79 Chapter 79: Is there an Afterlife!
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His skin and eyes returning to their normal shade, Harry stepped through the portal and back to Midgard. He released his hold upon it, sagging with exhaustion and fighting the urge to collapse. Opening the portal had been a tremendous strain upon both his body and mind; he had concealed his fatigue when facing down Voldemort.
And what stress the opening of the portal had caused Harry, it had been tenfold on Loki; he was still unresponsive.
Harry turned to Marco. "I need to go back and tell Dumbledore that Voldemort is dead," he said. "I need you to come with me. In case you can't tell, I'm not in much of a state to fight."
Marco smiled and nodded, stepping forward and laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. His men followed suit and Harry activated the Portkey. The world spun and abruptly deposited them back on the blackened and scorched grass of the battlefield.
After taking a moment to orientate himself, Harry gazed over the mansion; it was completely and utterly wrecked. Bodies littered what once had been an exquisite lawn. All the windows in sight were shattered, and some of the walls were in similar states, leading to collapses in the roofs.
"I sincerely hope the Riddle family had insurance," came a voice from beside Harry.
He turned to Dumbledore, who smiled weakly. Harry's lips twitched. "I somehow doubt that it covers magical damage."
Dumbledore nodded, expression sobering slightly. "It is done?"
"It is done," Harry confirmed. "Voldemort is on Jotunheim. Even if he saw me open the portal, he will not be able to mirror my actions—no mortal could." He smiled. "The Ways will all be impossible for him to open, and the same is the case for almost all of the ice giants who might want to help him. Unless the Aesir deign to save him with the Bifrost, for whatever reason, he shall never escape that icy wasteland."
"Good," Dumbledore said, no remorse for Voldemort on his face. That changed as he looked to the mansion, to the bodies outside, and the others still being levitated over by the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"They died well," Harry said.
Dumbledore turned to him. "Is there an afterlife?"
"Valhalla is a myth, if that is what you are thinking of. As is Helheim. Alas, I know no more of death than any mortal man—it's where my brilliance comes to an end. I could pretend there's a Heaven if you like, though."
"That won't be necessary." Dumbledore looked back to the bodies. Death Eaters lay to one side, covered in black sheets instead of white ones, like the others were. It wasn't Dumbledore's idea, judging by the slight disapproval that leaked into his expression.
Harry glanced over the bodies, and felt nothing. He hadn't known them, whether they had been his ally or enemy.
A few Death Eaters were set apart from the rest, unmasked, their chests still gently rising and falling.
"Perhaps I should kill them," Harry said. "Knowing the Ministry, they'll get off easy, while we're arrested."
Dumbledore gave him a disapproving look.
Harry sighed. "Whatever. I suppose someone has to tell everyone how terrifying I am to fight against." He frowned. "I know you're good at mind magic. Could you alter their memories so that I'm the one who fought Voldemort, other than just being the one to heroically charge him at the end with no regard for my own safety?"
One of Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows floated upwards.
"Fine, whatever. Just say I was busy saving an orphanage of puppies from burning down or something, you glory hog."
"I am the glory hog?"
"Yes.
"Of course."
"Anyway, I should probably get going, let you find and destroy the Horcruxes."
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, and perhaps we might arrange a meeting for next week?"
Confusion flashed across Harry's face. "For what?"
"You tell me of worlds beyond ours, that you are the demigod son of the god Loki, and you expect me not to want to know more?"
"Oh." Harry frowned. "Being a tour guide is below me. You can ask Vandr—oh, sorry, I mean Ollivander."
Dumbledore started in surprise. "Ollivander knows?"
"All Ollivanders have been the same person. He's four-thousand years old—an Asgardian if you hadn't already guessed."
"Really?" Dumbledore murmured.
"Yep," Harry said. "Tell him that I'll beat him up if he doesn't tell you what you want to know; if he doesn't look intimidated, tell him that I'm sorry and was only joking."
Harry pouted at Loki's illusion. "Please?"
"I've spent years perfecting your body. Altering your endocrinal system to make you grow from human to immortal without trouble. Tweaking your metabolism and muscle growth so that you so that you remain at peak fitness. Optimising your nervous system to give you superhuman reactions. Enhancing your senses so that you will always know of any threats. Warping your mind so you can perform spells with frightening ease." Loki glared at him. "I'm not going to allow you to destroy all of my hard work by consuming copious amounts of drugs."
"Oh, come on, Loki!" Harry said. "Muggle drugs probably won't work on me anyway—I'm almost Asgardian. Wizard drugs are probably safer."
Loki arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? With everything you have seen of wizards, you honestly believe that they are capable of constructing anything safe?"
Harry frowned. "Well…probably not. But they're also too stupid to figure out how to affect hormones or anything, so it'll probably only affect my mind."
"Because neuroscience is so much easier to understand than anything else."
"It is if magic is based on belief and you believe you have a soul. Wizards probably don't believe in hormones."
"Whatever the case may be, I'm not letting you unravel my careful woven threads."
Harry yawned, stretching out on his bed.
"I could probably simulate the effects of different drugs for you if you like."
Harry shook his head. "Nah, that's gay."
Loki paused, blinked, and then blinked again. "What?"
"Well, you'd be causing pleasure to me, and you're male, so that's pretty gay."
Loki blinked again. "Okay."
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