Oleandra's mind churned as she opened her mouth to ask her first question. Should she demand that Loki make an Unbreakable Vow to bind him to the rules of the game? Even if he specialised in illusions and all manner of deceptive spells, surely he couldn't manage anything underhanded with two Greater Fairies watching his every move with their Mystic Eyes?
"Any day, now!" said Loki cheerily.
Or rather… what exactly was Loki hoping to gain by making her play this game? There didn't seem to be any winning conditions, so perhaps he was simply playing for the pleasure of tormenting her— she'd just have to wait and see what sort of questions he asked to be certain. And as for making an Unbreakable Vow… it hardly seemed worth the risk.
"I'll go first, then," said Loki. "What do you care about most— fulfilling your destiny, or your friends and family?"
Oleandra glowered at him in silence, then snatched the quill and parchment from his hands. In her opinion, he was only trying to figure out where to twist the knife— find out what would hurt her the most. But should she waste her lie now, or tell the truth?
"You hesitated for a moment," remarked Loki, as Oleandra handed back her answer. "Should I take that to mean the truth is actually the opposite of what you wrote?"
The answer Oleandra had given was the truth: her loved ones.
"You're free to think what you like," said Oleandra coldly.
"You know, sometimes, the hardest thing in life isn't sacrificing what we love most," said Loki, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's letting go."
Oleandra shuddered imperceptibly.
It would be so easy to just give up now, run away to a foreign land where there were no Dark Lords, no ancient resurrecting monsters intent on making her life a living hell, no being burdened with glorious purpose, and no scheming family members… but at the same time, Oleandra couldn't even begin to imagine giving up now, not when she was so close.
If she continued down this self-destructive path, nothing but suffering would await her. If she gave up, she would spend the rest of her life wallowing in regret about what might have been. Loki was right, as frustrating as it was to admit it.
"My turn," said Oleandra brusquely. "How should I go about restoring Malfoy to the way he was before you took over his body, Loki?"
Loki guffawed.
"You could always try hitting me with a Killing Curse," he said, shrugging. "That would chase my soul out of his body, but then he'd be dead too, innit? No, there exists no way that I know of to force me to leave once I've settled in. You'd have to ask another of the Aesir— but apart from old man Odin, Baldr, Frigg and little old me, no one else has descended, so good luck with that."
Now it was Loki's turn to ask a question again.
"You know that brand on your brow isn't one of ours, yeah?" he said, tapping his forehead. "Were you aware the Lokk of the Helm of Terror would turn you into a Lindorm if you overused its power?"
In exchange for easily acquired power, dark magic always exacted a price from its user.
Oleandra's mind flashed back to her brief jaunt to Nidavellir in her third year at Hogwarts, when she and Ginny, Daphne, Tracey and Stacey had almost been eaten alive while riding in Ginny's flying Citroën 2CV. The giant dragon had had Ægishjálmur shining on its brow as well.
"That's a waste of a question, don't you think?" Oleandra remarked, writing her answer on Loki's piece of parchment. "Concerned about my well-being, are you?"
Oleandra's writing hand paused, hovering over the parchment— and, taking that as a sign she'd finished writing, Loki reached for the sheet. But she drew back without warning, tapped the paper with her wand, and chanted, "Specialis Revelio!"
A glowing black arrow drew itself on the parchment, making a sharp U-turn to point at Oleandra. Upon turning the sheet ninety degrees, the arrow shifted again, once more aiming straight at her.
"All right, you got me," said Loki sheepishly, as Oleandra stared him down, the parchment bursting into flames and curling into blackened ash in her hand. "My apologies— you don't have to answer that last one."
He'd been counting on Oleandra's overconfidence in her Mystic Eyes to overlook the Tracking Spell he had discreetly imbued into the parchment. The paper itself was a magical construct, created from nothing with a Conjuration spell, so its natural magical aura overlapped with that of the tracking magic, concealing it in plain sight.
It was the same reason Oleandra often struggled to tell whether a fellow Witch or Wizard was under a spell. It was easy enough for Greater Fairies to spot magic at work on Muggles, since they had no intrinsic magical aura of their own— but when multiple auras occupied the same space, it became far more difficult to differentiate them.
Oleandra thought long and hard about her final question, the fingers of her left hand curling behind her back into the mudra of Teiwaz— the arrow-shaped rune of Tyr, the god of war.
"Tell me the location of the second Deathly Hallow," Oleandra finally said. "Where can I find the Resurrection Stone?"
There was a very good chance Loki wouldn't know where the legendary artefact in question was located— but it was the only one of the three Hallows Oleandra had absolutely no clue how to find. Merlin had told her she wouldn't have to search far for them, but even so, she hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.
"Ah, but you're in luck!" exclaimed Loki. "I couldn't tell you with certainty where it is at this very moment— but I do happen to know where it will be tomorrow."
Oleandra's breath caught in her throat. Could it really be that easy— to find the final piece of the puzzle at last?
"Where is it?" she asked coolly, willing her hammering heart to be still.
"It's time to get your dress robes out of the wardrobe, Oleandra Greengrass," said Loki with a wink. "Because tomorrow, you are going to a wedding."
Loki tossed the crystal phial into the air, caught it with a deft flick of his hand, and pocketed it— then turned on his heel and strode out through the door, hands in his pockets and whistling to the tune of A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.
"Right," he added, descending the last steps of the front porch, "before I forget… the Burrow may be found on the outskirts of the village of Ottery St Catchpole, in England."
And with those final words, Loki pivoted on his left leg and vanished into the darkness of the night.