**New Mexico - SHIELD Research Site**
Harry opened a portal directly to the coordinates Fury had provided, because flying commercial to New Mexico sounded tedious and he was still getting used to the fact that he could just *do* that now.
Natasha stepped through first, tactical gear replacing her training clothes, moving with the fluid confidence of someone in her element. Harry followed, the Armor of Agamotto in civilian mode but ready, Daniel's book tucked under his arm.
They emerged into organized chaos.
SHIELD had erected a temporary facility around the crater—prefab structures, research equipment, enough security personnel to invade a small country. Floodlights illuminated the night desert, and in the center of it all, exactly as Fury had described, sat a hammer.
It looked ancient. Powerful. Wrong in the way that divine artifacts always looked wrong—too perfect, too *present*, like it existed more solidly than the reality around it.
The Hallows recognized it immediately. The Resurrection Stone pulsed with interest, the Elder Wand's power stirred, and the Cloak whispered about *other*, about realms beyond Earth, about power that predated human civilization.
"Potter. Romanoff." A man approached—late thirties, pleasant face, thinning hair, wearing a suit that somehow looked both professional and slightly rumpled. He extended his hand with genuine warmth. "Agent Phil Coulson. Thanks for coming on such short notice."
"Agent Coulson." Harry shook his hand, noting the firm grip and the way Coulson's eyes tracked everything—professional awareness without paranoia. "Director Fury said you had something mystical."
"Or alien. Possibly both. We're not sure yet, which is why we called you." Coulson gestured toward the hammer. "Three days ago, local police reported unusual atmospheric disturbances. By the time our team arrived, we found this—a crater approximately fifty feet in diameter, and that hammer in the center. Every attempt to move it has failed."
"How many attempts?" Natasha asked, already assessing the site with tactical precision.
"Forty-seven. Ranging from manual lifting to industrial cranes to a semi-truck pulling at maximum torque. The hammer doesn't budge. Doesn't even shift. Whatever it weighs, it's beyond our equipment's capacity." Coulson pulled out a tablet, showing energy readings. "And it's giving off radiation we can't identify. Not gamma, not cosmic. Something else entirely."
Harry studied the readings, then the hammer itself. Even from a distance, he could feel its presence—not threatening, but watching. Judging. Waiting for something.
"Natasha!" A voice called from near the research tent.
Harry turned to see a man approaching—early thirties, rugged in a way that suggested extensive field work, wearing SHIELD tactical gear with the easy confidence of someone who'd seen combat. He had a compound bow slung over his shoulder, quiver at his hip, and moved with the precise awareness of a trained marksman.
Natasha's entire posture shifted—still professional, but warmer. "Barton. Didn't know you were on this assignment."
"Last minute addition. Fury wanted eyes in the sky in case this thing attracts unwanted attention." He grinned, extending his hand to Harry. "Clint Barton. Natasha's mentioned you. The wizard who's teaching her to do the glowy hand thing."
"Harry Potter. The glowy hand thing is called a mandala, and she's doing very well with it." Harry shook his hand, noting the calluses that suggested years of archery, the slight enhancement to his reflexes that marked him as more than baseline human. "You're Hawkeye. Fury's mentioned you too."
"My reputation precedes me. Usually that's a bad thing." Clint glanced at Natasha, and something passed between them—the kind of silent communication that came from years of partnership. "So, magic hammer. What's the verdict? Norse mythology? Alien weapon? Elaborate prank by an advanced civilization?"
"Let me take a closer look first." Harry moved toward the crater, feeling the armor's sensors analyzing everything. The ground around the hammer showed no signs of impact beyond the initial crash—no radiation burns, no environmental damage. Just clean desert sand and one impossible artifact.
He descended into the crater carefully, aware of Coulson, Natasha, and Clint watching from above. The hammer sat on a flat stone, as if someone had placed it there deliberately rather than it crashing from the sky.
Up close, it was magnificent. The head was forged from metal that looked like steel but felt *other*—denser, older, imbued with power that made Harry's magical senses sing. Runes covered the surface, Old Norse script that he could barely read despite Kamar-Taj's linguistic training.
One phrase was clear, though, etched into the hammer's side in letters that glowed faintly:
*"Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."*
"Well," Harry said quietly. "That answers one question."
The Resurrection Stone pulsed, showing him something—not quite a vision, more like an impression. Lightning. Thunder. A warrior in armor, wielding this very hammer against impossible odds. And behind it all, the sense of *heimdall watching* and *odin waiting* and *asgard aware*.
Harry reached out instinctively, his hand moving toward the hammer's handle.
"Uh, Potter?" Coulson called down. "Maybe don't touch the unidentified mystical artifact? That's generally when bad things happen in the reports."
"It's fine," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. "This is Mjolnir. Thor's hammer. Divine weapon from Asgard. The enchantment prevents anyone unworthy from lifting it, but I need to—"
His fingers touched the handle.
The world *exploded* with lightning.
Not literally—nothing physical happened. But Harry's magical senses were suddenly overwhelmed by *presence*. The hammer was awake, aware, judging him with standards that predated human civilization.
*MASTER OF DEATH*, a voice that wasn't quite a voice thundered through his consciousness. *YOU CARRY THE HALLOWS. YOU WALK BETWEEN LIFE AND ENDING. YOU ARE MARKED BY FORCES OLDER THAN ASGARD.*
*ARE YOU WORTHY?*
Images flooded Harry's mind—the hammer assessing him through his own memories. Every choice, every sacrifice, every moment he'd stood when standing cost everything. The hammer saw his failures too: the people he couldn't save, the times he'd hesitated, the guilt he still carried.
But mostly, it saw the armor. The Armor of Agamotto, recognizing its equal. One artifact of power acknowledging another.
*YOU ARE NOT ASGARDIAN,* the hammer's presence declared. *BUT YOU UNDERSTAND DUTY. SACRIFICE. THE WEIGHT OF POWER WIELDED FOR OTHERS RATHER THAN SELF.*
*YOU MAY LIFT ME, MASTER OF DEATH. BUT KNOW THIS: THOR WILL COME. AND WHEN HE DOES, YOU MUST RETURN WHAT IS HIS.*
Harry's hand closed around the handle properly, and Mjolnir came free.
The hammer weighed nothing. Or everything. It was impossible to tell—the weight shifted based on intention, on worthiness, on the wielder's relationship with the weapon itself.
Lightning crackled along the hammer's head, responding to Harry's magic, curious about this new bearer who wasn't Thor, wasn't Asgardian, but somehow qualified under Odin's enchantment.
"Holy shit," Clint breathed from above. "He picked it up. He actually picked up the magic hammer."
Harry lifted Mjolnir, feeling its power course through him. The Hallows responded—not threatened, but interested. Three artifacts of Death meeting one artifact of Storm and Sky. The combination made reality itself take notice.
He could feel Thor's presence in the hammer—echoes of battles fought, oaths sworn, the weight of being a prince and warrior and something more than human. Could sense why Odin had cast it here, though the specific reasons were clouded.
*Punishment,* Harry realized. *Odin punished his son. Stripped his power, sent him to Earth to learn humility. And placed Mjolnir here as a test.*
He climbed out of the crater, still holding the hammer, and found every SHIELD agent staring at him with expressions ranging from shock to professional concern.
"So," Coulson said with admirable composure given the circumstances. "That's new. Forty-seven attempts, industrial equipment, semi-trucks. But the wizard picks it up on the first try. Want to explain how that works?"
"The hammer judges worthiness," Harry said, setting Mjolnir down carefully on a research table that immediately groaned under weight that shouldn't exist. "It's enchanted—divine magic, cast by Odin All-Father, King of Asgard. Only those deemed worthy can lift it. Everyone else might as well be trying to lift a mountain."
"And you're worthy?" Clint asked, studying Harry with new interest. "What does that even mean? Worthy by whose standards?"
"Odin's, apparently. Which is..." Harry paused, considering. "Complicated. The hammer assesses character, intent, capacity for sacrifice. Whether you use power to protect rather than dominate. I qualified, barely. But it also made clear: this isn't mine. It belongs to Thor. I'm just... temporarily capable of holding it until he shows up to reclaim it."
Natasha moved closer, studying the hammer with professional interest and the kind of academic curiosity that suggested she was already thinking about how this fit into her mystical education. "Thor. The Norse god. Is real."
"Thor the Asgardian prince is real," Harry corrected. "Asgardians aren't gods, not really—they're beings from another realm with advanced abilities that humans interpreted as divine. Long-lived, powerful, operating on different physical principles. But mortal in their own way."
"And one of them is coming here," Coulson said, already thinking tactically. "When?"
"Soon. The hammer called to him when I lifted it. Not consciously, but Mjolnir's bound to Thor—he'll feel its presence, know someone's touched it. He'll come to reclaim it." Harry looked at each of them in turn. "When he does, we let him. Don't try to contain him, don't treat him as a threat unless he acts like one. He's probably confused, possibly angry, definitely missing his power. But he's not the enemy."
"And you know this how?" Clint asked, not hostile but definitely skeptical.
"Because the hammer showed me. Gave me context when I touched it. Odin cast Thor to Earth to learn humility, stripped his power, made him mortal. This is a test. A lesson. We don't interfere with that unless it becomes a danger to civilians."
Coulson pulled out his phone, already typing. "I need to inform Director Fury. He's going to want protocols for first contact with an Asgardian prince. Also probably going to want you to stick around until Thor shows up, provide mystical expertise."
"I can do that. Natasha?"
"I'm here for field training," she said, though her attention kept returning to the hammer. "Observing how mystical threats are assessed and managed. This qualifies."
"It definitely qualifies," Clint said. "Also—Nat, you didn't mention your magic teacher was this interesting. Picking up divine hammers, talking about Asgardian princes like it's normal Tuesday activity."
"It's been an educational two weeks," Natasha said dryly. "Yesterday I learned to sense mystical energy. Today I'm learning that Norse gods are real and apparently my teacher qualifies as worthy under their criteria. Very progressive curriculum."
Harry smiled despite the situation's gravity. "Let's secure the hammer. Set up perimeter defenses in case Thor arrives hostile. And someone should probably notify the local population that we might have an incident—"
The research tent exploded.
Not literally exploded—more like something large, fast, and extremely determined *crashed through it*, sending equipment flying and agents scrambling for cover.
A man emerged from the wreckage—tall, blonde, wearing what looked like thrift store clothes, moving with barely contained violence. Even without his armor, even stripped of his power, Thor Odinson was unmistakably *other*. His bearing, his presence, the way he held himself spoke of centuries of warrior training and divine arrogance.
His eyes locked onto Mjolnir immediately.
"My hammer!" His voice carried across the compound, desperate and relieved. "Finally! The trial ends!"
He charged toward the research table, hand outstretched, already reaching for Mjolnir's handle with absolute confidence—
And couldn't lift it.
The silence that fell was profound. Thor pulled. Strained. Put both hands on the handle and *hauled* with everything he had. The table groaned, bent, started to crack under impossible pressure.
But Mjolnir didn't move.
"No," Thor whispered, still pulling desperately. "No. No! I am worthy! I am THOR! Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard! This is MY HAMMER!"
Nothing. The hammer sat there, judging him and finding him wanting.
Thor collapsed to his knees, hands still on the handle, and for a moment he looked entirely human—lost, confused, stripped of everything that defined him.
Clint had already drawn his bow, arrow nocked and aimed at Thor's center mass. Three other SHIELD agents had weapons ready, waiting for Coulson's signal.
"Hold fire," Coulson commanded quietly. "He's not attacking. He's just..." He looked at Harry. "What is he?"
"Mortal," Harry said, moving forward carefully. The armor shifted, ready but not aggressive—showing itself in civilian mode to seem less threatening. "Thor, right? Son of Odin? I'm Harry Potter. We need to talk."
Thor's head snapped up, and his eyes were wild with something between rage and despair. "You. You lifted my hammer. I watched you. How? How does a mortal lift Mjolnir when its true bearer cannot?!"
"Because right now, I'm worthy and you're not," Harry said as gently as he could. "Your father's enchantment doesn't care about bloodlines or titles. It cares about character. And whatever you did that made Odin strip your power—whatever lesson he's trying to teach you—you haven't learned it yet."
"Lesson?! This is exile! Punishment! Odin thinks I'm too proud, too rash, that I provoked war with Jotunheim without considering consequences!" Thor surged to his feet, and even without his power he was imposing—easily six-four, built like someone who'd spent a thousand years in combat training. "But I was *right*! The Frost Giants threatened Asgard! Someone had to act!"
"Did they?" Harry asked quietly. "Threaten Asgard, I mean. Actually threaten it in a way that required immediate military response? Or did someone provoke them, create an incident, give you the excuse you wanted to go to war because you were young and stupid and thought glory meant conquest?"
Thor froze. "How do you—"
"The hammer told me. Showed me context when I lifted it. I don't know specifics, but I can guess the pattern: you're a warrior prince who's spent centuries training for battles that never came. You wanted to prove yourself, to earn glory like the old tales. So when Frost Giants infiltrated Asgard—probably a small group, probably contained easily—you saw your chance. Pushed for retaliation. Went to Jotunheim against orders. Started a war your father had spent years preventing."
"I—" Thor's jaw worked. "I was defending my realm!"
"You were seeking glory at the cost of peace. There's a difference." Harry gestured at Mjolnir. "Your father knew that. So he took away your power, cast you here, and placed your hammer where you could see it but not claim it. The ultimate test: prove you're worthy to wield divine power by learning humility, restraint, wisdom. Prove you can be more than just a warrior."
"You don't understand," Thor said, but his voice had lost its certainty. "I am the son of Odin. I was born to rule, to fight, to protect Asgard from all threats—"
"Were you protecting Asgard?" Natasha interrupted, moving to stand beside Harry. Even without her weapons drawn, she radiated the kind of danger that made people nervous. "Or were you protecting your pride? Your reputation? Your need to prove yourself?"
Thor stared at her, then at Harry, then at the hammer that had been his constant companion for over a thousand years and now refused his touch.
Something cracked in his expression—not breaking entirely, but fracturing. The beginning of understanding.
"What would you have me do?" he asked, and for the first time he sounded lost rather than arrogant. "How does one prove worthiness to a weapon that knows your every failure?"
"You live," Harry said simply. "Here. As a mortal. Without power, without title, without the ability to fight your way through problems. You learn what it means to be vulnerable, to depend on others, to make choices that matter because you can't just smash your way to victory. And maybe—*maybe*—when you've learned that lesson, Mjolnir will accept you again."
"And if I never do? If I remain unworthy?"
"Then you stay mortal. Live a human life. Grow old and die like everyone else." Harry's voice wasn't unkind. "That's the risk your father took when he cast you here. But I don't think that'll happen. I think you'll figure it out. Eventually."
Thor looked at him for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he nodded slowly, acceptance settling over his features like armor.
"You are wise for a mortal," he said. "And strong—I felt your presence when you lifted Mjolnir. The hammer respects you. That means something." He paused. "I am... I apologize. For the destruction. The aggression. I am not accustomed to being powerless. It makes me..." He trailed off.
"Desperate?" Clint suggested, finally lowering his bow. "Yeah, we noticed. But you didn't actually hurt anyone, so we'll call it even. I'm Clint Barton. This is Agent Coulson. We're SHIELD—basically, we're the people who handle weird situations like gods showing up in New Mexico. Welcome to Earth. Try not to destroy anything else."
"SHIELD," Thor repeated, testing the word. "You guard this realm?"
"Something like that," Coulson said, already assessing the situation with professional calm. "We're going to need to debrief you—understand who you are, why you're here, whether we should expect more Asgardians showing up. But first, let's get you somewhere that isn't a destroyed research tent. Potter, can you secure the hammer?"
Harry lifted Mjolnir again—still effortless, still strange—and the weight of Thor's gaze felt heavier than the divine weapon.
"You will protect it," Thor said. Not a question.
"Until you're worthy to reclaim it, yeah. I'll keep it safe." Harry met his eyes directly. "And Thor? I'm rooting for you. Want you to pass this test, to become the person your father knows you can be. Because the world—all the realms, actually—are going to need you. Sooner than you think."
"You speak as if you know the future."
"I know people who watch futures. They've seen things coming—threats that will require heroes to stand together. Asgardian princes who've learned humility included." Harry gestured toward Coulson. "So work with SHIELD. Learn about Earth. Figure out who you are when you're not the mighty Thor. And when you're ready—when you've proven yourself—Mjolnir will be waiting."
Thor nodded slowly, some of his arrogance returning but tempered now with uncertainty. "Very well. I will... attempt this trial. Learn what my father wishes me to learn." He looked at Coulson. "What would you have of me, Agent Coulson of SHIELD?"
"A conversation. Detailed account of Asgardian politics, potential threats from your realm, and why exactly you thought starting a war with ice giants was a good idea." Coulson gestured toward the intact research building. "After you. And try not to break anything this time. Budget's tight."
Thor followed him, still moving like a warrior prince but without the absolute confidence he'd arrived with. Clint went with them, bow slung but clearly ready, protective of Coulson in a way that suggested they'd worked together extensively.
Harry and Natasha stood alone in the crater, surrounded by the wreckage of Thor's entrance and the weight of divine politics.
"So," Natasha said eventually. "That happened. Norse gods are real, divine hammers exist, and my magic teacher is apparently worthy by Asgardian standards. Should I be taking notes? This feels like it should be in the curriculum."
"Definitely in the curriculum. Field observation, divine artifact assessment, first contact with extraterrestrial princes." Harry set Mjolnir down carefully, feeling its power settle. "How are you handling this? The god thing, I mean. Most people's worldview doesn't accommodate actual divine beings."
"I'm Russian. We killed our divine beings decades ago and replaced them with pragmatic authoritarianism. Finding out they were just aliens with good PR is almost disappointing." But she smiled. "Actually, this is easier than the magic. Gods being advanced aliens makes sense. Reality-warping through belief and intention is still deeply weird."
"Give it time. The weird becomes normal eventually." Harry looked at the hammer. "We should secure this properly. Set up wards, protective enchantments, make sure no one else tries to lift it and triggers another incident."
"Can you teach me that? Protective wards?"
"Not yet. That's advanced work—requires mastery of spatial magic, energy containment, temporal anchoring. We'll get there eventually. For now, focus on your mandalas. Once you can manifest them consistently, we'll move to shields, then barriers, then proper wards."
"Progressive education. Very responsible." Natasha moved closer, studying Mjolnir with the kind of focused intensity she brought to everything. "What did it feel like? Lifting it?"
"Like holding lightning. Like being judged by something older than civilization and found adequate instead of wanting. Like responsibility—the hammer doesn't grant power without expecting it to be used correctly." Harry met her gaze. "It felt heavy in ways that have nothing to do with weight. The burden of worthiness."
"That's very poetic for someone who dresses like he shops at Gap."
"I contain multitudes. Also, what's wrong with Gap?"
"Nothing. It's aggressively inoffensive. Like your entire civilian aesthetic." But she was smiling. "Come on. Let's secure the hammer before Thor decides to try again. And then I want detailed notes on everything that happened for my training log. This counts as field observation, and I'm taking this curriculum seriously."
They worked together to establish basic protective measures—Harry layering mystical wards while Natasha coordinated with SHIELD's technical team on physical security. It was comfortable work, falling into the rhythm they'd developed over two weeks of training.
By the time they finished, dawn was threatening the horizon, painting the desert in shades of pink and gold.
Thor emerged from the research building with Coulson and Clint, looking exhausted but more settled. Whatever conversation they'd had, it seemed to have helped.
"Potter," Thor called. "Might I have a word?"
Harry walked over, leaving Natasha to finalize the security protocols. Up close, Thor looked entirely mortal—tired, uncertain, stripped of the divine confidence that probably defined his entire existence.
"I wanted to thank you," Thor said quietly. "For your honesty earlier. For not treating me as a threat when I acted like one. For protecting Mjolnir when I could not." He paused. "And for believing I might yet prove worthy. That means... more than you know."
"Everyone deserves the chance to be better than their worst moment," Harry said. "Even warrior princes who started wars accidentally."
"Not accidentally," Thor corrected. "I knew what I was doing. I simply did not care about the consequences. That is what my father wishes me to understand—that power without wisdom is just destruction waiting to happen." He looked at the distant hammer. "How long do you think it will take? This test?"
"Depends on you. Could be days. Could be years. Odin's tests don't follow mortal timelines."
"Years," Thor repeated, and there was something hollow in his voice. "Mortal years. Growing old. Weak. Dying."
"Welcome to what everyone else deals with. It builds character." Harry kept his tone gentle. "And Thor? You're not alone in this. SHIELD will help. Coulson seems competent. And if you need mystical expertise—if something from Asgard shows up that you can't handle without your power—you can call me."
"You would help me? Even though we've just met?"
"You're trying to be better. That's worth supporting." Harry pulled out a business card—he'd had them made after the third time someone asked how to contact him—and handed it over. "My number. The Sanctum's address. If you need help, call. If you just need someone to talk to who understands what it's like to carry power you didn't choose, I'm available for that too."
Thor took the card, studying it like it was something precious. "You are strange, Harry Potter. Mortal yet worthy. Powerful yet humble. You remind me of someone—a warrior I met once, who taught me that strength isn't always about the sword."
"Sounds like someone worth remembering," Harry said.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sunrise over New Mexico desert, two beings carrying power they never asked for trying to figure out how to use it responsibly.
"I should rest," Thor said eventually. "Mortality is exhausting. So many needs—sleep, food, the constant awareness that any injury could be fatal. How do you tolerate this?"
"Carefully. And with coffee. So much coffee." Harry smiled. "Get some rest, Thor. Tomorrow's going to be interesting. Coulson mentioned something about introducing you to Earth culture, which probably means showing you action movies and teaching you how fast food works."
"Action movies?"
"You'll see. They're terrible and wonderful. Very mortal."
Thor left, escorted by Clint who was already explaining something about pizza with way too much enthusiasm. Coulson approached Harry, looking tired but satisfied.
"Thank you," Coulson said. "For de-escalating that. For explaining things to Thor in ways he could actually understand. It could've gone badly—god prince shows up demanding his weapon back, we refuse, he gets violent. But you handled it perfectly."
"I've had practice with arrogant people learning humility," Harry said. "Spent years watching Tony Stark's journey. This is similar, just with more lightning and divine heritage."
"Speaking of Stark—Director Fury wants you to coordinate with him on the Asgardian situation. Stark Industries has been tracking unusual atmospheric disturbances, and Fury thinks Tony might have useful data on the Bifrost energy signatures."
"The Bifrost?"
"Asgardian transportation system. How Thor got here. Rainbow bridge that teleports people across realms. Very advanced technology that our equipment can barely detect." Coulson pulled out his tablet, showing energy readings. "But Stark's arc reactor sensors might be sensitive enough to track it. If more Asgardians are coming—if Odin sends someone to check on Thor—we want warning."
"I'll coordinate with Tony. He'll love this. Gods and aliens and energy signatures he can't explain yet. It's like Christmas for him." Harry paused. "What about the locals? The town nearby. They must have noticed something."
"We've established a cover story. Satellite crash, experimental technology, classified research. Most people believe it or don't care enough to push back. But there's a local—Dr. Jane Foster, astrophysicist—who's been very persistent. She was studying atmospheric anomalies when Thor arrived, and she's convinced there's more to the story."
"She's right."
"I know. But we can't exactly tell civilian scientists that we're harboring an Asgardian prince and his magic hammer." Coulson looked conflicted. "Though honestly, Dr. Foster might be helpful. She understands the science better than our team. If we brought her in as a consultant—"
"Do it," Harry said. "Secrets are useful, but expertise is more important. If she can help us understand the Bifrost, predict when more Asgardians might arrive, that's worth the security risk. Besides, Thor might respond better to a scientist who treats him like a research subject than to soldiers who treat him like a threat."
"I'll run it past Fury." Coulson extended his hand. "Thanks again, Potter. For your help. For teaching Romanoff. For being someone SHIELD can actually work with instead of someone we have to manage or contain. That's... rare."
"I'm trying this new thing where I cooperate with people instead of assuming everyone's out to manipulate me. It's very uncomfortable, but apparently healthy." Harry shook his hand. "Keep me updated on Thor. And if anything mystical happens—if Asgardian magic starts causing problems—call me immediately."
"Will do."
Harry found Natasha finishing her security assessment, typing notes into a SHIELD-issued tablet with focused intensity.
"Ready to head back?" he asked.
"Almost done. Just documenting everything for the training log. Divine hammer: check. Worthy enchantment: check. Asgardian prince having existential crisis: check. Very thorough field observation." She looked up. "Thank you. For bringing me. This was... educational doesn't feel like a strong enough word. Reality-expanding, maybe."
"Wait until you meet your first demon. Makes gods seem reasonable by comparison." Harry opened a portal back to New York—the Sanctum's library, specifically, because arriving in the training room at dawn felt presumptuous. "Come on. We've got a few hours before your regular session. You should rest."
"Should you," Natasha pointed out, but she stepped through the portal without hesitation.
They emerged in the library to find Master Daniel waiting with tea, because of course he was.
"So," Daniel said, handing them cups. "How was New Mexico? Meet any interesting divine beings?"
"Thor Odinson showed up, couldn't lift his own hammer, had an existential crisis. Standard Tuesday." Harry collapsed into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "The hammer deemed me worthy, which was unexpected and slightly terrifying. Now I'm responsible for divine artifact security until Thor proves himself, which could take years."
"Of course you are. You collect responsibilities like most people collect stamps." Daniel looked at Natasha. "And you? How was your first field assignment?"
"Eye-opening. Learned that gods are real, divine weapons have opinions, and my teacher is apparently qualified under Asgardian worthiness standards. Very educational." She sipped her tea, expression thoughtful. "Question: if I master the mystic arts, will I eventually be able to lift divine hammers? Or is that a special Potter thing?"
"That's a 'devoted your life to protecting others at great personal cost' thing," Daniel said. "The hammer doesn't care about magical skill. It cares about character. You could become the most powerful sorceress in history and still fail the worthiness test if you approached power selfishly."
"Good to know. Character development as part of the curriculum. Very holistic education."
Harry smiled despite his exhaustion. "Go rest. We'll resume regular training tomorrow. Today's been enough mystical education for a week."
"Agreed." Natasha stood, then paused. "Harry? Thank you. For trusting me with this. For treating me like a real apprentice instead of just a SHIELD asset learning convenient skills. It matters."
"You are a real apprentice. Who happens to be a SHIELD asset. Those things aren't mutually exclusive." Harry met her gaze. "Now go. Sleep. Process the fact that gods are real. We'll deal with implications tomorrow."
She left, and Harry found himself alone with Daniel and entirely too much tea.
"So," Daniel said eventually. "Worthy to wield Mjolnir. That's significant. The Ancient One will be pleased."
"The Ancient One knew this would happen, didn't she?"
"She knew it was possible. Saw futures where you interacted with Thor, where the hammer recognized you. But she couldn't guarantee it—worthiness isn't something she can manipulate." Daniel refilled their cups. "You're building quite the reputation, Harry. The Crimson Knight. Master of Death. Worthy to wield divine weapons. People are going to have expectations."
"People always have expectations. I've spent my entire life failing to meet them." But Harry was smiling. "This time feels different, though. Like I'm actually becoming something instead of just reacting to what others made me."
"That's growth. Real, genuine growth." Daniel raised his cup. "To Master Potter. Who lifts divine hammers, teaches spies, befriends billionaires, and somehow makes it all look accidental."
"Nothing about my life is accidental. It's just creatively chaotic."
They drank to that, and Harry felt something settle in his chest. Not quite peace—he wasn't sure he'd ever achieve that—but acceptance. Of his role, his responsibilities, his place in a world that kept getting stranger.
The Armor of Agamotto pulsed with satisfaction.
"You're pleased with how today went," Harry told it.
The armor's warmth confirmed it.
"Of course you are. You love it when I collect more impossible responsibilities. It's very entertaining for you."
The armor didn't disagree.
Harry finished his tea and headed to his room, ready to sleep for approximately twelve hours and process the fact that he'd just met an Asgardian prince and been deemed worthy by a divine weapon.
Just another day in the life of the Master of Death.
Gods and hammers and mystical education.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
---
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