Summary: As it turns out, dimensional energy and magic do not go together well. No matter how much the Cloak of Levitation pouts.
Set probably three months after the last piece.
"Loki. As in, Norse god of mischief, mayhem, murder, and magic."
"I will admit, I have not heard that description," Strange muttered. "Mischief, yes, magic, yes, but mayhem and murder, no."
Potter looked exceedingly amused. "In the Wizarding World, if you say 'mischief', mayhem and murder are automatically counted behind it, whether it's said or not. Especially after his actions here, I would guess that our unspoken rule applies to Asgardians as well."
The beautiful cape froze, mid-prod of Potter's back.
"I didn't bring it," Potter informed the Cloak. "You seem to intimidate even inanimate objects."
"It's not inanimate. It's pretending," Strange muttered.
"And I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that," Potter said cheerfully.
The Cloak prodded him anyway, and then turned and…stood? floated? in the corner.
"Your Cloak is sulking again."
"It does that," Strange said absently, pouring over the book in his hands.
"Yes, I've heard that before."
"I get more comments on Cloak than I do on my actual abilities."
"It is rather dramatic and attention-grabbing. Perhaps that's why the Wizarding World in general has such huge egos. We all feel like something out of a blockbuster movie because of our billowing cloaks."
Strange snorted. "That would make sense if the majority knew what a blockbuster movie was."
Potter paused. "Yes. I'm still getting questions about rubber ducks."
The sorcerer looked up, incredulity stamped on his broad forehead. "Rubber ducks?"
"I tell them that it's a bath toy and they don't believe me."
Strange dragged a hand down one side of his face. "And the sad thing is—wizards are human, too."
"They're inbred," Potter offered.
"Ah. That makes a bit more sense. Rubber ducks."
Potter made a strange, almost chortling sound. "So, are we going to get this show on the road?"
"You might have been introduced to the weird and bizarre—"
"—decades ago," Strange continued, ignoring the pun with practiced ease, "but I only got introduced a year and a half ago. Give me a break. I've never taught anyone magic. Ask me about biochemistry or anatomy and I can help you—but don't spring magic on me suddenly."
"So it is—"
"It's dimensional energy channeled through this dimension and through your chakras to form what can be called spells, programs, rituals, or whatever the hell you want to call it. I'm sorry that 'magic' is a full five syllables less than 'dimensional energy'."
"So what do you do when magic is sprung on you suddenly?"
He laughed, completely unabashed. "I scream as my consciousness is catapulted through the multiverse."
"What do you do when magic is sprung on you suddenly?"
"It depends on where I am. If I'm at home, I reach over and tickle the culprit. If I'm in public, I dive for the nearest cover and shoot the bastard."
"With what?" Strange asked.
"What do you shoot the bastard with? Do you use guns in the Wizarding World?"
"Uh, no. Magic and tech don't go together. Period. My best friend almost blew herself up when she tried integrating the two. Like AC and DC currents or something."
"Interesting," Strange murmured. "Technology has never been affected by my presence or energy being used around it. Unless it's being used on it, such as being stabbed."
Potter snorted. "Yeah, well, that will kill just about anything."
"I've had to replace my laptop three times now," Strange said, scowling.
"I can't say that I sympathize. I never tried to get into technology. I might have an inheritance that could let me live like a king for the rest of my days, but that's a waste of money right there. Having to replace a computer or phone every time I get too excited would get old within a week."
Strange smirked, and then sighed. "Okay. Let's try this."
He drew on his own memories from his lessons at Kamartage, calling out the drills and standing shoulder to shoulder, doing them slowly at first before Potter got the hang of the movements.
"I'm still not getting glowing sticks of destiny."
"Good God, I hope not," Strange retorted. "I would be truly surprised if you did, wizard or not. It took me months before I got so much a spark, and I supposedly have an aptitude."
"I don't see it," Strange admitted.
Potter sighed and shook his head. "Same time, next week?"
"Assuming no catastrophes crop up between now and then? Of course."
Potter was wearing his Invisibility Cloak when he came the next week. Strange had the wonderful sight of seeing Potter's face when his Invisibility Cloak reached up a corner and slapped the prodding fabric of his Cloak of Levitation away.
Potter's expression very much embodied the sentiment of a cross between Oh my God and What the hell?!
"I never thought I'd see a day where another semi-sentient relic wasn't in awe of the Cloak of Levitation," Strange said, amused.
"Yeah, uh…this one doesn't seem to be all that impressed."
Potter sounded a bit strangled. Strange was fairly certain that it was not because his Invisibility Cloak was holding him too tightly.
His Cloak of Levitation was undeterred by the rather obvious disinterest, whirling around Potter until Strange could see the man becoming dizzy.
"Look," Potter finally snapped. "Do you have a coat hanger? Or even a coat rack?"
Strange pointed silently.
Potter whirled his cloak off his shoulders with an obviously practiced twist of arms and wrists and settled it on the coat rack. "I'm here for lessons with this weirdo with an even weirder cloak. You two sort this out amongst yourselves. I'm certain that if my Cloak needs rescuing, Levitation, you'll back off and let it come find me. I can't figure out how you get around, Invisibility, but I know you've shown up in some spots where I know I didn't set you down. Got it?"
"Do you always scold your possessions like such?" Strange asked.
"I do when they're inexplicably sentient," Potter growled.
The sorcerer nodded his head in an unspoken 'fair enough'.
After all, he didn't start talking to his things until they started responding back.
Three weeks after they're second meeting for the sorcerer's teachings, Potter got it.
Frankly, the sorcerer was amazed. "Five classes, several dozen books, and a background in wizardry. I wish that had been offered in college rather than the sciences if you pick it up that fast as a result."
Potter grinned savagely, panting heavily and holding the burning energy rod. Then he relaxed his stance—
Strange woke in the hospital.
"So what kind of cultist shenanigans did you get into this time?" Christine asked dryly, checking the IV in his arm and noticing that he was awake. "Did you save the world and shove it backwards in time again?"
He heaved a deep breath and coughed hard. After a minute of coughing like he'd just had pneumonia, he rasped, "Last I remember, I was teaching. What happened?"
"Your Sanctuary blew up," she said simply. "More like a sonic shockwave rather than fire and smoke, if that's any consolation. Every piece of glass, porcelain, crystal, or other similar materials in the place was shattered into a billion pieces. I personally picked out a hundred and three shards out of your back."
"Oh, is that his name? He's not listed on any records in the world. No facial matches at all. Where do you find these people, Steven?"
"Christine, is he all right?"
"No worse shape than you. Multiple lacerations, mild concussion, partially deaf, and cracked ribs. He woke up several hours ago."
"In other words, I'm fine."
The woman whirled. "What on earth are you doing out of—holy—"
Potter leaned against the doorway, looking absolutely fine. No bandages, no cuts, no IVs trailing behind him.
"Thank you, Nurse Palmer," Potter said evenly, still looking at Strange.
Christine whirled back to him. "Can you do that too?"
"No," Strange said flatly. "He's a wizard, not a sorcerer, Christine."
"Like that's such a big difference," she said scathingly.
"Actually, it is," Potter interrupted. "He was teaching me sorcery. My magic and his dimensional energy don't mix very well, apparently."
"AC/DC currents," Strange sighed.
"Exactly," Potter said ruefully. "I need to get back to my kids, Strange, but I'll stop by the Sanctuary and repair as much as I can."
Strange rubbed his temples. "I truly do not understand. You have a relic yourself, but are unable to use dimensional energy without it blowing up in our faces? It doesn't make any sense."
"No," Potter agreed. "The explosion only happened after I released my stance—I'll look into the properties after I reassure Ginny that I'm still alive and that you haven't murdered me in my nonexistent sleep."
Strange waved a hand dismissively. "Get out of here, then, before she decides to hunt me down. And stay away from the rest of the relics! I don't want a repeat happening outside the Mirror Dimension!"
Potter paused, then shook his head. "We'll discuss that later."
Then, with a crack, he was gone.
Christine looked at him. "You know what? I thought that you were living up to your name before, Steven, but now I truly know what strange looks like."
…seven days, eleven reviews, eighty seven favorites, and sixty followers. Wow. I did not really expect that much of a response. Thank you so much for your support! I didn't intend to continue this, and I don't intend to continue this, but if you guys have any ideas that you want me to put to writing, please, suggest. I can't promise that I'll do it if I don't have the muse for it, but I'll definitely mull it over in my head.
I had several people telling me that my Strange had definite Sherlockian tendencies-I personally am just going to put it down to the fact that they both have enough brains for three people and egos that fill the great outdoors. XD