Chapter 14 Ragnarök

Disclaimer: Never, but never eat spoiled food . . . well, unless it's supposed to be spoiled.

"Very interesting," Professor Windahl said in delight. "And very old, I've never seen something like this in such good shape. If it's a reproduction then I'd give almost anything to meet the artist that made it."

"So you'll look it over?" The girl asked eagerly. She was interested to find out what the man would say about the axe that belonged to the strange man in black.

"It'll be a pleasure," he agreed.

"Well?" She asked after he'd had a few minutes to look over it.

"It appears to have some writing scratched into it," the man leaned closer to look. "Very old dialect too."

"Can you understand it?"

"Looks like a name," Professor Windahl said. "Sutr I think."

"But I thought he was supposed to use a flaming sword?" One of the graduate students asked.

"True," Professor Windahl agreed. "Originally owned by Freyr traded away so that he could marry the giantess Geror."

"Does it say anything else?" The woman asked.

"A few more things that I can't make out," Bjorn agreed. "Who did you say you got this from?"

"A man stopped by the other day and dropped it off," she explained. "I have his card right here . . . Mr. Black. Strange, no first name."

"Did you say Mr. Black?" Professor Windahl's face lost all color and he looked like he was ready to collapse.

"Yes," the girl agreed. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Windahl said quickly. "But a lot of things suddenly make sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Could have originally been an axe," Windahl muttered. "Only changed to a sword later . . . or perhaps, well . . . nothing says that he could only have one weapon."

"What are you talking about Professor?" The girl asked, "it's almost like you think these myths were true."

"Nothing important," Bjorn managed to force out. "If you'll excuse me, it would probably be best if I were to return this to its owner."

"You know him then?"

"I know of him," he agreed. "And think it best that I return it personally."

"Oh," the girl said slowly.

"If you'll excuse me," the man began gathering his things. "I must be going."

"Goodbye then," the confused girl replied.

As he walked away, Professor Windahl began muttering to himself. "Surtr or Surtur as they call him at home. One of the first living beings, leader of the fire giants, guard of Muspell, and the one that will burn the world at the end of Ragnarök." He giggled shrilly. "The being that will bring an end to this world, if he exists then what else may be true. I never thought one of my stories would come true."

IIIIIIIIII

"Status report," the evil leader demanded.

"We've discovered the group of missing assassins that we sent to Black's island," one of the men began. "They're working for the other side."

"They joined Black?" The leader asked in shock.

"No," the man said as he glanced down at his notes. "Black was killing them and they were rescued by Henchgirl . . . oh god."

"What is it?"

"I just got to the part that said how he was killing them," the man replied. "I don't think we should try to kill Mr. Black's friends anymore."

"Let me see that." The leader snatched the report. "No . . . no I don't think it would be a good idea to go after Black's friends. You, what's the status of your operation?"

"Complete failure," the second man replied. "Only casualty was one of our men."

"How in the hell did that happen?"

"Mr. Black," the second man said simply.

"Oh," the leader growled. "You, minion."

"Yes sir?" Minion number one replied happily.

"Go make us something to eat," the leader screamed. "Now, or I'll have you flogged."

"Yes sir," the minion agreed.

"Don't take your anger out on the help," one of the other men said. "It lacks class."

Minion number one wasn't the brightest minion in the world, that's why he had been assigned to make snacks for the meeting . . . it was a mistake that no one would live to regret.

A few minutes of rummaging around the kitchen revealed to the minion that his task wouldn't be as easy as he had first thought. He went to the cupboard and the cupboard was bare. He went the the refrigerator and found only a pack of lunch meat. After several minutes of searching, he gathered all the items he'd found on the counter.

"Let's see," the minion said to himself. "What should I make . . . I have some Mayonnaise, some bread and some meat . . . sandwiches. Only . . . is mayonnaise supposed to be green? Or smell like that? Well a couple of color and odor changing charms will soon fix that."

IIIIIIIIII

"Are you there Mr. Black?" Henchgirl's voice called through the zippo.

"I'm here," Harry replied. "What can I do for you Henchgirl?"

"You were right," Henchgirl said. "That shopkeeper in Portland tried to pawn off a lot of quests on you. We've given most of them to the students."

"But?"

"But one of the smaller things is near you," Henchgirl said. "It's an old piece of paper with some writing on it and a map."

"What do you want me to do?" Harry sighed.

"Just pop down there and see what's there," Henchgirl said quickly. "Nothing else."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"Thank you," Henchgirl squealed. "I'm sending through a portkey and the paper."

"Got it," Harry said.

"Just say superstition to activate it," Henchgirl said.

IIIIIIIIII

"Here you go." The minion slid a plate into Max's cell. "Enjoy the meal . . . it'll be your last."

"Thanks," Max replied. The secret agent picked up the sandwich and brought it to his lips and froze. Max lifted up the bread and glanced at the inside. "Well . . . I guess it couldn't hurt to go hungry, and it might hurt to eat this." Max spent a very long night waiting until dawn and an even longer hour waiting for his rescuers to arrive.

"Max," ninety nine called out as she ran into the room. "Thank god we got here in time."

"An hour late actually," Max replied. "But since they're more than an hour late, I think I can forgive your tardiness."

"What do you mean?"

"I was scheduled to be put to death at dawn," Max replied. "Take me to their leader. I'd like to have a chance to do a bit of gloating."

"I don't think you'll get a chance to do that" ninety nine said. "Mr. Black got to them before we could. Guess he wasn't too happy about what they tried to do to the Chief's granddaughter."

"What happened?" Max demanded.

"They tried to arrange an accident involving her and a bunch of other children," ninety nine replied. "Mr. Black poisoned their food, they all died expelling liquid from both ends except the leader."

"What happened to him?"

"Evidence suggests that he slipped down some of the . . . the liquid and fell down a flight of stairs," ninety nine replied.

"Sounds like a quick way to go."

"Then he climbed back up the stairs and slipped down again . . . five times."

"Oh, persistent fella wasn't he?"

"He finally ended up drowning in a rather . . . full toilet." Ninety nine said with more then a hint of distaste.

"I guess Mr. Black thinks of almost everything," Max said.

"Almost?"

"I just wish he could have taken the time to unlock the door to my cell," Max finished with a smile. "It's the only thing that would have made this operation perfect."

Ninety nine walked up and gave the door a nudge and smirked when it swung open. "You were saying?"

IIIIIIIIII

"I need to see Mr. Olsen," Professor Windahl said to the guard in front of the Icelandic Consulate.

"May I see some identification sir?" The guard asked calmly.

"Here," he pulled out his passport and handed it to the guard. "Tell him it's about Mr. Black."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Just tell him it's about Mr. Black," Bjorn snapped. "Or tell his secretary, but tell someone."

"I'll radio that you're here," the guard agreed. "But be aware that without an appointment . . ."

"Tell them that it's about Mr. Black and I won't need an appointment."

"I'll tell them," the guard sighed. Why did he always get the crazy ones.

Bjorn waited for a few minutes until the guard returned, "well?"

"They're expecting you," the guard motioned him in.

"Thank you," Bjorn said as he rushed past the man. He was met by a strange man when he entered the Consulate.

"Good afternoon Doctor Windahl," the man said calmly. "My name is Johan and I understand that you have some information about Mr. Black."

"Yes," Bjorn agreed. "But who are you?"

"I'm in charge of . . . special security," the man replied. "Now about Mr. Black?"

"I think he's Surtur," Bjorn said quickly. "I was at the Scandinavian Heritage Museum in Seattle when the staff showed me something interesting that had been left by one of their visitors."

"I presume that this visitor was Mr. Black?"

"Yes," Bjorn agreed.

"What did he leave and why does this make you think he's Surtur?"

"This." Bjorn opened his briefcase and pulled out the old axe.

"Something to do with the writing?" Johan guessed.

"Yes," Bjorn agreed. "Something to do with the writing."

"Anything else?"

"The name Surtur means Swart . . . Black," Bjorn explained. "Are you aware of the myths surrounding him?"

"Many of them," Johan said calmly. "Do you want us to arrange for him to get his axe back?"

"I'd like you to arrange for me to return it if possible," Bjorn replied quickly. "I said I would and . . . well, it doesn't seem like a good idea to break your word when it comes to anything involving Mr. Black."

"I'll see what I can do," Johan replied. "In the meantime, have a seat and write up any information that comes to you about Mr. Black."

IIIIIIIIII

Harry squinted at the old yellow piece of paper. "Mai minee is unda der needle? What the hell is that supposed to. . ." Harry stopped talking as he noticed an old dilapidated gold mine appear in front of him, "oh." Harry sighed. "Henchgirl," he called into his zippo.

"Yes?" Henchgirl replied quickly, "what did you find?"

"Gold mine," Harry said with a sigh. "I know an old miner in Colorado, contact him and get him in touch with the architect."

"You wanna see about doing more with it then?" Henchgirl said, "You sure it's worth it?"

"All else fails, it could be useful because of the charms on the place," Harry replied. "Sides, you don't hide a place like this unless you think it has something worth hiding."

"Guess you're right," Henchgirl agreed. "So what are you planning to do now?"

"Time for Mr. Black to disappear and Harry Potter to pop up again," Harry replied. "Less I wanna put school off."

"I'll send a portkey," Henchgirl offered.

"Thanks."

IIIIIIIIII

"Chief," ninety nine said hesitantly.

"What is it ninety nine?" The Chief replied.

"I know you're still worried about what almost happened." Ninety nine bit her lip. "But some new information has come to light regarding Mr. Black."

"Let's have it."

"Some of the Scandinavian countries are saying that he's the personification of one of their old myths," ninety nine began. "The giant that will destroy the world with his flaming sword."

"Fits," the Chief said with a weak grin. "Do you know what I've been doing?"

"Thanking the gods that Mr. Black was around to save Holly?"

"That and doing a bit of research," the Chief agreed. "I've been reading through every bit of information we have on Mr. Black in hopes of finding out what makes him tick."

"And?"

"And he's like me," the Chief explained. "I don't want to think about what I would have done to those bastards if Black hadn't gotten to them first. And I can't think about what I would have done if Black hadn't been able to save her."

"Chief . . ."

"We know a few things about Mr. Black," the Chief continued. "He's very old, he's very dangerous, he's probably the inspiration for death and this norse god of destruction, and he gets angry when children are harmed or endangered."

"Germany," ninety nine said with a nod. "We saw what happened when he lost his temper."

"Still don't know how many people he killed," the Chief agreed. "We also know a little bit about Atlantis because of his comments. And the current speculation is that they were . . . less then accommodating to Squibs and muggles . . . hell, Merlin himself was exiled because he didn't have sufficient magical strength."

"So what did you learn?" Ninety nine prompted.

"It's just a theory," the Chief cautioned. "But I think the government of Atlantis killed the wrong person. Maybe she was Mr. Black's daughter or grandchild . . . hell, maybe she was just a person off the street and he saw her murder. Whatever she was to him, her death made him angry . . . very angry. So angry that his vengeance is the basis for half the end of the world myths, that he himself is considered the herald of the apocalypse."

"Do you want me to tell the others?"

"Just give them a summary of my preliminary findings," the Chief ordered. "I'll have a paper written up later."

"Yes Chief."

IIIIIIIIII

Bjorn nearly wet himself when the portkey dropped him in a strange empty room. He was in the Headquarters of Black Ink, one of the most well known and at the same time mysterious organizations in existence.

"Is . . . is someone there?" He called out.

"Henchgirl here," Henchgirl replied. "Who are you?"

"Professor Bjorn Windahl, I'm here to return Mr. Sutr's axe," the man said nervously.

"Sutr?" Henchgirl said with a frown.

"I believe he's going by the name of Black at the moment," the man said quickly. "I'm sorry for the mix up."

"Perfectly alright," Henchgirl assured the man. "You'd be surprised at how often that happens."

AN: Well, I admit it. I read about a figure in norse myth that had a name that translated to black and was involved in the end of all. Then I forgot who it was and didn't take notes so I ignored it for a while till it was mentioned again. Then I found what I was looking for and saw that I had given Harry the wrong weapon. And that, dear readers, is why it's a good idea to take notes.