Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Jotun Blood!
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The Great Hall of Hogwarts was filled with more talking than usual, partially due to the extra students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang who had been there since the start of the year, and partially due to the fact that the champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been chosen the night before – and that wasn't to mention that one of them had been the thought-dead Harry Potter.
Everyone seemed to have a different conspiracy in mind as to what had happened. The theories of Dumbledore secretly training him returned, undoubtedly the most popular idea.
The elderly wizard had apparently been training Harry specifically to compete in this, because a tournament for children would undoubtedly be the best way to show his power. While it was ridiculous, the other theories were more so.
The chatter was interrupted as the doors were thrown open with a thunder-like crash. All eyes were immediately upon them as a cloud of black smoke flooded through them, almost reaching the students tables before it was banished by a flick of Dumbledore's wand.
A black-cloaked figure stood at the furthest point to which it had reached, its only discernible features neon green eyes gleaming from within a heavily-shadowed face.
A pale hand reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing handsome features that might have been mildly familiar to anyone who had known James and Lily Potter, and would've made anyone who had known Loki Odinson do a double-take. Almost anyone would have recognized the lightning bolt scar that sat upon his forehead, though.
Harry smirked. "I heard that I was invited."
'Damn,' he mentally murmured, staring out upon the silent crowd. 'I'm so bloody cool.'
'That you are,' Loki soothed with a slight snort, 'but you shall never rival the sheer awe one such as I am able to inspire.'
Anything Harry was going to say was cut off as Dumbledore got his feet, his skin pale. His mouth opened and closed for a few moments, his eyes wide, before he managed to regain his composure. "Mr Potter, I presume?" His tone was calm, but Harry could sense the myriad of emotions brewing within him.
"You presume correctly, Dumbledore."
"Resume your dinners, students!" he shouted over the rapidly rising din. "Mr Potter, if you would please follow me up to my office…."
Harry glanced around the room, taking in the shocked and awed faces. He was slightly surprised as he saw Maria sitting at one of the tables in a Beauxbatons uniform – he had almost forgotten she was there for the year. Looking back to Dumbledore, he nodded, and smiling brazenly, span on his heel, confidently striding towards Dumbledore's office, the location of which he had no idea of.
Excited chatter arose behind him as he exited the hall and waited outside the door for Dumbledore, who followed him a few seconds later and began to guide him up the castle. He glanced back at Harry a few times to ensure he was still following him, but otherwise didn't say anything.
'No eye-contact,' Loki reminded him. 'We don't want him to attempt to get into our head, lest I be forced to...deal with him.'
Harry hummed in affirmation, but made no further noise, concentrating on his preparations in case the situation went sour. A man of Dumbledore's calibre was not one to be trifled with, whether or not the wizarding world thought him to be benevolent.
While Harry and Loki thought that he most likely meant well, it was never wise to trust people based on reputation alone – a lesson he hoped that the rest of the wizards hadn't learnt; having trust and reverence based on something he did as a baby would be useful, to say the least.
Finally they came upon a statue of a gargoyle on one of the higher floors, Loki silently archiving Dumbledore's murmured comment of, "Ice mice," which caused the statue to leap aside, revealing a circular staircase ascending towards a room above.
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Taking Dumbledore's lead, Harry followed him up the stairs and into the office above. It was unlike any he had ever seen, with all manners of strange objects covering its shelves, accompanied by ancient-looking tomes and a fiery bird which Harry guessed was a phoenix.
He mentally noted to avoid that; who knew how it would react to one of Jotun blood?
After each sinking into a seat at the desk, the two wizards faced each other, Harry being careful to stare at the spot just between Dumbledore's eyebrows rather than actually making eye-contact.
He promptly decided that he wouldn't be the one to break the silence, and he could wait forever. Well, 5,000 years, although he might need to eat before that point….
Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles and finally said, "I thought you dead, Mr Potter. When the protections" – he glanced over to a shelf for a moment – "at Privet Drive fell and I arrived to the scene of your dead relatives with you nowhere in sight, it was impossible not to think the worse." His tone was full of sorrow, but with someone as experienced as him, Harry knew there was a risk that he was faking it, even if it seemed incredibly genuine.
"Would you mind telling me what happened that day, Harry?"
He looked down at the floor, years of tutoring by Loki allowing him to easily conceal the brief satisfaction that ran through him at the memory.
Briefly, he contemplated making his eyes water, but soon threw the thought aside. While he didn't want Dumbledore to think he was a remorseless killer and mass criminal, he didn't want him to think he was a weakling.
"It was some robbers," he began to explain with a slight frown, "they came in the front door after me, one of them had a knife, and the other had a bat."
With a deep swallow, he continued, "I ran away, and I read about the Dursleys dying a few days later."
The uniqueness of Harry's magic would make it impossible for even Dumbledore to sense it had been used, unless he knew exactly what he was looking for, which he didn't.
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