Zeus was about to
point it out when Luke continued.  Living forever wasn’t for him…not if he
couldn’t have Silena and their child – she’d whispered it was a daughter after
Hera had told her mind-to-mind after sniffing at Percy – weren’t with him. 
“Then I wish for there to be a half-blood children welfare program – and a
place at Camp to house them if their mortal parents are deemed unfit.”  Luke
locked eyes with Frey, knowing that his words would dredge up old wounds that
had everything to the future Thanatos had described would have been his if the
Avatar of Death hadn’t stepped in.  “I never want there to be another half-
blood abused and frightened by their parents when there are monsters out
there.  Home should be a safe place for us, since everywhere else so rarely
is.”
Hestia looked fit to burst her buttons with pride for the boon he’d asked, even
as a deep sadness crossed Hermes’s face, and Hades looked away from the
accusing bright blue eyes in shame, as it had been his curse that had cost Luke
that knowledge of what having a safe home was supposed to be.
This request caused a stir among the Council, with Hera being the most vocal in
support of it.
Family, after all, was kinda her deal.
And she’d seen enough bad ones over the years to realize the need for such a
thing as Luke asked.
“It shall be done.”  She announced before the Council could delve into full-on
bickering.  “We gave our word.”  She scolded them with a frown.  “And we shall
keep it.  My priestesses shall serve as the council you ask, and a cabin shall
be built and staff by nature spirits such as the dryads and naiads that call
Camp Half-Blood home to watch over those children too young to be looked after
by their siblings.”
Luke bowed and stepped back, clearing the way for the next hero…and having
thoroughly ruffled more than a few feathers.
“I’m so proud of you, love.”  Silena whispered, standing on tippy-toe to kiss
her husband’s whiskered cheek.  Luke must have been falling down on his shaving
with her away.  She almost shuddered in fear of what their rooms at the Big
House looked like.
Probably old dirty clothes and leftover pizza everywhere.
 “Frey, legacy of Thanatos!”  The Avatar of Death stepped forward and called,
Frey stepping up until he was toe-to-toe with the progenitor of the Peverell
line and the two clasping arms – as equals, which nearly had the Council in as
big of a tizzy as Luke’s request and failure to kneel all at the same time.  “A
hero without equal, the Titanslayer, forger of the Cursed Blade of Prophecy,”
with each title, the eyes of the audience grew larger as his deed were unfurled
for their consumption – as well as that of Asgard who he could feel spying on
the moment, and liking raking in the results of won bets.  “You have exceeded
all of my expectations when I took you for my own.  And as Hermes said: a great
hero must be rewarded.”
“Is there anyone that would deny that Frey, legacy of Thanatos, is deserving?” 
Zeus checked, checking Frey in his blood-flecked armor out in the process, a
look of desire he saw on more than one face among the Olympians, among which
were Ganymede and Apollo, though others were not as expected.  “It is agreed,
Frey of the line of Thanatos, what reward shall you have for your deeds?”
Zeus – and the few others who knew of his close-held godling status – were
honestly curious for what he would ask.
They needn’t have been.
It was the exact thing he’d been planning on asking for ever since he’d heard
the Great Prophecy, after learning that at some point he would have to sire
heirs…heirs who would be wizards only, without the protection that his eventual
immortality will grant him.
“Anything?”  He arched a challenging brow.
“Anything, so mote it be.”  Zeus promised knowing what his cunning lover was
waiting on.  Though he didn’t expect the shining golden cord to snap into being
between Frey and the rest of the Council, including himself.  Though he
probably should have since he’d been speaking as the Head of the Council in
that moment, not just as Zeus.
“I want amnesty.”  Frey announced, stunning the Council and crowd alike into
silence.  “Safety, and protection for my children by Draco Malfoy, legacy of
Hecate,” – and when he’d figured that out, it had explained a lot about how
cocky the Malfoys always were…even though they were sworn to Loki, he’d never
been a jealous god, and he couldn’t blame one of his acolyte for bedding a
beautiful goddess like Hecate.  “From this day, until the Twilight of the Gods
takes this universe and every living thing with it – so mote it be.”
…
On Asgard, Loki hid a cheer and a smile of pride behind a timely cough, never
prouder of his son than in that moment, the moment where he checkmated Odin’s
plans…before they’d ever even been formed.
…
"PERCY JACKSON!" Poseidon announced after the uproar of Frey’s demand had died
down.
Hera had looked mad enough to spit, let alone a few of the other gods who
weren’t exactly on Team Frey.
Not that there was shit they could do about it now – through his children at
least.
And ever since he was old enough to know, to understand what being the son of
Loki meant for them, though they’d yet to be born, someone hurting them or
using them to hurt him had been the only thing he’d truly feared.
Now that fear was gone.
And he’d never felt more free in his life, even when he’d won free of his own
prophecy.
The name echoed around the chamber.  All talking died down.  The room was
silent except for the crackle of the hearth fire.  Everyone's eyes were on him
as he stood between Annabeth and Luke—all the gods, the demigods, the Cyclopes,
the spirits.
Percy walked into the middle of the throne room, Hestia smiling at him
reassuringly.  She was in the form of a girl now, and she seemed happy and
content to be sitting by her fire again now that the issue of Frey – the one
most likely to cause trouble needing her intervention – was over.  Her smile
gave him courage to keep walking.
First, he bowed to Zeus.
Then knelt at his father's feet, not nearly as cheeky – or suicidal – as the
older two half-bloods who had been rewarded for facing Kronus with him.
"Rise, my son," Poseidon said.
Percy stood uneasily.
"A great hero must be rewarded," Poseidon said, the words spoken for the third
time that evening. "Is there anyone here who would deny that my son is
deserving?"
He waited for someone to pipe up, especially after the last two requests. The
gods never agreed on anything, and many of them still didn't like him, but not
a single one protested.
"The Council agrees," Zeus said. "Percy Jackson, you will have one gift from
the gods."
Percy hesitated. "Any gift?"
Zeus nodded grimly. "I know what you will ask.”  He sighed.  Finally, someone
was sticking to the script. “The greatest gift of all. Yes, if you want it, it
shall be yours. The gods have not bestowed this gift on a mortal hero in many
centuries, but, Perseus Jackson—if you wish it—you shall be made a god.
Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenant for all time."
Sea-green eyes stared at him, stunned. "Um . . . a god?"
Zeus rolled his eyes, even the threat of the combined displeasure of Ganymede
and Frey not enough to hold his tongue this time.
"A dimwitted god, apparently. But yes. With the consensus of the entire
Council, I can make you immortal. Then I will have to put up with you forever."
"Hmm," Ares mused. "That means I can smash him to a pulp as often as I want,
and he'll just keep coming back for more. I like this idea."
"I approve as well," Athena said, though she was looking at Annabeth.
Percy glanced back.  Annabeth was trying not to meet his eyes.  Her face was
pale.  He flashed back to two years ago, when he'd thought she was going to
take the pledge to Artemis and become a Hunter. He'd been on the edge of a
panic attack, thinking that he'd lose her.  Now, she looked pretty much the
same way.  Percy thought about the Three Fates, and the way he'd seen his life
flash by.
He could avoid all that.  No aging, no death, no body in the grave.  He could
be a teenager forever, in top condition, powerful, and immortal, serving my
father.  He could have power and eternal life. Who could refuse that?  Then
Percy looked at Annabeth again, and thought about his friends from camp:
Michael Yew, Clarisse’s littlest half-brother, Miles who he’d seen tossed aside
like a rag doll in the atrium of the building, so many others who were now
dead.  He thought about Ethan Nakamura and how Luke was almost lost to Kronus,
even with Frey’s help.  And he knew what to do.
"No," he said.
The Council was silent. The gods frowned at each other like they must have
misheard.
"No?" Zeus said. "You are . . . turning down our generous gift?" There was a
dangerous edge to his voice, like a thunderstorm about to erupt.
What the fuck was wrong with heroes these days?  Many of the Council thought,
perplexed.  Did no one want to live forever anymore?
"I'm honored and everything," Percy said. "Don't get me wrong. It's just . . .
I've got a lot of life left to live. I'd hate to peak in my sophomore year."
The gods were glaring at him, but Annabeth had her hands over her mouth.  Her
eyes were shining.  And that kind of made up for it.  "I do want a gift,
though," he said. "Do you promise to grant my wish?"
Zeus thought about this. "If it is within our power."
"It is," Percy said. "And it's not even difficult. But I need your promise on
the River Styx."
"What?" Dionysus cried. "You don't trust us?"
"Someone once told me," He said, looking at Hades, "you should always get a
solemn oath."
Hades shrugged, smirking. "Guilty."
"Very well!" Zeus growled. "In the name of the Council, we swear by the River
Styx to grant your reasonable request as long as it is within our power." The
other gods muttered assent. Thunder boomed, shaking the throne room. The deal
was made.
"From now on, I want to you properly recognize the children of the gods," Percy
said, with a hint of disapproval that they had to be made to do so. "All the
children . . . of all the gods."
The Olympians shifted uncomfortably.
"Percy," Poseidon said, even as Frey and Luke were exchanging a complicated set
of high-fives that had Silena covering her face in embarassment, "what exactly
do you mean?"
"Kronos couldn't have risen if it hadn't been for a lot of demigods who felt
abandoned by their parents," he said, rightly. "They felt angry, resentful, and
unloved, and they had a good reason."
Zeus's royal nostrils flared. "You dare accuse—"
"No more undetermined children," he said, voice firm, unyielding. "I want you
to promise to claim your children—all your demigod children—by the time they
turn thirteen. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of
monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right,
and survive."
"Now, wait just a moment," Apollo said, but Percy was on a roll.
"And the minor gods," he said. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe-—they
all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children
shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be
pardoned too. And Hades—"
"Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellowed.
"No, my lord," Percy covered quickly. "But your children should not be left
out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that. No unclaimed
demigods will be crammed into the Hermes cabin anymore, wondering who their
parents are. They'll have their own cabins, for all the gods. And no more pact
of the Big Three. That didn't work anyway. You've got to stop trying to get rid
of powerful demigods. We're going to train them and accept them instead. All
children of the gods will be welcome and treated with respect. That is my
wish."
Zeus snorted. "Is that all?"  The tone was clear, and clearly Ganymede thought
so as well if the arch of a golden brow that had Zeus gulping and shrinking
back was any indication.
"Percy," Poseidon said, "you ask much. You presume much."
"I hold you to your oath," Percy said. "All of you." He got a lot of steely
looks.
Strangely, it was Athena who spoke up: "The boy is correct. We have been unwise
to ignore our children. It proved a strategic weakness in this war and almost
caused our destruction. Percy Jackson, I have had my doubts about you, but
perhaps"—she glanced at Annabeth, and then spoke as if the words had a sour
taste—"perhaps I was mistaken. I move that we accept the boy's plan."
"Humph," Zeus said. "Being told what to do by a mere child. But I suppose . .
."
"All in favor," Hermes said. All the gods raised their hands.
"Um, thanks," Percy said and turned, but before he could leave, Poseidon
called, "Honor guard!"
Immediately the Cyclopes came forward and made two lines from the thrones to
the door—an aisle for him to walk through. They came to attention.
"All hail, Perseus Jackson," Tyson said. "Hero of Olympus . . . and my big
brother!"
…
“Well,” Zeus asked with a sour look on his face, staring up at Frey from where
he was gleefully helping Ganymede tie him to the bed with more than a little
magic.  “Did you get what you wanted, lover?”
“Oh yeah.”  Frey smirked, and flicked his fingers to clean his armor of dirt
and then banished it, leaving him naked and with one hell of an arousal.  “And
if you don’t piss Ganymede off too soon…so will you.”
“And Apollo?”
“Oh…maybe.”  Frey decided, not wanting to think too much about that when he had
said god’s father tied up and waiting for him.  “But I’m here now…what more can
you really ask for?”
“He’s Zeus.”  Ganymede pointed out drily, coming over just as naked as his
lovers and draping his arms around Frey from behind as he placed a hot kiss to
that long, lean neck.  “Don’t give him openings like that or the next thing you
know you’ll end up spirited away and made his Cupbearer for all eternity.”
…
Author’s Note 2: As stated before, I took a chunk of the book, specifically
Chapter 20, and reworked it to fit with this version of the story.  It’s not
mine and I don’t take credit for anything but my version of it which was
basically turning it into third-person POV and adding in Luke and Frey, as well
as some of the relationship dynamics.  Everything else belongs to Rick Riordan
and I’m just playing with it.
***** Epilogue *****
                                    Lokison
Author’s Note: Well darlings, we’ve come to the end of part one of this journey
I set out on over two? I’m pretty sure it was two years ago now…maybe almost
three.  Anywho…a lot of tears went into writing this, it carried me through a
messy divorce, two jobs, and opening my own business.  I hope you’ve enjoyed
the ride as much as I have.  Have no worries, this isn’t even close to the last
you’ll see of Frey and Co., in fact I should have Doors of Death, the next
installment, started uploading here soon.  It’ll be much shorter than this,
three-parts at most, then there will be a five-part side-story that’s pure Frey
adventure, then comes That Was Tingly which is a one-shot that I already posted
some time ago, and then we’re on to the events of Thor which I’ve already
written and will only need to tweak.  Lots of story darlings, after all, we
haven’t even gotten to Frey’s godhood yet!
                         Epilogue – Passing the Mantle
Frey walked slowly along the edge of the Black Lake, staring off towards
Hogwarts in the distance with the Forbidden Forest looming behind him.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there in this dreaming – it could
have been moments or hours, when the scene changed and Hogwarts in all her
beauty was replaced with the gleaming golden edifice of Asgard and soft
footsteps sounded behind him.
Turning, Frey smiled into his father’s face, which with the ending of the
Second Great War on his son’s current home planet had relaxed from the stress
and fear that had encompassed much of the last few years.
“Your grandbera and the rest say hello.”  Loki told his son as he moved to
stand shoulder to shoulder with the young man.  No…he sighed to himself.  Not a
young man, not anymore.  His little prince wasn’t so little anymore, standing
inch-for-inch in height with Loki and broader through the chest and shoulder
than he’d ever been, or Jotnar invidja tended to be.  That was Lily and James’s
influence showing, no doubt, if not Thanatos’s.
His baby boy, his Loki-son had grown up, strengthened and forged in the fires
of prophecy and war into a fine man who would make an even finer immortal and
god when the time came – though for the sake of his grandchildren, Loki hoped
that time was still far distant, as with divinity will likely come duties and
enemies alike that will suck up more time than most realize, especially in the
first few years.
“I’ll come see them soon.”  Frey smiled, nudging his father’s shoulder with his
own.  “How’s Asgard?”
Loki closed his eyes and groaned low in his throat.
“Odin makes more and more of Thor, while the idiot basks in the praise offered
by Odin and the people alike.”  Loki sighed, his eyes meeting their identical
twins’ in his son’s gaze.  “I fear when the Odinsleep comes again, it will be
Thor that Odin makes Regent in his absence – though given the sheer popularity
of Thor, I doubt it will be as easy to unseat him once Odin awakes then the old
goat thinks.”  Loki shrugged.  “Still…it might be possible to delay things…just
a bit.”
“I wouldn’t, Far.”  Frey cautioned him, a far-off look in his eyes.  “Your
Norns like to meddle too much.  To make mischief would give them an opportunity
to meddle with you, something I wouldn’t wish on another living being.”
Loki threw an arm around his son’s shoulders, squeezing him tight with a put-
upon scoff.
“Very well.”  Frey rolled his eyes at his father’s antics.  “I suppose I will
refrain, for you my not-so-little-prince.”
“I’ll take it.”  They laughed together, turning as one to follow their often-
trod path beside the lake.  “Though I worry less, now that I’ve succeed in my
mission.”
“Yes, indeed.”  Loki’s tone was nothing less than smug with pride for his son’s
accomplishment.  He could hardly wait for Odin to learn the consequences of
Zeus and the Olympian’s vows of amnesty for Frey’s three children by Draco. 
The old bastard would have to merely seethe in impotence at being denied the
opportunity to use them against either Loki or his son.  He hoped he choked on
it.  “Well done, my son…very well done.”
…
“Are you certain I can’t convince you to stay, or at least teach as you have in
the past?”  Chiron asked his young protégé as he escorted Frey back to the
wardline.
In the aftermath of Kronus’s defeat, Frey had re-anchored the wards to Chiron
rather than carry them himself – a seemingly odd choice at the time – which
now, with Frey’s announcement, it was an act that made much sense if Chiron
couldn’t convince him to stay on, at least in part.
“My time here has been wonderful, Chiron.”  Frey told him with rare
effusiveness, waving a hand to encompass all of Camp Half-Blood which was
busier than ever constructing new cabins for all the minor – or simply not
represented – gods and goddesses.
Percy’s reward had been a complex one after all, and with new half-bloods
identified all the time by the Olympians, not only were the satyrs being run
into the ground seeking them out, but the cabins were set to overflow any day
now, even with Frey once again opening the Thanatos cabin to all comers.
Beside the Thanatos cabin that had been his home for so long, Frey spied Nico
directing a bevy of skeleton works in fashioning the new Hades cabin, while a
ghostly Ethan – doing penance as part of his afterlife, though he’d been
offered a place on the Isle of the Blest which he had yet to accept – likely
directing the creation of a cabin to house his half brothers and sisters, the
children of Nemesis.  Construction was all over the camp, and it had never
seemed more alive than now.  Rachel had cleared out the attic into an artist’s
garret, and taken over the upper floors of the Big House as the new Oracle of
Delphi, and Silena was managing it all with her serene dignity and the glow of
a mother past morning sickness and over halfway through her pregnancy.
Frey wasn’t needed here – not anymore.
And he said as much to Chiron.
“Besides,” he laughed, reaching out and tapping the amulet he’d gifted to
Chiron that worked as a two-way mirror – though strictly audio, much like a
cell phone or walkie talkie.  “It isn’t like you can’t contact me if needed,
and I’ll always be up to come and visit my friends.”  He sobered, Chiron a bit
startled as always at the maturity Frey showed when called for, for such a
mischievously inclined creature.  “My children need me.  And more…”  He sighed,
looking off towards the West where so much had begun changing him when he’d
gone there with Luke on a lark and a quest.  “I think I need them right
now…more than I can say.”
Chiron nodded, that was understandable.
Frey deserved a bit of peace after all he’d done for the world.
And with the new great prophecy…it perhaps was time to pass on the mantle of
“greatest hero of the age” to another.
Perseus was already shaping up quite nicely, if Chiron did say so himself.
“Be at peace, young hero.”  Chiron nodded, saluting even as Frey melted into
shadows and faded away.  “Be at peace.”
…
The New Great Prophecy, given by Rachel as Oracle of Delphi:
Seven half-bloods shall answer the call.
To storm or fire, the world must fall.
An oath to keep with the final breath,
As foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.
…
“Papa!”  A trio of voices cried as Frey stepped out of the shadows and into the
family room at Peverell Castle.  “Papa’s home!”
Yes, Frey smiled, leaning down to scoop up his ever-growing children, who would
be off to kindergarten in a too-short time, this was exactly where he needed to
be.
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