Xover: Thor/HP - Berkana 01 - Loki/Harry

[k155_me]

This is for Psychotic Sprite, JustAnotherParallelDimenson, and Hidders at FFNet for helping me out A YEAR ago with a question I had… but… still, thanks!

I think I turned him into a super!Harry, but I didn’t mean to? Blame the Deathly Hallows… Also, my old Englishese is crap, so pretend everyone has proper grammar and pronunciation in ye old Asgard, none of this “doth mother know you weareth her drapes?” crap…!

I completely changed all the dates around, and I’m using the traditional spellings for the Norse names, hence the “r” after some of the words. Also, another thing to keep in mind, before “Thor (the movie)” Thor is a brash, cruel, arrogant little shit. He loves his brother, but love doesn’t stop people from being selfish and cruel, nor from wanting what you can’t have even at another’s expense. Also, most everyone blames Loki’s actions in the movie on learning he was a frost giant, but he ruined Thor’s coronation by allowing Jötuns to attack Asgard out of jealousy over the throne alone. He attacked Jötunheimr to prove he wasn’t really one of them and to prove himself better than Thor to their father. Loki was jealous of more than just the throne: Mjölnir, their father’s favouritism, his inability to fit in… the love of Harry, perhaps? You see where I’m going with this?

* * *

“Berkana”

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, et all. Thor, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.
Summary: [Loki/HP] Having mastered the ability to travel between worlds without the use of the Bifrost, Loki stumbles upon Harry Potter and decides to keep him, for all kings need a consort. Unfortunately, Thor has the same idea, when Loki brings Harry home to meet the family.
Warnings: Slash. Loki/HP. One-sided Thor/HP. Pre-Thor (the film). Ignores Avengers Assemble (the film). Violence. Language. AU. Typos. Mpreg. Character death. Creepiness. Arsehole-ary. Eventual happy ending. Attempted forced abortion?
Rating: NC-17.
A/N: I put runes into their bag, and drew them, and the one that was chosen became the name of this story. Despite Ansuz and Thurisaz being the ones commonly associated with Loki. Berkana is the rune of the Norse god Tiw, whose name survives in the modern word, Tuesday. It signifies victory in battle, or the presence of a guiding star or planet.

XXX

Words: 27,261
Chapter 1 Part1

Loki might not have been as strong, or as brave, or as bold as his brother, but there was no denying he was smarter. That had been proved - well, perhaps not proved, since no one had yet to conclusively prove that Loki was at fault - when the All Father’s favourite stallion was found one morning with an eight-legged foal that Loki himself had given birth to. He had slipped beneath Heimdallr’s notice, escaped the man’s famous inescapable sight, and he had fooled them all. He had not needed the bifrost. He had not needed Heimdallr to travel back and forth, not like his brother or father did. Perhaps he would never tell them the truth about Sleipnir’s appearance or conception, but Loki would always know that he, himself, was smarter than them all.

Those who had looked down on him; those that had laughed at his magic tricks and his jokes and accused him of telling lies; those that wished he were more like Thor Odinson, rather than Loki Odinson; those that wished ill of him: he was smarter than them all. Trickier. Cleverer. There was none that could beat him in a battle of wits, or of chess, or in magic. Much like none could beat Thor and his Mjölnir in battle.

With the births of Hel and Fenrir and Jörmungandr, Loki tricked Heimdallr’s sight again and again, for he had had to sneak to Jötunheimr all of three times to sire them upon the giantess he had seduced to his bed. And while Odin thought, as he always did, that Loki was behind the mischief, he could never prove it because no one had seen Loki leave Asgard, nor leave Jötunheimr.

Perhaps Odin hoped to stall Loki’s mischief-making, to somehow calm his youngest son’s adventurous nature somewhat, Odin betrothed him to Sigyn. It was a fortunate match, a good match for Loki, who despite being an Odinson, was not looked favourably upon by the majority of the Asgardians.

“Why father?” Loki had asked, weeks ago, after first learning of the betrothal.

Odin had looked at him, one eye gone long ago, an eye patch covering the wound, and the other narrowed in exhaustion. “Because,” he had said after a long silence, having glanced several times at his own wife and mother of his sons, “all Kings need a consort worthy of their King, my son.”

It was that which had first sparked the idea within Loki’s mind. He had always known that only one of them could be king, only one of the two brothers could lead Asgard and preserve the peace between the Nine Realms, but to have been betrothed and given this as a reason, while Thor was still allowed to run wild, starting fights and seducing the servants? Was it not as good as the spoken word that Loki would one day be king?

Loki would be king, and not Thor.

Loki had then decided his father was right, he had agreed that he would need a consort to sit beside him. But he had begged for the right to choose his own bride, to be allowed to make that decision, the one he would need to live with for the rest of his life, and choose for himself the one he would sire a child upon. Odin had flinched at the request, fists clenching at his side, but he had conceded after another moment of silence. Loki did not know that Sigyn was barren and that was why she had been chosen for his bride. Odin did not want more of Loki’s monsters running wild within the Nine Realms, for though he couldn’t prove they were Loki’s, he knew they were, just as he knew that no one else on Asgard would willingly marry Loki Silvertongue without Odin’s insistence. An insistence Odin would not make, for Loki would marry Sigyn, and no child would come from their union, and that would be that. But for appearances sake, Odin allowed his son a year to search out his own consort, and Loki accepted that time frame graciously.

Unknown to Odin, Loki did not search for a consort on Asgard. Loki went to earth.

It was not his first time within the world of humans. After Sleipnir’s birth, earth was the next place Loki had tried to travel to without being noticed. Heimdallr had not noticed him, until, of course, Loki had been unable to figure out a way home and had been forced to reveal himself so that his father could retrieve him. Returning had become his priority then, and he had requested permission to travel the worlds, as an emissary of Asgard, for meetings and banquets and peace talks, and hoped to make his way home unnoticed, always responding to “how did you get back?” with “did you not see me arrive with Thor?” Heimdallr was too prideful to ever admit that he had not, and once more, Loki proved himself smarter than the others. Once he had proven it to himself enough times, he ventured once more to earth. And again. And again, until he felt he had learnt all he needed to know about the humans, about the ones who had once believed him to be a god.

They had magic users of their own, he had learnt, stumbling across a group of them battling with branches of Yew and Holly, Ash and Oak. He might have been the only sorcerer on his world, but here there appeared to be plenty. Though, when he returned to that spot a second and third time, years after, no one used magic, no one spoke of magic, and no one duelled with colourful lights that killed instantly. But Loki had searched. He had done his research, finding out what he could and tricking what he needed to know from those who knew it, and now, now that he needed a consort, Loki believed he knew exactly where to find one.

XXX

March 31st 1999. Midgard.

Harry Potter was eighteen years old.

When he was younger, and he had thought this far into his future, he had always imagined he would have graduated by now. Maybe he would have even had a girlfriend, and they could have gotten married young like his parents had, could have had their first child that year or the year after. He might have even gotten a job, or gone to university perhaps. His thoughts had changed depending on his mood at the time he imagined his future. But one thing was always certain. He would have graduated before he was an adult.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t.

Voldemort’s rise to power hadn’t exactly allowed for a well-rounded final year, and Harry, Hermione and Ron had been too busy chasing Horcruxes across the country to worry about failing their NEWT year. But, with Voldemort dead by Harry’s wand, and the Death Eaters rounded up, and the Ministry in some sort of order again, Harry and Ron had just assumed that they would be given an automatic spot on the upcoming Auror training programme. Hermione, while wanting to go back to school, had figured that she’d be rewarded with a position in the Ministry, helping to sort out the mess Voldemort had made. Hell, half of Hogwarts thought Harry should be voted Minister for Magic then and there on the spot, on the battlefield that used to be Hogwarts’ grounds.

However, after being thanked and having their hands shaken and being awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, each, all three teenagers were told to go back to Hogwarts with the other repeating seventh years and enjoy the rest of their childhood. Harry had snorted and rolled his eyes. Enjoy the rest of his childhood? Like he had even had a childhood to enjoy in the first place, he mused bitterly.

Professor Flitwick was talking about some charm or other that could be made to freeze someone in place, like Petrificus Totalus, except the person would stay in the position they were in before the spell hit and not simply fall to the floor like Neville had done in their first year. Harry tuned him out. It seemed like such a simple, childish charm in comparison to the one Hermione had shown him while they were on the run, the one that actually turned a person to ice in a moment flat. That seemed like a more useful way to ‘freeze’ someone, he thought, smiling behind his textbook.

When Ron had left them, that Yule, abandoned in the forest and terrified for their deserting friend and themselves, Hermione and Harry had tried to cheer themselves up with gifts. They couldn’t buy gifts, not as the fugitives they were, nor did they really have time to make any. But Hermione had given Harry a book she had brought with her, on rune magic, because the rune Sowelu was scarred into his forehead and she thought it might interest him. Harry had taught her to cast some of the spells from the book, because they worked for him on his first attempt, after Hermione had corrected his pronunciation, but she had needed Harry to talk her through it a few times before they would work for her. They had considered it to be a fair trade and the spells had come in handy at the Battle for Hogwarts, and while Ron had always asked when and why they learnt them, neither had told him for fear of him becoming jealous. So instead, they offered to teach him.

Using the Elder Wand, for the first time since Voldemort’s death, Harry cast Isa at a tree and watched it turn to ice. Ron, who had failed spectacularly at his attempts, had been the first to notice the black mark that spread across the palm of Harry’s right hand, where the wand would have been pressed against it as the spell was cast.

It was long, black and thin, pointed at the joint of his middle finger and a little fatter in the crease of his palm, where the wrist began to bend. The rune Isa, Hermione had informed him, the rune that symbolised the Death Stick or Elder Wand as it was also called: the wand that Harry had mastered; swore never to use but used regardless. As the summer passed, and the scar on his forehead grew fainter, the mark of Isa darkened. With each new rune he successfully mastered, another mark appeared upon his skin.

Berkana inked itself upon the skin of his left ankle the first time he used it to change water into wine. He had only done so because Seamus still hadn’t managed it, and had bet Harry five galleons that he couldn’t do it either. Harry had not only conjured the wine, but Neville’s potted plant, his extra credit project for Herbology, had suddenly produced grapes.

Ansuz was upon his throat, and when Harry touched the tip of his wand to it his appearance changed, disguising himself as a brown-eyed, red-haired boy who could have replaced Fred Weasley from his looks alone. No longer would Harry have to use Polyjuice to pass as Ron’s cousin at family weddings!

Kano now marked his inner left thigh, burning him with its appearance just as his spell burnt its way through the Room of Requirements like Fiendfyre, but easier to control.

Hagalaz had conjured wind and hail the first time Harry had tried to cast it. He and Hermione had been trying to teach Ron more rune magic in the Forbidden Forest back in October, and while Hermione tried to teach Ron, Harry attempted to learn more for himself. He had cast the rune, drawing it into the air with his wand, and as the wind picked up, the mark, like a lopsided H appeared on his right hip. Isa had burnt on his palm, stinging until it caught his attention and Harry rubbed at it to ease the burn. The moment he touched it, hail fell, and ice crawled along the ground at his feet, travelling out and out and out until every tree within five miles was frozen solid and Hermione and Ron were huddled together under several warming charms hugging each other in terror as a storm began in the sky. Afterwards, when the magic had dissipated, and Loki who had been watching from Asgard had turned his attentions elsewhere, Harry had looked around at the destruction he had caused, and trembled. The magic had felt amazing, rushing through him wild and forceful, making him feel like he was floating. But the fear in his friends’ eyes was enough to bring him back down to earth, and though Hagalaz remained seared into his skin, Harry hadn’t used the rune again since that night in October.

But there were so many other spells that he could be learning, so many other runes that he could master. There were words of power to learn, Norse runes, Frisian runes, hieroglyphics and Armanen runes. So many different magics to explore, so much knowledge to gain, and Harry couldn’t help but resent Hogwarts for not teaching it to him, and resent himself for in his youth he had not been so interested in learning. But, the more he learnt of the runes, the more he believed they were important to him. Perhaps it was because he had mastered the Hallows, and death, but, he felt, that the importance of these learnings had yet to reveal itself or in fact enter his life. But it would soon, he felt, having cast Odin’s Rune for a glimpse of his future. Professor Trelawney had only wanted to hear how he would die a horrid death soon, but Harry, while not having seen a thing, had felt something building, like a storm gathering force, and he knew that somehow he would be in the eye of it.

And yet, it could be something as simple as a future career choice. Harry didn’t particularly want to be an Auror anymore, and he was glad that he hadn’t gone straight into the training programme. He still didn’t want to be in school, but at least Headmistress McGonagall had let him pick up Ancient Runes, and sit the exam as long as he appeared to be sufficiently competent during classes and finished all of the sixth year material as well. He felt now that he had discovered them that he needed to work with runes somehow. A ward-maker perhaps, or a curse-breaker, or a rune-master, but not a soothsayer, because he was still pants at Divination. Maybe, Harry mused to himself, lost in his thoughts as the rest of the class packed up their belongings, he would work as an unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. He could use runes and the Veil and find a way to cross between worlds and universes and resurrect the dead.

The Resurrection Stone combined with Sowelu and his powers over Death would be a force to be reckoned with, but it wasn’t a spell that Harry would attempt without a rune-master to assist him. There were consequences to circumventing death, but if he had someone to help him perhaps he could circumvent the consequences as well?

XXX

Loki Odinson had first heard of Harry Potter the day he had first stumbled across magic users on earth. The ones wearing shirts or t-shirts were chanting his name, proclaiming him as the defeater of You-Know-Who, while the ones in dark cloaks and masks attacked them or ran away. There had been no reference to Harry Potter in any of his texts back home, nor had any other Asgardian heard of him, but when Loki travelled to earth in search of magic users the second time, Harry Potter was mentioned in every book that included ‘greatest’ in its title.

So Loki had watched him as he grew. He used runes and sorcery to see the human on earth in the way Heimdallr saw those who crossed the bifrost.

The boy intrigued him. To have so much raw magical talent, but to be uninspired to prove his greatness, was not something that many on Asgard could boast of. They all sought to prove themselves, to the All Father and to each other, while Loki only proved his brilliance to himself. But this boy, marked with a letter from a God’s language, this human Wizard neither sought to be great nor to be noticed. Instead, he was brave and honourable in a way Thor could never be, tricky and manipulative in a way that made Loki proud, smart and capable and self-sacrificing, though he took his wounds with mettle and dignity and pride. Foolish, perhaps, but resilient.

Worthy.

This boy was who Loki had chosen. From the moment Odin had used the word ‘worthy’, Loki had known that this boy was the only one who would ever be worth his while. He might have sired children upon a Jötun, and borne Sleipnir himself just to see what might happen from such a mating, but being worthy meant that this boy would be the only one allowed to bear him an heir. His legitimate children would be sired upon this boy, whom they would raise together on Asgard or earth until Loki succeeded the throne and brought his family back to his home where they would rule together. Loki would be a king. Harry Potter would be his consort, a consort worthy of a king. And all of Asgard would know that Loki was better than them, smarter, wiser, and that despite each of their achievements and strengths, none would ever be better than the human mother of his children in his eyes.

Just as none would ever be better than Thor where Odin was concerned.

All that was required of Loki now was to talk Harry Potter into wanting this future as well. With his talents, having earned him the nickname of Silvertongue, Loki was sure it wouldn’t be too difficult. What would be hard, however, would be cornering Harry without his two sidekicks present, but he supposed he had a year to convince the boy to marry him. What were a few days more to allow them their friendship in comparison with that?

XXX

November 12th 1999. Midgard.

Grimmauld Place was as dreary as it always was. Harry had tried to clean it up a little, especially since Teddy and Andromeda lived there with him now, but he didn’t think there was much more he could do for the place short of tearing it down to the foundations. But as dull, dank and wretched as it was, it had been Sirius’ home, and it was the only home Harry had actually wanted to call his and so he tolerated every dust bunny, every scream Walburga let out when it suited her, and every cursed object they had to hide from Teddy’s curious reach.

But the best thing about Grimmauld Place was that the Fidelius was still in place. Harry had had to shift it to a new secret keeper, but that was simpler than having to reward the house and recast the spell. Teddy was the secret keeper now, and the only way the one-year-old could share the secret was if Harry wrote it out and smeared a drop of Teddy’s blood across the words. Understandably it was cruel to cut the boy’s finger every time someone wanted to visit, and it gave Harry a perfectly reasonable excuse not to let Ginny into his home. He hadn’t outright told her, back when they broke up before the war, that they would get back together, and he had never gave her any idea that he wanted to get back together during his repeated seventh year, but now that they had both graduated Ginny had assumed it meant they would be moving in together and getting married. Her parents had been of the same assumption, though when Harry had told them otherwise they had backed off. Ginny, however, had proposed to Harry in Diagon Alley… in front of his boyfriend.

Yes, boyfriend.

He had never given much thought to his sexuality. The Dursleys would have preferred Harry to be asexual and never breed, and they would have beat him for his unnaturalness if they had ever decided he might be gay, so he couldn’t really win either way. But in school he had kissed Cho and Ginny, though Ginny reminded him of Bill, willowy with long red hair, and Cho had kissed Cedric who Harry had never gotten to kiss for himself, but he had also kissed Ginny because she was Ginny. He supposed he could be a bit of both sexualities, though he still hadn’t admitted to himself that he fancied men until March, on a particular day in the Forbidden Forest, while attempting to use Kano to summon fire without burning the forest down, and a walking stereotype had appeared out of the flames.

The man was tall, dark and handsome, cloaked in green velvet and gold armour, with slick black hair and eyes as green as Harry’s own. He had smirked at the teenager, teeth bared in a way that made Harry shiver from fear as well as desire, and had said over the crackling of the flames, “I can teach you so much more than this.”

His voice was like honey, dripping in his ears, but rough at the same time, like one hand stroking his cheek and the other pulling at his hair as Ginny did when they kissed. Harry couldn’t decide what he wanted more, the seductive promise in the man’s voice, or the promise of danger that he represented, the pain or the pleasure, knowledge and power with consequences or neither without? He had watched and waited, and Loki had moved closer to him, the sleeves of his robe smoking lightly and the golden helmet with its two gigantic horns melting away from his head like an illusion lifting. Their mouths had met, unexpectedly, unhesitantly nonetheless, and Harry stayed still and pliant as Loki pulled him against his chest, mouth parting under the pressure of Loki’s tongue, and hands moving to grasp a bicep or shoulder or a palm full of hair, whatever was within reach. Their mouths moved together, lips and teeth and tongue, and Harry ground his hips up, his groin pressing against the answering hardness the other man sported. Loki’s fingers dug into Harry’s waist, nails biting into skin. Long, pale fingers brushed across Hagalaz on his hip, and the rune burned sharply for a second and Harry moaned deeply into Loki’s mouth, never noticing how the wind picked up around them. Lightening crashed through the sky, the power of the rune summoning a storm outside of Thor’s control, and Loki and Harry remained pressed together until the rain began to fall, turning to fat pellets of ice just before they hit the ground.

Loki glanced down at the exposed tattoo of the lopsided H, and then up at the storm that he had witnessed one other time, back in October when he had first decided that an adult Harry was worthy of his time.

Lips pressed lightly against Harry’s cheek, and then against the mark of Ansuz (Loki’s own rune) upon his neck before he bit down lightly on it. Sparks raced over Harry’s skin, his back arching, pushing him closer to Loki, as he gasped in pleasure.

“I can teach you so much more than this, Harry,” Loki had breathed against his lips, green eyes intense and full of things that Harry hadn’t understood then, but recognized now. Desire.

Love.

That had been back in April. In the months since Harry had met him, since that impromptu kiss that neither could have regretted regardless, he knew he had fallen in love with Loki. Loki was the only one who knew where Harry lived, who had been let through the Fidelius. It was Loki who held Harry’s hand under the table while Ginny embarrassed them both in Diagon Alley that day, who kept Harry from saying anything to her that he would regret even though rage burned in Loki’s eyes and heart as well. It was Loki with whom he shared his hopes and desires with, his wants for the future and the things he’d wish to never suffer through again, mistakes and fears and people he’d avoid if he could. It was Loki to whom he gave his virginity, in the Forest, in a glade Loki had led him to in early June just before his NEWTs began, surrounded by birch trees and swallows and larks and the occasional unicorn that stopped by to watch them writhe beneath the full moon.

It was Harry who Loki whispered “I love you” to, and Harry who curled against his chest at night, secure within the circle of his arms. Harry who loved him in return, though for a lesser amount of time than Loki had loved him, watching him from afar and discovering more and more of Harry that appealed to him, that interested him. Loki told Harry all of his secrets in return, of Asgard and the All Father and his brother, Thor, who would not be king now that he had found Harry, his consort. Harry had laughed at first, before realising Loki was serious, and then he had laughed because when Harry had first spoke of Loki to his friends Hermione had insisted the man was a vampire or werewolf on the run from the Ministry, when in actuality, he was a god, so much more dangerous than any rouge Death Eater, but not so to Harry.

And it was Loki who had taken Harry out for his nineteenth birthday, who had magicked them to Paris and its Eiffel Tower; to Rome and her Coliseums; to the Druidic relics of Ireland; to see the likenesses of gods in Norway, of Loki and Thor and Odin, all of which apparently looked nothing like them or so Loki said. Loki whose arm stayed around Harry’s waist, fingertips brushing against Hagalaz every now and then so that Harry would moan lightly from the feeling of magic dancing across his skin where Loki had touched him. Loki who held him as he collapsed outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place the following morning. Loki who had spoken to the police and firemen and emergency response team while Harry had sobbed desperately over the still bodies of his godson and Andromeda Tonks.

Just because the Fidelius protected the house from notice apparently didn’t mean that house was protected from harm, when a fire broke out in Number 11 and spread the whole way down to Number 14. Five people died: three Muggles and the last two members of what had been Harry’s family.

Loki had comforted him, when all of his friends had kept their distance from him at the funeral; angry gazes pinned on the Asgardian as if it were his fault, and then later on Harry when the teenager had blamed Muggle stupidity for the tragedy. Apparently, someone had fallen asleep smoking, and the cigarette had set fire to the carpet and the oil heater, which had then exploded.

Who smoked beside an oil heater anyway, Harry had asked angrily, kicking over a chair later that night in the hotel room Loki had paid for. His friends had all gone back to their homes, none of them having really been affected by the loss like Harry had. Hermione and Ron had each other and were engaged. Ginny hated him for rejecting her proposal, Molly was angry that he had embarrassed her daughter, Arthur didn’t want to get into the middle of it. Bill and Fleur had moved to France when they realised she was pregnant. Charlie was back with his dragons in Romania, and George had gone with him. Percy had never even met Andromeda or Teddy, and he was too happily immersed in Ministry politics once more to have recognized Harry’s anger at the Muggles for what it was.

Anger at himself.

But Loki had. The Asgardian had held Harry close as he cried, clinging to Loki’s neck and sobbing desperately because it was all his fault. If he hadn’t of been so selfish he would have been home, and he could have saved them.

“You could have died,” Loki had whispered in response. “If you had been there you could have died. I cannot lose you.” Hands squeezed lightly around Harry’s hip and shoulder, one on either side, pressing them closer together, so that even death could not fit between them.

“I could have saved them.” Harry whispered.

Loki didn’t know about the Hallows, Harry realised after he had calmed down and the elder man had fallen asleep. Loki didn’t know that Harry could not technically die, more like stay dead for prolonged periods of time, but it was the same thing really. The point was he wouldn’t have died for good, and a temporary death would have been worth at least attempting to save his family from the fire. But he hadn’t been there. He had been in Paris when the fire started and Rome when the fire spread, and Ireland as his family burnt to death. They had been in Norway, laughing at statues and painting and stupid things like runes on pendants and gift-shop helmets with wings stuck to the sides, when the firemen had pulled the charred bodies from the remains of Harry’s godfather’s house. And Loki had been with him through all of it, while his friends had ignored his grief and focused only on his anger and his lover and the lifestyle choices that they couldn’t agree with.

So, when Loki offered him a family of his own, a child together and a new home, and Loki’s family as Harry had tried to share his with Loki, Harry thought about it.

He thought about it for almost two months. He considered leaving earth. He thought of Amanda Grayson and Sarek on Vulcan, and how horribly she and Spock had been treated, and he thought of how Sarek at least had loved them. He compared that thought to the one of how Loki loved him. Harry considered everything, Thor, Odin, all those who hated Loki and would probably hate him just for being mortal. But he wasn’t really mortal, was he, because mortals die and Harry couldn’t. He thought of how Loki had told him that he was capable of taking on a female form and carrying children, and of the conversation that followed when Harry casually mentioned that he could carry children in his male form, and of how Loki was adorable when he was confused and curious, with his hands tracing reverently over Harry’s flat stomach.

Every time they made love Harry wondered what a child of theirs would look like.

It was two days ago that Harry finally made his decision.

He slipped out of the Healer’s office, in St. Mungos, having found out what he came for. His wand touched off of Ansuz, on his throat, and his hair changed from red to black and his eyes from brown to green, and Harry pulled his hood over his head to hide his face from curious patients and staff alike. Healer Robards had told him that Isa Rollier was five weeks pregnant.

No one but Loki needed to know that Harry Potter was too.

XXX

November 19th 1992. Midgard.

“Will they like me?” Harry asked for what must have been the tenth time since Loki had informed him that they were ready to leave. What few possessions Harry deemed important had been packed into the moleskin pouch that Hagrid had given him and Hermione had charmed for him. It was his very own Merry Poppins’ bag, never running out of space, and Harry had made a quick stop over at Flourish and Blotts to add some books on pregnancy and childcare to his small collection of sentimentally valuable items. Everything else had been brought to Gringotts and stored inside of his trust vault, safe and secure, but no longer needed in use.

Loki didn’t have anything important in his possession, except for Harry. He could easily conjure anything he wanted, or borrow from his lover, or simply sneak back into Asgard to take his own possessions from his room. And so once Harry was ready to go, Loki was too.

“Yes.” Loki’s voice was soft and warm, his breath sweet against Harry’s lips as he gave him the same answer he had given nine other times before. “They will love you as I do, my little magiker.”1

Harry smiled softly at the pet name. He came into the circle of Loki’s arms, his face pressed to the pale throat before him. “Then I’m ready,” Harry whispered, lips ghosting over skin and making Loki shudder. He closed his eyes. Harry kept his face pressed to Loki’s neck, and wrapped his arms tightly around the man’s waist.

The Asgardian closed his eyes too, his hands holding tightly to Harry’s waist and shoulder, and thought of home. His magic rose up inside of him, strong and dangerous, and he focused it on himself and his lover, on his home, his bedroom, and his bed of mahogany and velvet. Unlike Apparition, there was no sound, and no warning. Nothing squeezed in Harry’s stomach; there was no imaginary fist clenching at his insides as he moved through space and time. But they disappeared from Midgard together, wrapped in each other’s’ arms. When Harry opened his eyes he smiled softly first up at Loki, who didn’t release him immediately, instead held him closer, until Harry moved to glance around the room with wide eyes. They pulled away from each other then, and Loki moved to sit on the edge of the bed, content to simply watch.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry whispered, leaning out of the window to glance at this new world laid out before him. Golden towers rose in the distance, from as far as the eye could see leading all the way back to where they were, in the largest tower of them all. Smaller buildings dotted the landscape, tall and magnificent, but silver or bronze or copper. Nothing seemed to be made out of wood or brick or mortar here. Everything shinned beneath the light of the setting sun, and Harry took it all in eagerly. When he had finished looking, from a distance at least, he turned back to Loki, and blushed at the look the elder man was giving him.

Green eyes were pinned on his face, wide and loving, and pale lips smirked over at him when he blushed red. There was a look of such hunger on Loki’s face that Harry trembled in desire at the sight alone, no words were needed to arouse him, no actions; simply the knowledge that Loki wanted him. There was love too, devotion and obsession in equal parts, and those eyes softened as Harry moved closer to him, eventually peering up shyly from beneath dark eyelashes as Harry came to rest between Loki’s spread legs. He was so strong and powerful, so dangerous and strange, and yet vulnerable and wary at times, when he thought Harry might think better of this and leave, or when he did something his father might have punished him for and he warily waited for Harry’s admonitions and rejections to follow as his father’s would have followed. But Harry only ever smiled warmly at him, no matter how angry or wary he might have been feeling, and whispered “I love you,” every time, because his anger was nothing compared to the thought that he held so much power over Loki’s heart that one cruel word could destroy the man and what they had forever.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispered, pressing his forehead against Loki’s own. The man was the one to blush this time, the faintest hints of pink blooming above his cheekbone, and he reached out to enfold Harry in his arms, pulling the boy onto his lap so that Harry was straddling him and their bodies were pressed tightly together. The first time Harry had said it, Loki had stared at him for minutes on end, searching the boy’s expression for even the slightest hint of a lie, one he never found. Now, he was used to such sentiment, he relished in it in fact, and perhaps a small part of him was beginning to believe it too.

“I love you,” Loki said in return. Their lips met softly, mere brushes of flesh against flesh, and when they pulled apart, Harry thought about telling Loki of his pregnancy. The child would be something he’d delight in, Harry knew. The knowledge that while now pregnant Harry would not leave him without the child, nor leave the child without a father, would go a way to comforting Loki’s insecurities. But they were unmarried, and Loki had been firm about their future marriage coming before any children. Harry’s children, Loki had told him, one night after they had made love in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, had to be legitimate. Harry had assumed it was some Asgardian tradition, unknowing that it was simply a vow Loki had made to himself, not to disrespect Harry the way he had that Jötun woman and the father of Odin’s war horse, Svadilfari, and himself by association. And in his assumption that it was a tradition, Harry decided to wait and see if they could get married first, because there was only four months left until the year since Loki had come to earth expired, and the child wasn’t due until June.

If they couldn’t marry fast enough, Harry told himself silently, before Loki pulled him into a hungry kiss, being three months pregnant would make for a wonderful Yule gift.

“We’ll stay in here till the morning. They are used to my comings and goings, but they probably won’t expect me back for good until March. Tomorrow, we’ll go break fast together, and I’ll introduce you to my family.” Loki whispered to him sometime later, sweaty and naked with his hands carding through Harry’s hair.

Harry pressed soft kisses to the Asgardian’s chest, a soft chuckle escaping him. His back hurt, and his arse burning, but he pulled himself up despite the stinging, and glared down at his lover. “So, if I walk in unannounced and surprise them all, and they attack me and I die,” he told Loki, trying not to smile and failing, “just know that I’ll haunt you forever.”

“You will be announced, and they will not hurt you. They will not get the chance, I swear it.” Loki’s voice was cold and angry, and his fists clenched around Harry’s hips, nails biting into skin.

Harry reached down, closing his own hands over Loki’s and pulling them off of his sides. Hagalaz on his right hip had a streak of blood smeared across it and outside of the window the wind began to howl. “I know. I was only joking, beloved.” Their mouths met again. But this time there was no passion or hunger or sweetness behind it. Nor when Loki pushed him roughly until he lay upon his back with his legs spread. There was only desperation, and fear, and Harry held tight to the elder man, whispering “I love you” over and over, from the moment a cock nudged at his loosened hole, with every forceful thrust that made his back ache and made him see stars, until the moment Loki came within him, mouth fused over his own to muffle Harry’s screams of pleasure and Loki’s own sobbed whimpers. Harry’s ejaculate dotted his stomach and chest, his cock soft but sticky as Loki pulled out of him, whispering apologises for the bruises that had yet to form. Harry turned onto his side, pulling Loki closer so that they could slot beside one another, face to face, with their legs entangled and Loki’s seed running down his thighs.

“I am never leaving you,” Harry whispered gently. “Never.” As quiet as his voice was, it was also forceful, and at the words Loki closed his eyes and gritted his teeth before he pressed his forehead to Harry’s with a sigh.

“Thank you.” It was sighed out softly, mouth hovering over mouth with their eyes closed. Harry let it pass without a reply, but he raised his hand to run through Loki’s hair until the man fell asleep.

Harry stayed awake more than two hours longer, lying safe and sated in Loki’s arms, come dried and sticky on his skin but welcomed for what it represented and what it had done to him. As Loki slept, Harry pressed one hand to his flat stomach, the one with Isa marked into the palm, and he smiled as he said, “I love you both.”

XXX

“Loki has returned, father.”

The man who spoke was broad and blonde. He was dressed in armour of silver and a cape of red, which was rolled up and flung over the arm of his chair out of the way. He sat at a table that was almost the length of the large dining room, and at least seventy other people were sat in various seats around him. At the head of the table a very old man was seated, dressed similarly to his son, but with a helmet of gold, that covered one eye completely, upon his head. In fact, nearly all of the men at the table were dressed that way. The handful of women present, though the one sitting beside the man who had spoken wore armour as well and her hair in a neat ponytail, wore long flowing dresses of gossamer and silk and satin, with their hair flowing free or woven with flowers and pearls and ribbons. It was like something out of a painting, or a cross between a renaissance fair and a Viking invasion, but it was familiar to Loki who had worn armour and velvet and a horned helmet the day he had first met Harry in person.

“Oh?” Odin asked, looking surprised. “I had presumed he would avoid the engagement for as long as possible. Are you sure it was him?”

Odin honesty believed that no one on Asgard would marry Loki the trickster. Heimdallr had assured both Odin and Thor on many separate occasions that Loki had not used the bifrost, and the only place they believed he could travel to without the use of the bifrost was to Jötunheimr (as evidenced by the three monstrous children he had sired there) and no Jötun woman would marry an Asgardian. So, Odin had assumed that Loki had merely hidden himself away somewhere out of spite and stubbornness, refusing to be seen to be returning home until he absolutely had to. But their yearlong agreement did not end until March, and it was still November on Midgard.5

“As did I father.” Thor paused for a moment, to glance up and down the table, but when no one seemed to be paying them much attention, Thor spoke again. He kept his voice low so that only his mother opposite and father beside him could hear, though he supposed Sif, seated on his right, could hear him too, but she was actually friendly with Loki and wouldn’t repeat anything offensive at least. “I didn’t see him,” Thor admitted, a pink stain on his cheeks, “But I heard him last night. And I believe you should inform Sigyn that the engagement is over.”

“You heard him?” His mother asked. Thor looked at Frigga, trying not to snicker at the look of confusion she shot him. His father understood though, for the one eyebrow uncovered by his helmet, the left one, rose and his lips tightened in annoyance. “It could have been a servant,” Odin murmured, “There’s no reason to suspect anything will come of it, or that they are even a suitable match for one of the House of Odin.”

“I heard Loki say I love you several times, merely in the space of time it took me to understand what was happening behind the door and continue walking passed. I feel it is serious, at least for my brother.” The blonde bit his bottom lip, feeling slightly awkward but he forced himself to ask anyway. “Why does it matter if this woman is suitable or not? Loki won’t be inheriting the throne, will he? Should it not be I that marries well, father?”

Odin and Frigga traded glances. Frigga seemed sad, and Odin merely disappointed, but they simultaneously turned to smile at their eldest son who watched them with narrowed blue eyes.

“No, he won’t be.” And he wouldn’t be, because in Loki’s absence preparations had already been made for Thor’s upcoming coronation. It was due to be held a little over a year from now. Odin had hoped to marry Loki to Sigyn, despite their union being doomed to be a barren one, for Thor could always have a son to inherit from his uncle. But the idea of Loki inheriting the throne of Asgard hinged ultimately on whether or not the Jötun Laufey was willing to recognize the son he abandoned at birth as his heir. Loki Laufeyson, married to an Asgardian woman of good breeding from a rich and well-liked family, on the throne of Asgard would have resulted in a union more certain and long-lasting than any peace treaty between Odin and Laufey. Peace talks ended, Odin or Laufey could die and end peace with their deaths, but a child of both worlds, of both races ruling both worlds as one could never be undone.

Unfortunately, Laufey wanted nothing to do with the runt his wife had borne him. He had left Loki out in the ice to die all those years ago, and despite the promise that Loki would rule Asgard, Laufey would not regret it nor recede his disownment. Without the backing of such a union to fuel his decision, Odin couldn’t in good conscience take away Thor’s birth right and pass it onto his brother. Loki, though not biologically his, was still his son, and Odin was certain that after some time to think about it, and with Sigyn to distract him, Loki would understand and support his brother in this endeavour as he had always done in all others.

“He won’t be,” Odin repeated, silently steeling himself to explain that fact to Loki after the boy joined them for the morning meal. “But that does not mean he can shame the House of Odin in his marriage, as he has done before with his choice of bed partners.” He was, Thor knew, referring to Angrboða, the giantess who bore three monsters for Loki, each of which Odin had banished from the nine realms.

It was, of course, at that moment the doors to the dining hall opened. The attendant who had been standing guard outside entered first, one hand holding the door open and the other squeezing tightly around his spear, with his eyebrows drawn down together. “Introducing,” he said with a clear voice, “his majesty, Loki of House Odin.” As Odin stood up to greet his son all others at the table rose with him, though Volstagg continued to eat even while standing.

Odin held out his arms to Loki, but the sorcerer remained in the doorway.

“And,” the sentry continued, beginning to sound as flustered as he looked, “his Omgás,3 Harry James of Houses-” here there was a small pause, where the sentry stuck his head back out of the door and whispered something to Harry, who waited out of sight. Harry murmured something back, and then the sentry stood up straight again and continued loudly, “Potter and Black, of Midgard.”

It was chaos. Sudden and loud and terribly brilliant.

Chaos was usually something Loki revelled in, the panic, the anger, fear and accusations, but this time was different and he could not take pleasure from it. The people began shouting over one another, words like ‘mortal’ and ‘Midgard’ being the most prominent complaints offered forward, along with ‘Skjøge’,4 which was most decidedly an insult if the clenching of Loki’s teeth was anything to go by. Frigga held her hand to her chest, and Thor rose so fast from his chair that it toppled backwards, and Odin sank back down into his with shock. Loki turned and ignored them all in favour of beckoning Harry forward. The boy was still in the corridor, pale faced with shaking hands, and he kept himself hidden half behind the sentry who had announced him.

“They seem very angry,” he whispered to Loki, glancing warily into the room. Loki’s father, at least, seemed to be having a heart attack; he mother looked like she might faint at first, but now she was starting to perk up, leaning forward in her seat to stare avidly at the empty doorway. “Perhaps this was a bad idea?”

Loki reached his hand out, a smile playing at the corners of pale pink lips. “They will love you as I do, Veiviser, because they will not be able to help themselves.”2

The sentry stared, open mouthed at the scene before him. Loki was known as a liesmith and a seducer, a regular player if you will, but to see him be so loving, so gentle to anyone other than his mother, and in such a different, romantic, way was unheard of. When he had been asked to introduce Harry as such, the sentry had thought it to be a trick, just another trick by the god of tricks and lies, but as he watched now, he understood that there was nothing truer in the world than the love Loki felt for this human.

Harry’s hand hesitantly placed itself within Loki’s, and the man’s long fingers curled tightly around the appendage. Hand in hand, Loki led his lover into the banquet hall. Odin rose swiftly to his feet, startled once more by the sight of the creature Loki was presenting to him. Harry was a male, short even for a human, with tanned skin, and eyes and hair like Loki had. It figured that the god would fall for the reflection of himself, narcissist that he was, but when the human boy spoke to introduce himself, he was a different person. Loki was like honey and vinegar rolled into one, seduction followed by sedition, pleasure then pain and trickery. But this boy sounded honest and true and his voice shook from nerves, but he offered each of Loki’s family wide, though hesitant, smiles and held his hand out for them to shake.

“Hello sir, my name is Harry Potter. It’s an honour to meet you. Loki spoke of you all often.” The hand trembled, the air around it tense and thick enough to cut with a knife. Harry cast his eyes over towards Loki, who was watching his father with an unreadable expression on his face. When Harry glanced back around, Frigga was standing in front of him.

“Hello, Harry Potterson,” she whispered, her right hand rising to gently lie against his cheek, thumb caressing the skin softly. “The honour is all ours.”

She drew him to her chest, and Harry allowed one arm to wrap around her neck as he hugged her back. The other hand remained in Loki’s grasp, with his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand. “Told you they’d love you,” he mouthed over his mother’s shoulder. Harry offered him a lopsided smile, before he pulled away from Frigga and turned back to face Odin.

The man held his own hand out this time, and Harry accepted it immediately. He smiled, half-wary, before letting out a shocked gasp as Odin, instead of simply shaking his hand, used it to pull Harry into a tight, but brief, hug. “Let me look at you, son!”

As Odin looked him over, those sitting close enough did too.

Thor especially paid close attention to the one his brother intended to marry. As children, he and Loki had been very close, they had snuck into each other’s’ bedrooms at night after nightmares or when they were too excited to sleep and held each other or talked softly until they dozed off. They played together, at least until they were old enough to start warrior training and it became clear that while Thor excelled, Loki was very lacking in that area. And then his brother had discovered his magic. He had been a prankster and a manipulator even as a child, but after puberty his magic had hit him hard and he had, in order to compete with Thor, spent all of his time learning in order to excel at that, rather than nothing. They had drifted apart then, Thor realised, though they went on adventures together still, Loki was usually the one attempting to talk them out of it, Thor and his friends. They sat together at night, though not in the year Loki was apparently on Midgard, talking of their future, though usually Thor talked and Loki listened, for he had long ago learnt that his secrets would be used against him, though inadvertently by Thor, rather than intentionally as by everyone else.

One of the only things Loki had ever spoken, really, honestly, of was his desire to marry for love and companionship. He had wanted someone who accepted all parts of himself, every last bit, and didn’t want to change a thing about him. Odin, who wished Loki was more like Thor, Thor, who wished Loki was more adventurous, Frigga, who wished Loki would not get into as much trouble, and then there were those that wished him dead. But Loki wanted someone who wanted him, and him the way he was, no tricks, no lies. Just Loki.

He had promised Thor and himself that he would not settle for less.

Loki appeared, Thor mused, eyeing the short human in interest, to have found that person he had always dreamed of. And it was a pity, Thor thought silently to himself, hoping that Loki had not seen the desire upon his face, for Harry was beautiful and shy and kind hearted and loyal, and he would have made Asgard a wonderful queen.

It was a pity that he could never be Loki’s queen, for Loki could never be king.

Deep down, in the darkest parts of him, where he was selfish and cruel, Thor told himself lies. But they were lies that could be made truth with the right persuasion, with the proper approach, to the right person. From Odin, Thor always got what he wanted one way or another, and what he wanted right now would be unattainable without the help of Odin, for his brother never had liked to give up his possessions without some force. Thor told himself, silently, hopefully, that Harry could be his queen, and not Loki’s.

XXX

December 20th 1999. Asgard.

“I love my brother!” Thor insisted, with his hands clenched angrily at his sides. “But he will ruin that boy. The boy came here to marry a king, to be a king. He did not come here to be my brother’s whore, which is what he will become once Loki realised he does not need to take a spouse and produce an heir. Father, you know this to be true!”

Harry had been on Asgard but a month and Yule was fast approaching on Midgard, and they were yet to be married. Loki spent all of his time with Harry, showing him the sights and introducing him to important people whose presence Loki actually couldn’t stand and Thor continued daily to begin the same argument with his father, over and over again.

“Loki will be outraged! He will be uncontrollable. The chaos he will cause, father, from your slight of him will be unprecedented and Harry will be injured in the crossfire.”

“Harry, is it?” Odin asked softly, the first thing he had said since Thor had burst into his throne room twenty minutes before and begun ranting. “Is this truly about Loki’s wrath affecting Harry, or about Harry affecting you my son?”

Thor stopped speaking mid-word, his mouth snapping shut. A red flush spread across his face, and he turned his face away in equal parts embarrassment and rage. “How dare you insinuate-!”

Odin raised one hand between them, and Thor fell silent immediately. “Loki will understand.”

It was a naive thought, most certainly, but Odin was confident that Harry would help Loki understand. Harry had a power over his youngest son that no one could boast, not even Frigga for all of their closeness and affection for one another. He closed his eyes, calm in the face of Thor’s fury, and thought back to the last day of the first week of Harry’s arrival. Sigyn, who had not been at the banquet that morning, nor any other morning that week, had entered the room to find Loki seated at his mother’s side, and the seat that should have been reserved for her having been taken by a petit dark haired young man. She had demanded he move, arrogant and resolute, and Loki had jeered at her demands, laughed at the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, and leant over to purposely ravish the boy’s mouth, drowning out her shrieks. She had slapped Harry once the kiss was ended, and Loki had turned back to his food, his eyes for once not fixed on the younger man’s person. Her hand connected with Harry’s cheek, open palmed and harder than she would have meant to had she known he was mortal, and made of lesser mettle than Asgardians were. Harry’s head snapped backwards viciously and he seemed to slump bonelessly in his seat.

Thor and Loki both were on their feet in an instant, Thor with his hands on Mjölnir and Loki with a sceptre pointed at Sigyn’s heart. “How dare you strike my Omgás!” Loki’s voice was colder than ice, his eyes narrowed into slits, and he daren’t look down at Harry for fear of seeing the pain on his face or blood or bruises.

“Omgás! Omgás?” Sigyn hissed, obviously not threatened by either of the brothers’ defensive stances. She still believed herself to be engaged to Loki, still believed herself above his form of punishment, and surely Thor would not hurt his brother’s wife-to-be? “More like your Skjøge! I demand you be rid of him, husband!”

Loki laughed, harsh and loud, his head thrown back as he raised his sceptre to prod at the base of her throat. “He is to be my husband and I am to be his. Never yours. You are lucky I did not kill you where you stood the moment you raised your hand to him. If he is injured in any way that is not repairable, nothing will stop me from having your head.” He turned to look down at Harry then, hands shaking as he reached out to brush a dark fringe off of a pale, slack face.

Odin feared for a moment that the boy was dead, his neck broken, but then he took a deep gasp of air and he seemed to spring forward in the chair, hands slapping down hard on the table before him as he coughed harshly. But he could not have been dead, for neither people, nor gods, rose from the dead, Odin knew. He took relief from the fact that Sigyn had not killed this boy, not while Loki was so infatuated with him, and so defensive, and Thor as well, for both of their wraths together would be untameable.

“Loki?”

“Are you injured? I will bring you to the healing room!” Loki reached to pull Harry from the chair. Harry allowed it, rising to his feet but he reached up afterwards, laughing softly, and took hold of both of Loki’s hands.

The resurrection stone burned on his finger and on his forehead the mark of Sowelu grew darker. It was no longer simply an old scar now; instead it was like the marks of the other runes, deep black ink painted into his skin, marking a successful mastering of its powers. Harry grinned widely up at Loki, who reached out to touch the mark with reverence, fingertips cool against heated skin.

“I am fine,” Harry whispered to him, and Loki pulled him tightly into his arms.

Harry stood still, pressed to Loki’s chest, with his face against his neck, muffling a cry as Loki bit down on the mark of Ansuz, as fingers dug into his waist.

“What has you so uptight?” Harry asked as they pulled apart. Loki had stood stiff and unyielding in Harry’s arms and as Harry kissed him, though his grip was possessive and his glances were desperate, there was something that kept him from giving in completely.

Loki glanced along the table, to where Sigyn had shuffled down to sit between two warriors more than double her girth, hiding between them from him, Loki knew.

“She said some things.” Loki said at last. He stood behind Harry’s chair, refusing to take his own and be unable to guard Harry from anyone else who would wish to hurt him.

“Insulting things?” Harry guessed easily, ignoring the stares of curiosity and awe that he was receiving from not only surviving a slap from a god, but for surviving unscathed. There was not a mark on his cheek, nor any bruise or blemish, no blood dripped from his nose, and nothing ached, but within the sleeve of his robe, the tip touching the end of Isa’s mark, the elder wand trembled. “What did she say?”

Loki growled, hands curling like claws over Harry’s shoulders, and he leant over the boy until his chin was upon Harry’s head and he was curled over him completely, protecting him completely. “It does not bear repeating the things she said.”

Harry chuckled warmly at that, reaching up to grab Loki’s hand. He tugged him over to his seat. “If it’s not worth repeating, it’s not worth reacting to. Don’t give her the pleasure.”

Loki allowed himself to slip back into his own chair. He continued to eat calmly, as if nothing had happened, though his left hand remained firmly in the grasp of Harry’s right as they ate, and long after they had left the room together.

“Harry will help Loki understand,” Odin said after a long silence. He believed truly that his son loved this boy, and that they would make each other happy. It was a bonus that it was indeed a boy Loki had chosen, and as such could never conceive for him, for there were enough monsters in the nine realms without his son siring another.

XXX

TBC