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“No.”
“Harry-”
“ No.”
“Please?”
“I love you, Hermione,” Harry began, then felled her hopeful expression with another, abrupt, “but, no.”
“It’s one day!” His best friend cried, her eyes wide and pleading. “One tiny, measly day, twenty-four hours, it'll be over before you know it…”
Harry snorted, raising an eyebrow at that outright lie . “Do you remember what happened the last time you asked me to babysit one of your Norse pals?” He asks, because he certainly did. Vividly. His legs still cross protectively whenever Lady Sif comes up in conversation. Note to the unwary: when a beautiful woman asks if ‘the noble warrior’ would like to spar, say no. Always and forever no, no matter how gorgeous her eyes are, how her voice purrs when she compliments you.
You'd think he'd have learned that lesson from Ginny already, but it just goes to show that when it comes to women, Harry was, and always would be, an idiot .
“That was a misunderstanding,” Hermione demurred, without meeting his eyes. “Sif likes a challenge - Thor is different.”
“The last time he stayed at your house he left a hole in your roof.”
“Details,” she waved that off, too. “This time, he's promised to leave the hammer at home.”
Oh, yeah? And what about those giant meatbags he calls fists?
One look at her face, however, showed that he wasn't going to win this fight. Hermione wanted her holiday, hard-earned, and she was going to get it, whether he liked it or not. Bloody hell.
“ Fine,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “I want it on the record that I'm doing this under duress.”
“Noted,” Hermione grinned. “I owe you one, Harry Potter.”
“Yeah, yeah, I'll add it to the tab.”
He tuned out as she started talking about the arrangements; he trusted Hermione to have organised everything to a tee, even before he agreed. He had bigger concerns, like how on earth he was going to entertain a Norse God on Halloween?
“HARRY!!”
“Oh, Gods-”
Thor was striding through the crowd, head and shoulders above the lot of them, his grinning face a nightmarish sight, at least to Harry, who had just left a gruelling eight hour court session. All around the giant of a man, people were stopping to stare, unprepared Ministry workers squealing as they hurried out of his path.
“Hello, Thor,” Harry greeted him weakly, the only words he was able to get out before he was cinched in a stranglehold embrace, curtains of L’Oréal advert worthy hair swinging about his face. Merlin, but the man was so tall Harry’s feet weren't even in the floor’s vicinity any longer, just dangling free.
(Harry refused to consider that he might simply be short - he was five-foot-five and a half; Thor was just inhuman).
“The Lady Hermione tells me that we are to explore your Midgardian holidays!” Thor thundered, though he probably thought he was talking normally, the gallumph. “I am honoured that you wish to share them with me! Tell me, brother, is it not like your ‘Christmastime’ - will there be feasting?”
“Feasting?” Harry wheezed quizzically as he was finally lowered to the ground to find Thor looking down at him expectantly. Oh, Gods above, he knew he'd forgotten something. Food . “Erm - no, no feasting. Just… Lots of other stuff. Chocolate, and sweets, and things.”
Thor still looked like a kicked puppy. Merlin’s balls, why oh why did he agree to this?
Not being Albus Dumbledore, Harry wasn't strong enough to side-along apparate his behemoth tag along, nor would he fit in a standard Floo, so Harry ended up dragging him through the Service Floo in the back of the Leaky, to the bemusement of Tom, who had cackled ridiculously all through their attempts to wedge Thor into the public one.
“That's fer barrels o’ beer, y’know,” Tom wheezed as Thor’s shoulders bounced off the mantel for the third time. “We take ‘em through six a’time.”
“That's very helpful, Tom, thanks,” Harry replied acidly, eventually getting Thor through with a Knockback Jinx and some good old-fashioned elbow grease.
They tumbled through into the cellar of the Godric’s Hollow local, the Horn, and wandered out into the street - Thor nonchalantly, unaffected by their journey; Harry in apologetic horror, leaving a sack of galleons on the counter for the crate of Blishens his companion had trampled on his way out. “Right here,” Harry called, jogging to keep up with Thor as he barrelled through the streets. He caught up, grabbed onto his bicep to make him stop, then found himself swinging in an ungainly way as his feet left the ground. “ Thor!”
The God halted abruptly, sending Harry stumbling. “Yes, friend Harry?”
Brushing off his trousers and hiding a scowl, he thumbed at a cottage a few houses back. “That's it.”
“Why did you not say so?” Thor boomed, grinning. “‘Tis a quaint homestead, but pretty, indeed.”
“‘ Quaint ’?” Harry mouthed at his back as he stomped off again.
“Pumpkins! They are like the spice?” Thor grinned, a pumpkin in each meaty palm.
“What - no! And who's been feeding you pumpkin spice? Or coffee, for that matter?!” Harry watched in horror as Thor threw his colossal girth down on his poor, flimsy sofa.
“The Lady Darcy is a great fan of the beverage,” his guest said wisely, as if that was an excuse.
“Right,” Harry nodded, inwardly floundering. Thor helpfully held up a pumpkin in reminder. “Those are for carving. What you need to do is put it on the table, and then we'll take one each, scoop out the insides, and carve a picture in the front so that it becomes a lantern.” Nodding firmly, Harry retreated to the kitchenette for tools.
“Is this not women's work?” Thor’s voice queried, even that soft tone vibrating the table.
Harry jumped, eyes wide, his head whipping around in an automatic arc to check that none of his strong, independent, terrifying female friends had suddenly appeared, the fiery depths of hell in their eyes at the insult. The coast being clear, he hissed, “ no!”
Thor turned guileless eyes on him, and he cleared his throat, looking for the best way to get around this situation. “Erm - on Midgard, Pumpkin carving is a warrior's pastime?” It sounded quite convincing, actually, and since Thor nodded along, apparently buying it, Harry continued, “they try to carve the most terrifying, intimidating faces possible to scare off evil spirits and cement their places as warriors! Only the very best pumpkins are displayed in their awesomeness for the public to admire.”
“A worthy challenge!” Thor hooted, turning back to his massive pumpkin. “And how does one slay this mighty beast?!”
Shit. Harry had just realised that his very clever, fun diversion required him to hand Thor a weapon. “Actually, you know, now that I come to think about it-”
“You fear my skill?” his unwelcome house guest asked sympathetically, smiling with no small amount of pity at Harry. “Worry not, young Harry - I shall hinder myself at no cost to you, in honour of my host.” He added a little bow to the end of this, not low enough to conceal his smirk.
Of all the - before Harry recognised what he was doing, he'd slammed a melon-baller, knife and chisel down in front of the God, scowling fiercely. “Bring it on.”
Pumpkin carving was not , it turned out, a clean competition sport. Especially not when Thor was involved - though, it helped that despite multiple “don't eat it!” warnings from Harry, about sixty percent of the filling still found its way into the bloke’s digestive system.
(Harry would like to take this moment to say, too, that while multiple allegations of cheating had been strewn about, nothing was ever proven.)
Finally, Harry pushed away from the table and collected his wand from where it had rolled beneath a pile of pulp the third time Thor punched him in the arm (in a friendly way, apparently, though he'd like to see the man explain that to his dislocated shoulder) and waved it in an arch to send all debris flying into a corner. Their pumpkins now lay in front of their places on the table, visible for the first time in - Harry checked his watch - over an hour.
“What is next, magic man?” Thor asked, practically vibrating with excitement, looking like nothing so much as a somewhat disturbed Golden Retriever about to go for walkies.
“We add the candles,” Harry said with authority, eyeing Thor’s pumpkin as he passed to open a kitchen drawer. It was odd, and didn't seem to have much of a shape, simply thinned walls in areas. Smugness washed through Harry - he was so going to win.
They dropped their tealights into the hollows and leaned back for full effect.
“Brother Harry, perhaps in darkness?” Thor suggested after a moment of staring sceptically at the dim masks.
“Right, yes,” Harry said in relief, and with another swish, threw the room into darkness. He turned back to his lantern, pride rushing through him. It was quite elegant, really, just a death's mask, eyes staring blankly out - pretty scary, if he said so himself. Straightening his shoulders, smirk in place, he turned to observe Thor’s work-
And screamed.
“Fear not, Harry, t’was but a moment!”
A mortifying moment, Harry sulked to himself as they waited for the door to open. “Your scream is mighty chilling,” Thor added in an undertone, as if that was reassuring.
Harry scrambled to say something that wasn't petulant, and finally came up with, “what was that, anyway?”
“A bilgesnipe in its death throes,” Thor replied, pride running through his voice. “Was it not fearsome?”
Considering playing it cool, Harry finally shuddered and nodded, before breaking into a grin as the door opened. “Uncle Harry!” a delighted Rose Weasley squealed, lunging out the door to wrap her arms around his waist. “You brought me a giant!”
“Hello, little one,” Thor rumbled, descending to one knee, which, embarrassingly, brought him to about Harry’s height. “And what is your name?”
“I'm Rose, it's nice to meet you,” Rose said sweetly, shaking his colossal paw.
“The Lady Rose - a lovely name. I am Thor, Prince of Asgard, here to take you-”
“Trick-or-treating,” Harry filled in, quietly, beneath Rose’s yelp of pure joy. He looked up to see Lavender Brown filling the doorway, one of the very few friends he had who'd remained in England instead of gallivanting off with some superhero or the other. Seriously. Even Ron had been at it, off shagging some assassin that could snap him like a twig and therefore was the only woman in the world he couldn't give the run-around.
“Harry,” she said, and he moved in for a hug only to have her neatly sidestep it and shove him inside with a neat slap of his arse. “You're late. That means costumes one through four are out; you're stuck with number five. Hope you weren't having a particular hankering for werewolves tonight.” She gestured vaguely towards the stairs and then completely abandoned him, moving to the doorway where she cooed, “oooh, now who are you, sexy?”
Shuddering, Harry mounted the stairs.
“What. On. Earth?!”
“I am a man-beast!” Thor declared, giving a little twirl, the better to show off his bare chest, exceedingly hairy back, and more besides. His voice was coming out slightly muffled by the fangs Lavender had somehow jammed up in his gob, but he spoke with gusto anyway. “You have done a magnificent job, dear lady,” he added in Lavender’s direction.
“Ooh, well, I do try,” Lavender simpered, winking wickedly at Harry while she fanned herself with a hand. “It helps that you look so good in a loin cloth. So very… Primal.” She feigned a swoon.
“You can't go out like that!” protested Harry, fighting the urge to clamp his hands over his eyes. “Put some clothes on!”
“Oh, no, don't-”
“ Lavender!”
They were on the street, Harry dressed as a wizard, while Thor tramped along like the cover model for a trashy romance, all hair and bursting seams. Harry tried not to be bitter about the obvious favouritism, but the itchiness of his polyester cape wasn't helping matters. Rose swung from Thor’s arm, a dainty red-headed fairy, complete with individually active wings that spread glitter in the wind.
“What does one do for treats?” Thor asked, bouncing Rose gently, her laugh sprinkling the air.
“Ask nicely,” she chirped, giggling. “And then, if that doesn't work, we trick them. Watch!”
Releasing her hold on her new favourite plaything, Rose grabbed onto Harry's hand and dragged him up the path to a sweet cottage. She knocked smartly, then stood back, arranging her hair to it's best advantage, hanging about her face until she looked positively fae. Honestly, she was so much like her mum.
“Trick or treat!” she called happily when the door opened to a middle-aged woman in a housecoat.
“Oh, aren't you sweet! A little fairy! Here, I've got something for-” she paused, her hand dug into a bowl, when her eyes lit on Thor. As if this was his cue, the god held up his own bowl with a binding grin.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” he bellowed.
“Look at all my sweets!” Rose beamed up at her mum, emptying the bowl Harry’d had to spell with an extendable charm onto the table. Out poured a seemingly endless river of shiny wrappers, lollypops and toffees and sherbets spilling onto the carpet when the table simply wouldn't hold any more. Lavender’s eyes widened in disbelief as her daughter tripped over to Thor and took his bowl from him, shoving it at her mum. “Thor got lots, too!”
“A true hoard,” Thor agreed, ruffling Rose’s hair happily. “All for the Lady Rose!”
Harry blinked in surprise, but Rose was squealing happily, throwing herself into Thor’s arms for a giant bear hug. Lavender smiled, discretely popping a fudge square in her mouth. “What do we say?” she cajoled around it.
“Thank you, Prince Thor!” Rose cried, hopping back and toppling into the pile of sweets, giggling madly. “This is the best Halloween ever!”
“She may have sampled everything on the way in,” Harry told her mum apologetically, to receive a resigned sigh in return.
“I enjoy Halloween,” Thor announced, later that night. “T’is a delightful holiday! And you, brother Harry, are a very good host! Perhaps we should do this again for another of your mortal holidays - Ester?”
“Easter,” Harry corrected absently. He was considering the past day, watching the candlelight flicker on the walls from Thor’s terrifying Jack-O’-Lantern. He hadn't much fancied hosting Thor, and didn't particularly like cleaning up everything in his wake, but…
He kept flashing back to the image of Rose’s face as she was bequeathed all of the sweets they'd collected.
He wasn't a bad bloke, Thor. Excitable and clumsy, but kind hearted, and sweet, and generous. He could see why Hermione was so fond of him - even if he could also understand exactly why she went for the other brother.
He felt a decision coming upon him, inevitable, impossible to escape, and lay resigned as it fell. “Of course, Thor.” He smiled at the bloody infuriating man, unwelcome fondness burrowed in his chest. “You know at Easter, we do egg hunts, and painting, and…”