81 Chapter 81: Get-hammered!
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Harry chewed on a piece of bacon, idly picking up another from the plate floating in front of him as he walked. "Yeah, I needed to ask you to make sure that the Ministry of Magic doesn't come after me for whatever reason they might want to—war crimes and so on." He swallowed a mouthful of food. "Oh, I also wanted breakfast and to ask you for another secret and probably illegal Portkey."
"To where?"
"New Mexico. My imaginary friend tells me that a god will crash there in a while and I need to be prepared for it so that I can kill him." He paused and then scowled. "I mean prank him, apparently. Excuse me for thinking that anything involving molten lead and cereal is an assassination plot."
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Harry sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. Something had just happened—something massive. A massive pulse of magic had just exploded, and it wasn't human magic. No, but it was familiar, not exactly the same as before, but incredibly similar. He knew what it had to be.
'Was that what I thought it was?' he asked.
Loki's illusionary form shimmered into existence at the end of the bed, grinning almost maliciously. "Of course."
Harry matched his grin and rolled from bed. A flick of his wrist brought his wand spinning across the room and into his hand. A few waves of said wand brought his clothes to him, too, and he yanked them on. He forwent the underclothes he had used to wear—he no longer had any need for them; no bullets would harm him.
Almost two years had passed since he had dumped Voldemort on Jotunheim and that had given him all the time he had needed to develop into a full Asgardian, albeit a weaker than average one.
Fully dressed, he moved over to the wall-to-floor window of his penthouse, picking up a broomstick on the way. Despite its slightly battered state, it was the most expensive money could buy—more expensive, in fact.
A few months ago, Harry had stolen it, a prototype, from a German factory. As it turned out, Germany's engineering proficiency carried over to the wizarding world.
Like the British wizarding world, however, any proficiency concerning security did not. And, thus, Harry had stolen it because he could.
Harry brought down the wards for a moment, vanished the bulletproof glass, and, straddling the broomstick, floated out into the New Mexico sunshine.
He replaced the glass, let the wards snap back into place, and hovered upwards, until he stood upon the roof.
While his apartment was on the top floor, being a penthouse and all, he felt as though this was more efficient than blasting a hole in his roof. He had grown wiser.
Standing on the roof, he let the wind whip at his skin, and peered over the building's edge, gazing into the horizon as though there was a chance that Thor or his hammer had happened to land nearby, even though he knew it would land in the desert.
Unfortunately, that along with the fact it would land in New Mexico within the decade—now, obviously—that was all he knew. Loki hadn't been paying all that much attention when he'd been here before, in the future.
That left him with only three-hundred-thousand square kilometres to search. Easy.
Well, it kind of was when you had magic. It would only take a few hours, during which Harry would be forced to sit upon the roof and do nothing; he wasn't very good at this kind of magic—he liked destroying things and using illusions.
Harry clamped his eyes shut and sat upon the roof's edge, cross-legged. He drifted to the back of his mind and let Loki move to the front to do the majority of the work; since it didn't require anything physical, it hopefully wouldn't strain Loki too much.
All it required was for Harry's senses to be enhanced. It was only taking so long because Loki hadn't needed to track such magic in years; Harry had never done it.
And so he let himself sleep—or let his mind sleep, at least. His body and actual brain were very much active.
A few hours later, he snapped back into consciousness.
'It is done,' said Loki. 'I have managed to divine the exact locations of both Thor and his hammer, and will be able to continue to track them. The hammer was easy—it took minutes. Thor was considerably harder to find; he no longer has his powers, and magic only clings to him faintly.'
"Of course," Harry muttered into the wind as he stood up. He stretched wide with a yawn, and leant down to pick up his broomstick. "Well, I suppose Operation 'Get-Hammered' is a go."
Climbing astride the broomstick, he took off into the day, locations burning themselves into his mind.
To say his broom was fast would be an under exaggeration. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly breaking the sound barrier. But still, Harry would've expected most wizarding technology to fall to pieces at such speeds, German or not.
He avoided Thor's location, and instead moved towards the hammer. He wasn't reckless, however, unlike normal; he had to be cautious if he didn't want to completely and utterly destroy the timeline. Whilst he had contemplated doing it, just because "it would be funny," he had ultimately decided that, no, he did not want to delete himself from existence. The universe would suffer far too much—or perhaps not enough—in his absence.
He touched down in the desert atop a hill a few miles from the hammer's crash site. Even from there he could see the white tents that had been put in place, as well as the black SUVs and sedans, and black-clad, rifle-toting agents. They were from SHIELD, he knew, the organisation he had tangled with when he was younger.
He cast a few spells on himself. One would make him blend like a chameleon—his own Asgardian invisibility was too difficult to maintain for a great amount of time. Another would make it so the muggles would just glance over him, unless he managed to draw too much attention to himself.
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