Xover: Thor/HP - Berkana 03 - Loki/Harry
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“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.
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Words: 27,261
Chapter 1
April 18th 2001. Midgard.
The year had passed swifter than Harry would have liked. In a month’s time, his son Aric would be one-years-old, and that day would mark the anniversary of the last time he had seen his husband.
He missed Loki fiercely, and Harry didn’t understand why the god hadn’t come to find him, because surely one of the guards had told Thor or Loki or Odin that he had woken up before he disappeared? And what did they think had happened to his body, other than he got up and walked away, if the Asgardians had not been the ones to move him? Harry had purposely not placed himself under the Fidelius Charm, even though that meant that some mornings he woke up to reporters sitting on his doorstep, because it made it easier for Loki to track him. Some nights, he would fall asleep, especially those first few nights at Hogwarts, and he could hear Loki screaming for him, sobbing and wailing, and Harry would scream back but Loki never came for him. Aric would cry too, startled by his mother’s screams, but Loki never came at their son’s yells either. It was a week after the birth that Loki’s shouts became quieter, almost indistinctive, so that Harry barely heard him anymore, and in his sleep he was no longer able to walk into Loki’s dreams the way he had used to after Loki had shown him how.
It was then, when the bond between them was stretch so thin that sometimes it hurt his heart and burned the soul within him, that Harry understood that Loki would have come if he could. Something was keeping him trapped on Asgard or keeping Harry from Loki’s sight. Hurt, and afraid, and lonely, Harry lay curled in his bed holding Aric to his chest and wondered if Loki even knew he was alive, if their son had lived, or if Odin had lied to him about that as he did about Loki’s parentage? For surely if the sorcerer had known their child was half-giant he would have told Harry to spare him the hardships of the pregnancy? A little magic could have made his body sturdier, the pregnancy less painful, and Wizard Space would have given his half-giant son enough room to grow within him without rupturing a different organ of Harry’s every week.
He missed Loki every day, every morning he woke up alone hurt him. He lived in hope for the day that Loki would appear on his doorstep, and Harry could throw his arms around him, hold him tight and never let him go. But though Harry didn’t have Loki, he had their son.
And their son was beautiful. Taller than average, but only by a little bit, a few inches at most. After how hard his pregnancy was, Harry had expected the child to be huge, but Hermione had insisted that most first time parents said the same thing, and the damage done during Harry’s pregnancy was because of the child’s strength and not his height. Loki was shorter than the average giant, after all, just like Hagrid was. Still, he wouldn’t consider having a baby Hagrid’s size, because the man was still larger than Loki, broader and probably a little stronger physically. Babies grew fast though, and his baby was half-human as well so he probably won’t grow to be more than seven foot at the tallest as an adult, which would make him a little taller than Loki, and a hell of a lot taller than Harry.
Aric was long and thin, though he had a little pot belly, that Hermione had also promised was normal and not a result of Harry over feeding him. Puppy fat, she said, he’ll grow out of it. He was blue sometimes, like his father should have been, with deep groves across his face and hands, lines on rock or scars on skin, depending on how you thought about it. The first time since the day of his birth that Aric had turned blue was the day he had been introduced to Ron, who was now Hermione’s fiancé, and George who lived with them, in their own little house because he couldn’t bear to live in the house he used to share with his twin.
George had held him as he changed, hissing slightly from the sudden cold. Ron had screamed, and red eyes gazed curiously up from a blue face for a moment before turning back to the red head man who was running curious fingers through the wisps of Aric’s black hair.
“How did he do that?” George asked, sounding intrigued and excited. Ron looked a little horrified, or perhaps he was fighting the urge to get sick, because all he could think of while looking at the baby’s red eyes was Voldemort and the thought of Voldemort reproducing. Which, admittedly, was a rather sickening thought, Harry agreed later on after Ron had explained why he had reacted like that.
“His father could do it too,” Harry told them, sounding wistful. “I never got to see it though, but he was a Jötun, a Frost Giant, I mean, but he used to glamour himself unconsciously. I’ve seen pictures of adult Jötuns though, while I was living with Loki.”
“What kind of a name is Loki anyway?” Ron mumbled, glancing warily down at the child who had once more turned his skin to peaches and cream.
“Norse trickster god, right?” George asked, “Is he named after him?”
“He is him,” Hermione had told him matter of factly, glancing at Harry when George’s mouth dropped open in shock and only the fact that he was carrying a defenceless, breakable baby stopped him from fainting dead away. After he had gotten over his shock, George had announced that regardless of the fact that Ron had known Harry first and been through more shit with Harry than anyone should ever experience, George was going to be the baby’s godfather.
“Well, he has a trickster for a father,” George had offered, shouting to be heard over Ron’s indignant sputters. “In his father’s absence, Aric needs a trickster for a godfather and who better than me?” They were silent for a second, before George spoke up again. “You’re right, of course. There is no one better than me! Hey baby, guess you’re my godbaby now, huh? So turn blue again for me, cause that was neat!” Aric had cooed at the attention, and his skin had tinged blue and his eyes had turned red, but Loki’s hair, inky black with the barest hint of a wave to it, remained unchanged upon his head.
And that was how Aric got himself a godfather. Of course Hermione was his godmother, because despite how they had grown apart and he hadn’t seen her in a year almost, she had happily welcomed him back into her life and was as willing as ever to help him research and protect his family. But Ron was the child’s uncle, because he was Harry’s brother, despite their fights and the long-distance aspect to their relationship lately, and Bill and Fleur who had their own child by then had welcomed Harry and the baby into their lives with open arms, just as Molly and Arthur had.
No one had seen Charlie for ages, he had been told; the most they got from the eldest Weasley were letters and the occasional gift from Egypt or Brazil, or wherever the hell he was that week.
Percy was back at the Ministry, and back to his old self, tailing the Minister like a shadow and refusing to listen to anyone else’s opinions. Harry thought it best to keep Aric away from Percy until the skin-changing toned itself down, because he had no desire for his son to end up in the Unspeakables’ grasps.
Ginny was the only one who hadn’t taken his return well. Teddy’s death, apparently, had been a good thing in her eyes, because it meant that there was no one tying Harry down, no children who weren’t her own with him to hold Harry’s love and affection, and the loss of the child would mean Harry would want to replace him soon. That wasn’t how it had happened at all, because Aric wasn’t a replacement for Teddy, and Harry loved them both equally, but separately at the same time, because one was there and the other Harry had failed. Ginny had taken his return to mean that Harry was finally ready for children and she had not reacted well to the knowledge that Harry already had had a son with his husband. She had been surprised and angry and offended that he would lie to her and lead her on. His marriage had been public knowledge, and he and Loki had been hand-fasted in the Ministry of Magic and they had even posed outside for photographs for the ‘Daily Prophet’, so Harry wasn’t sure how this could be considered a surprise. His son maybe, but his marriage, no.
Harry had ignored all questions and insults’ relating to him leading her on, because as far as he was concerned, the day she had proposed to him in Diagon Alley and he had rejected her was clearly indicative of the extent of their relationship. Even then, he had been wearing a ring of Loki’s on his wedding finger, a symbol of possession and ownership before marriage had united them, and Loki had held his hand above the table as Ginny screamed at him, making sure the ring was on show.
Harry had been glad after that meeting that it had been held at the Burrow, and not his own home. Ginny didn’t know where he lived, and she hadn’t been let through the wards, so he could sleep easy without threat from her at least.
Hermione had been a great help in reconstructing Godric’s Hollow. She had helped him buy back the deeds to the property, which had automatically transferred to the Ministry after the property had become a national landmark. It was Hermione who had argued that the property had been Harry’s first, and it would have been his parents’ wish for Harry to raise his family there like they had planned to raise him there, rather than to have strangers trespassing when it suited them. After throwing enough money around, and wasn’t that just the way the world worked, Harry had gotten his way. He had his house back, though he didn’t remember a thing of it, aside from the nursery lit up in green like in his nightmares, and the gate that creaked ominously as a disguised Nagini led them passed and into Bathilda Bagshot’s home.
He had put up wards, of course; Bill had helped with those. But he refrained from hiding the property completely. He still lived in hope that one day Loki would stumble across him, or that Odin would tell the truth (for all that his son was meant to be the liesmith, not him, he was awfully good at telling lies). Or, maybe Thor would finally anger his father enough to warrant a temporary banishment, the likes of which Loki had whispered excitedly about in Harry’s ear on days that Thor’s desire for him made his husband angrier than usual, and they had sat and planned exactly how it would happen and how it could be made worse for Thor, because it calmed Loki down. Instead of landing in a desert, as they had planned, Harry imagined Thor landing outside of his front door. Thor would call for Loki, or Heimdallr, and because he wasn’t the one being hidden they would see him, and in turn, they would find Harry and bring him home. Because while Godric’s Hollow was his and Aric’s house now, it wasn’t quite his home without Loki there to complete it.
XXX
Loki might not have been as strong, or as brave, or as bold as his brother, but there was no denying he was smarter. And he was smarter than his not-father too, and for that matter his real father as well. They were so easy to trick and to manipulate and humiliate.
They were, all of them, beneath him, so stupid and sentimental. They had believed him when he had whispered “I forgive you” to Thor, though he would never, could never forgive his not-brother for his part in Harry’s death. He would never forgive his not-father, for Odin would have had to have known Harry would be there that day and Odin could have stopped their fight any time he liked but he’d chosen not to. His not-father had apologized as well; of course he had, and naïvely had murmured he thought Loki would have understood now that he knew of his true parentage why Odin couldn’t allow the child to live. And yes, if Loki had known then that he was Jötun and that Harry had been carrying a Jötun child, he probably would have agreed the pregnancy was too dangerous and despite his own desires would have begged Harry to abort the baby to save his life.
But the fact of the matter was that Loki had been lied to, manipulated, though when he did the same he was looked down upon and sneered at, but Odin did the same and was thought wise. Harry had died from Odin’s manipulations, and from Loki’s foolishness; how foolish he was to have ever believed he belonged there, that he was wanted there or loved. The only one who had ever loved him was Harry, the only one who ever stood up for him or protected him was Harry, and he had killed Harry with his own hands, for wasn’t it him who knocked Thor’s hammer through the air and into his husband’s head?
Thor had not thrown the hammer at Harry. Thor wouldn’t have hurt Harry, for he believed himself in love with Loki’s husband. And he, who really was in love with his husband, had been the one to strike the killing blow. That made him more of a monster than being Jötun ever could, but he lied, and acted more horrified of being Jötun than he should have been (because all he could think of was Harry now, and not of himself), and when Odin cast Thor out, Loki pretended to be upset and outraged. But inside he was laughing.
“Not worthy,” his not-father had said. “You are not worthy of your name, not worthy of your powers, not worthy of the friends you have betrayed and endangered,” Odin had angrily told him, summoning Mjölnir to his own hand, before stripping Thor of his powers and sending him to earth.
Loki watched his not-brother fall. He watched with wide green eyes, excited and justified and vindicated because Thor was finally being punished for his part in Harry’s death, even if he didn’t know it, even though he thought this was Odin’s idea, punishment for starting a war with Jötunheimr. But it wasn’t. This had been Loki’s idea, the payoff of over a year’s worth of scheming and planning, of biding his time and pretending to forgive his not-family, of pretending to get over Harry, to pay attention to Sigyn the way Odin wanted him to. Thor was finally being made to suffer, the way Loki suffered every moment of every day without Harry by his side.
Soon Odin would suffer too, he would pay his own penance, and so would Laufey. One father who hadn’t wanted him and another who had wanted him to be someone else. One he could not please and one who hadn’t given him the chance. But both would pay, both would die at his hands one way or the other, and when he was finished, when all of his plans had come to fruition, he would be the true leader of Asgard and Odin would be in his debt, at his mercy. And Loki would show him none.
Odin mumbled to himself, his hands shaking at his sides, and Mjölnir thrown to earth. “You were not worthy,” he said softly, before turning to gaze at his youngest son, unaware of the tortures Loki acted out upon him within his mind.
Loki listened to his not-father. He tried to plead with him, beg him to change his mind and let Thor come home, but inside of his head he agreed with his father. But rather than care about the name Odinson, or about Fandral or Volstagg or Hogun, he thought to himself, “you are not worthy of Harry.”
But if he was basing that conclusion upon the fact that Thor had hurt Harry, then, neither was he.
XXX
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Loki reflected. He had killed Laufey, in front of his mother, publically saving Odin’s life. He had even announced his allegiances for all to hear: “And you were killed by the son of Odin!”
The son of Odin, Loki thought with a half-smile, keeping a white knuckled grip on the handle of his sceptre. Thor held the other end, and Odin had grabbed onto Thor and was attempting to pull them both up, back onto the ruined bifrost, together.
“Hold on, brother!” Thor cried down at him.
And wasn’t that the kicker. Even though Loki had banished him, even though Loki had sent the destroyer to kill him, and Loki had threatened this new mortal whom Thor believed himself in love with, Thor was still trying to save him.
Thor rescued him, that was what Thor did, but never once had he stepped in to prevent a punishment or such a situation, never once had Thor defended him as Harry had done before Odin. Yet, he had gone against Odin’s orders, his banishment, and against Loki’s orders, Loki who had been his king for a time, and Thor still came out of it golden, while Loki hung above an abyss, tarnished and broken and so very lonely. And Odin was still disappointed in him, though he owed Loki his life now. But what did that matter in the scheme of things? For Thor had ruined his scheme, had come back from Midgard where he should have stayed gone forever, and ruined everything.
Laufey was dead.
Jötunheimr should have followed, but Thor had stopped him, pinned him to the bifrost with his hammer and then destroyed the bridge. Without the bridge Thor could never go to Midgard, never see Jane again, but he had done it anyway, limited himself to save a race of monsters. And was Loki not proof enough that they were monsters? Look at all he had done, of all the harm he had caused, and know that even the Jötuns didn’t want him.
And Odin didn’t want him either, so Loki could not stay upon Asgard. Thor could not travel without the bifrost, but Loki could, Loki had mastered the shadow ways. But he had nowhere to go, no one he wanted to go to.
And then Odin spoke, one last ditch effort to draw his youngest son back from the brink of insanity. “Harry is alive.”
For one precious moment the worlds, all nine of them, stopped spinning. Loki’s breath caught in his chest, his heart sputtered to a stop before beginning anew, beating faster than before. He was about to scream at them, to demand they stop lying to him, but the look upon Thor’s face was one of shock and hope, pure and un-faked. Though Odin would lie to him, he would never have led Thor on in such a matter, nor have raised his hopes so high with a lie for he could never bring himself to dash them after.
“He’s alive?” Thor breathed, stunned. Loki had opened his mouth to ask the same, but his breath caught, and his mind wouldn’t let him speak, wouldn’t let him hope, for he had done nothing in his life to deserve such a miracle.
“He survived Mjölnir. I hid him from you both. It was my manipulations that caused that boy to almost loose his life, and I felt that while you were both fighting over him it was unfair to have him caught between you both, his life at risk. I felt as if I owed him, so I hid him from sight. He’ll be able to live out the rest of his life in peace and safety.” Odin pulled again, and Thor was raised up high enough to grab onto the edge of the bridge with one hand. The other hand continued to hold onto the sceptre that kept Loki from falling. “Loki, please?” Odin whispered, leaning down over the edge of the bridge and holding a hand out to Loki. Now that Thor had a grip for himself, he could pull himself up, but not until he had the use of both hands. “Swing towards me, my son. We can put all of this behind us. We can be happy again.”
“I was happy,” Loki whispered back. He looked up with wet green eyes. The sight of them made Odin think of a different set of eyes just as green, and he just knew without Loki having to say another word what the younger man was planning to do.
“NO!” Odin and Thor screamed together, both of their cries echoing down the bifrost and into Asgard.
And Loki fell.
XXX
May 20th 2001. Midgard.
When Loki had fallen, he had thought of Harry: Harry’s laugh, Harry’s smile, Harry’s child who had died within him (for Odin had not mentioned the child surviving). Thoughts of Harry kept him sane, kept him alive, with nothing else but darkness to surround himself with. He fell through nothing, then through cold, and heat, and fog, he fell through silence so loud it made Loki scream, and sounds so wretched he sobbed for the silence back, and then he fell through trees, hitting every other branch on his way down. Loki landed with a groan, his back aching from the fall and his chest bruised from having Mjölnir lie upon it. He stood stiffly, carefully pulling himself to his feet using the trunk of the tree for help.
Around him were trees, just a small grove of them, but tall and wide and full of green leaves and life. He didn’t know why he had fallen here, but Loki figured he might as well take a look around. He could move on again later, travel from world to world until he found where Odin had hidden Harry away from him, he would look forever if he had to, and without the bifrost there was nothing Odin could do to stop him. Loki had chosen to fall, had chosen to take the risk of dying for it meant that he would not have to go back into Asgard, cowed by Odin and Thor, his not-family, the ones who had taken Harry from him in the first place. If he had died, he had died and Harry wouldn’t have known any differently. But if he had stayed and Odin had managed to find a way to keep him trapped, Loki wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself for another foolish mistake.
He lost himself in thought, moving through the trees until he came to a small cemetery. It was as he drifted through the clearing, passed stones and monuments and memories of those long gone, that he spotted a name from the corner of his eyes that had him gasping. The stone read: Lily and James Potter.
Loki glanced around, at the stones beside this one, and behind and in front, until eventually he had read the names on every single marker in the cemetery. But none were Harry’s final resting place, though this one was the place of his parents’.
Loki was cloaked, like he always was when he travelled without the use of the bifrost. Odin could not see him, just like Loki had not been able to see Harry whenever he searched for his husband in those first few days before being told of his death. But perhaps Odin had bared Harry to his sight once more, and that was why Loki had landed here of all places? Did Harry live nearby? Did Harry visit here sometimes?
He made his way through the kissing gate and out of the cemetery. There were a line of neat looking houses before him, and a pub at the very end of the cobbled street. It was all so quaint looking, nothing like the house on Grimmauld Place, nothing like Loki’s Asgardian palace, but there was something very welcoming about one house in particular, and Loki found his feet bringing him to stand before the garden gate without his having to think about it. A banner was tied across the gate and it read, happy first birthday. Noises from inside drifted out, singing and laughing, and Loki could make out the name Aric used in the middle of the song.
Everything within him, every part of his being that made him who he was, willed him to enter the house. He needed to be inside. He needed to be a part of whatever was happening in there, just as he knew he belonged here. But he hadn’t been invited and Loki doubted the party goers would welcome a strange man crashing into their home. He turned to go, stopping to cast his eyes upon the golden statue of two adults and their baby. He read the plaque dedicated to Harry Potter who had saved them all, and he read the messages people had left to the boy-hero. With a flourish of his wrist, Loki added his own message. A simple ‘I love you’, in cursive script, right at the very bottom of the statue so that everyone, big or small, would be able to read it and trace the words with one finger as Loki did then.
“I love you too,” a voice whispered from behind him.
Loki turned slowly, with his eyes tightly closed because while they were closed he could listen to the voice and pretend that it was Harry standing there. With his eyes closed, he wouldn’t have to see the truth, and he could believe his own lie, because surely it couldn’t have been that easy to find his husband? He had only been on Midgard fifteen minutes at most!
“Loki?”
Harry had been in the kitchen, along with all of Aric’s guests singing along to ‘happy birthday to you’, when his wards had flared. There was someone his wards didn’t recognize at his front gate, which is as far as anyone could come without having been invited through the wards before. Harry had wondered if maybe someone was late, or someone he hadn’t invited had been thoughtful enough to buy his son a gift anyway, but there wasn’t anyone he could think of off the top of his head. So he had gone to look. Loki had been walking away from the house, his shoulders slumped, and his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck, with pale hands clenching at his sides half-hidden by the sleeves of his Asgardian robes. Without having to see his face, Harry knew that that man could be no one other than his husband, and he had followed him outside unhesitantly, his feet in only socks because he hadn’t wanted to waste time finding shoes just in case Loki disappeared again.
“Are you real?” Loki asked, with his eyes still closed.
Harry leant against him, his hands on Loki’s shoulders, pulling the man down slightly so that they were almost the same height. “You tell me,” he murmured against the sorcerer’s lips, before their mouths met. At the first taste of him, something so familiar and right that Loki knew without a doubt who was within his arms, the elder man’s arms came up to grab Harry’s waist, drawing him even closer, squeezing the boy tight against his chest. Their legs were pressed together, one of Harry’s slotting between Loki’s own, and Harry’s hands came up to play with the god’s hair and ears.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Loki moaned against Harry’s mouth.
“We’ve missed you too.”
They kissed again, holding on tightly to one another, and Loki never considered who ‘we’ might have been, not once. All he could think about was Harry, who was back where he belonged at last, within the circle of Loki’s arms, pressed against his chest, panting softly into his mouth, and mewling those delicious sounding noises that he had missed so much, intermittent with “I love you, I love you.”
After they had managed to separate themselves, and their hands and their mouths, Harry led Loki back towards his house. Loki followed Harry through the garden gate, running his fingers wistfully over the birthday banner for a baby that wasn’t his, and then through the wards, that let him enter inside as willingly as Harry’s body always had.
“Who is the birthday child?” Loki asked, glancing around the walls from pictures of Harry in school uniform with his friends, to Harry as a baby with his parents, to him, Harry and Teddy from what seemed like eons ago, and then to new photos he had never seen before, of a blue skinned child held between Harry and a laughing red headed man with one ear. His hand was upon the picture before Harry could respond, and he stroked his fingers down a blue cheek as the child in the photo laughed at him with wide green eyes.
“Aric’s. He’s one today.” Harry held out a hand and Loki took it willingly. He cast another look back at the photo, feeling horribly jealous of the redhead whose arm was around Harry’s shoulders and whose child was in Harry’s arms, though he wondered how and why they had turned the baby’s skin blue.
The same redhead was at the head of a small table when Loki entered the kitchen. The baby from the photo was in his arms again, but at the sight of Harry the child began to wriggle and George placed the boy gently on the floor. Harry crouched down, crawling awkwardly so that he was a little closer to the child, and held his arms out. With what appeared to be an intense amount of concentration and effort, the baby pulled himself to his feet and waddled unsteadily to where his mother waited to catch him. Harry scooped him up, proudly exclaiming how clever he was, how brilliant, how well he had done to move six inches across the floor all on his own and Loki watched it all in awe.
“Hello,” he murmured to the child who gazed up at him over Harry’s shoulders. “Whose is he?” Loki asked softly. The child couldn’t be his, for his son had died within Harry, and yet there was so much about this boy that reminded Loki of every dream his son had featured in from the moment he had first learnt Harry was pregnant. He was envious, but he was not angry. He had been away for a year, and Harry was entitled to move on, but to have a child so old, so soon?
“Where would I have gotten a year-old baby, Loki, if not from you?” Harry asked him in return, standing up and offering him a look that spoke of how stupid that question had been.
“My son died.”
“Oh,” Harry murmured, suddenly understanding. George ushered everyone out of the kitchen then, and Harry ignored them all as he kept his gaze focused on Loki. “No, no he didn’t. He’s here, alive and safe, and I’m here and we’re all together now. Everything is ok, Loki. It’s why I left Asgard. I needed to get the baby out of me to keep him alive and my healer was the only one I trusted to do that.”
Loki’s eyes had shut again, and he took two deep breathes before he opened them again. Red eyes peered back at him out of a blue face. The god startled, not having expected that despite seeing the photo of a blue child hanging in the hallway. Loki’s fingers moved to trace the marks of Jötunheimr and Laufey that decorated the baby’s forehead and the lines across his cheeks and hands. “He is my son?” The god asked, hardly daring to hope.
“Loki Odinson, meet Aric Frey Potter.7 Aric, baby, this is your father. How do we greet people we love?” The child gave a laugh, his mouth smiling widely, before he pressed his palm against it and then held the hand out giggling. “You’re supposed to blow him a kiss back now.”
Loki leant down, both hands upon his son’s face, and pressed his mouth gently to the top of Aric’s head. “I love you,” he whispered to his son. The baby blew him another kiss, his skin turning the colour of cream again, and his eyes going green. Harry let Loki hold him, smiling softly as the man first appeared terrified and unsure for a moment before carefully gathering his son to his chest and holding him securely in place, his head beneath Loki’s chin. The man kept tilting his head down; to press kisses to Aric’s hair. Harry left him to it to go in search of his missing guests.
The party picked up where it had been interrupted, and Loki joined in with wishing his son a happy birthday as Harry helped Aric blow out the one candle upon his cake. When everyone had left, and Aric was sleeping peacefully under the watch of Kreacher, his very devoted house elf, Loki moved behind Harry to pull the boy against his chest and keep both hands on his flat stomach.
“I missed so much.” He thought of the birth, as horrible as it must have been, and how he hadn’t been there to comfort Harry or his son. He thought of first smiles and first steps and first words, and then of all the firsts to come that he would be there for yet. He sighed happily into Harry’s hair, before leaning down to bite lightly over the mark of Ansuz upon his throat.
“You’ll be there for it all the next time,” Harry promised him softly. “And the time after that.” Loki looked confused, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to meet his husband’s eyes. “I believe you told me you wanted many, many children, did you not?”
“I am a frost giant. My children will kill you, Harry. You were incredibly lucky to survive one labour, let alone several. There will be no more children of my seed.” It hurt him to say it, because he had wanted many children by his Omgás, and he had looked forward to loving each and every one and being loved in return. But his husband’s life was more important than his own wants and desires, and regardless, Loki wanted Harry alive more than anything else in the world.
“Silly god,” Harry said fondly. “If I had known you were a frost giant, I could have done something about the pain. Neat little spell to create Wizard Space, have you ever heard of it? It makes the inside of a small object so much bigger than it appears. All of our other children will have plenty of space to grow without injuring me in the process, I promise you.”
Loki had heard of the spell. Harry had told him of Wizarding tents that looked like houses on the inside and his friend’s father’s flying car that could fit eight people inside at one time with room to spare. His hand caressed Harry’s stomach lightly, fingers ghosting over Nauthiz, whose magic had kept their child alive until he could be born, before moving to his side to press against Hagalaz. He whispered against Ansuz, voice full of longing and promise, “then I want many, many more.”
Harry turned in his arms, eyes heavy lidded as he bit lightly at his bottom lip. Loki felt fire in his crotch, his blood burned within him, and he was hard at that very first look Harry sent him. He reached out for Harry, trying to capture his mouth, but the boy dodged out of the way then held his hand out in invitation.
“What do you say we start right away?”
“Now?” Loki questioned, glancing around the house. It was big enough for another few children, and it could always be extended, but it was already home to one child he did not know yet and a husband he had missed so much of. “But I have only arrived. Surely you want to wait a while, to come to know each other again?”
“I know you. I love you. I’ve waited a year for you, Loki. Can you think of any other reason to wait?”
“I cannot,” he admitted with a small smile, his voice low and raspy. He was aroused, Harry realised, recognizing the sound of Loki’s voice once he was overcome with desire.
Loki took Harry’s offered hand, following him in silent anticipation to his bedroom, their bedroom now. They undressed in silence, bar for muffled moans of desire that escaped their lips unchecked. They came to each other in a dizzying blur of passion and desperation. Harry clung to Loki’s shoulders, his legs up around Loki’s waist as the man moved inside of him, hunched down over Harry so that he could kiss all of the skin within reach. They rocked together, affirming their bond and their love, and with every thrust Harry cried out for more, and harder, and faster, and Loki gave him everything he asked for with pleasure. Harry came into his own hand first, from the press of Loki’s cock against his prostate and Loki’s teeth against Ansuz. When Loki came within him, something burned upon his back. It was an ‘X’, though one of its legs was wavy instead of straight, and it marked his skin upon the base of his back, dipping between the cheeks of his arse to where Loki had joined to him. Gebo, the rune of uniting and merging. Loki traced his fingers over it reverently, once he had separated their bodies and cleaned up the mess.
“It is a sign,” Loki murmured softly, holding Harry against his chest. “Frigga smiles upon our union.”
“Does that mean we’re married now by Asgardian standards as well?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. Frigga presided over all marriages on Asgard, she blessed them with prosperity and happiness and fertility, and while Harry hadn’t had need of her blessing before now, it wasn’t something he’d throw back in her face either. She had seemed like a nice woman, if a little soft in allowing her husband to make all of her decisions for her.
“Yes,” Loki told him happily.
“Suppose we’ll have to change Aric’s surname to ‘Lokison’ now.”
“You would do that?” The pale god seemed so surprised, and a flush rose up to his cheeks as Harry laughed at him.
“We generally pass down the parent’s surname on earth, but well, he’s your son too. And if he’s welcome in Asgard, then he should have a traditional Asgardian surname. If you want, that is.”
“Yes. Please.” They came together a second time then, celebrating their union under Frigga with a union of their own; of bodies, sweat and seed. After they had climaxed in each other’s arms once more, Loki sweating and Harry hoarse from screaming, the Asgardian drew his husband close to his side, his hand instinctively tracing over the flat stomach in hope. “I suppose,” he murmured once he was able to breathe easily again, “I should be thankful to Thor for ruining my plans. If he had not destroyed the bifrost, I would not have fallen. I would not be here.”
Harry smiled softly. He thought about how he had imagined Thor being banished and landing on his doorstep and how great he had thought it would be, because Thor would have gotten Loki for him somehow. But this? Having Loki fall into his arms instead, landing practically on his doorstep, on today of all days, it was better than any of his dreams or fantasies, it was more than Harry could have dared to hope for. Thor had been a little creepy and a lot overzealous, but he was a good man who had meant well for the most part, at least where Harry was concerned. Harry didn’t like how Thor thought he could take what belonged to Loki, nor how uncaring he had been of Loki’s pain at Thor’s attraction to Harry, but despite that, it had been Thor’s actions which had led them here. So yes, Harry supposed, they owed Thor a lot.
Not that Loki would ever let Thor know, of course. He was still angry at his not-brother, and his not-father, and their lies and their plots and the pain they had caused him, but in time he would understand. Harry would help him understand why it had all been necessary, and how everything that had happened to him, to them, had made them who they are today. And what they were ‘today’ was together and happy and in love.
Five weeks later, Harry fell pregnant.
It would be another boy. Together Harry and Loki had decided to name him Thorer Annar,8 after Thor, whose actions had unintentionally led them back to one another. Back home.
The End
* * *
I’m going with the original view that Loki had green eyes, rather than the movie, where Tom Hiddleston (though gorgeous and amazing) has blue eyes.
1 - Magiker: meaning Magician in Norwegian.
2 - Veiviser: meaning Wizard in Norwegian.
3 - Omgás: meaning Consort, etc.
4 - Skjøge: meaning whore.
5 - I kept writing Midgar… Final Fantasy crossovers, anyone?
6 - I was informed that babies could survive between five to fifteen minutes in the womb before suffocating if the mother has died once they’ve reached the stage that they could survive independently of the womb as well.
7 - Aric: eternal ruler. Frey: Lord/one who is foremost.
8 - Thorer: Thor’s Warrior. Annar: the second. All of them are Norse names for boys.
* * *
That turned out to be a lot longer than I had originally anticipated, this time last year, when I thought of the idea after watching “Thor” in the cinema twice! But I enjoyed it, and I hope you all will too. Please let me know what you think, or leave a smiley face and I’ll pass them onto Loki… and then get to work on my Avengers crossover!
“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
April 18th 2001. Midgard.
The year had passed swifter than Harry would have liked. In a month’s time, his son Aric would be one-years-old, and that day would mark the anniversary of the last time he had seen his husband.
He missed Loki fiercely, and Harry didn’t understand why the god hadn’t come to find him, because surely one of the guards had told Thor or Loki or Odin that he had woken up before he disappeared? And what did they think had happened to his body, other than he got up and walked away, if the Asgardians had not been the ones to move him? Harry had purposely not placed himself under the Fidelius Charm, even though that meant that some mornings he woke up to reporters sitting on his doorstep, because it made it easier for Loki to track him. Some nights, he would fall asleep, especially those first few nights at Hogwarts, and he could hear Loki screaming for him, sobbing and wailing, and Harry would scream back but Loki never came for him. Aric would cry too, startled by his mother’s screams, but Loki never came at their son’s yells either. It was a week after the birth that Loki’s shouts became quieter, almost indistinctive, so that Harry barely heard him anymore, and in his sleep he was no longer able to walk into Loki’s dreams the way he had used to after Loki had shown him how.
It was then, when the bond between them was stretch so thin that sometimes it hurt his heart and burned the soul within him, that Harry understood that Loki would have come if he could. Something was keeping him trapped on Asgard or keeping Harry from Loki’s sight. Hurt, and afraid, and lonely, Harry lay curled in his bed holding Aric to his chest and wondered if Loki even knew he was alive, if their son had lived, or if Odin had lied to him about that as he did about Loki’s parentage? For surely if the sorcerer had known their child was half-giant he would have told Harry to spare him the hardships of the pregnancy? A little magic could have made his body sturdier, the pregnancy less painful, and Wizard Space would have given his half-giant son enough room to grow within him without rupturing a different organ of Harry’s every week.
He missed Loki every day, every morning he woke up alone hurt him. He lived in hope for the day that Loki would appear on his doorstep, and Harry could throw his arms around him, hold him tight and never let him go. But though Harry didn’t have Loki, he had their son.
And their son was beautiful. Taller than average, but only by a little bit, a few inches at most. After how hard his pregnancy was, Harry had expected the child to be huge, but Hermione had insisted that most first time parents said the same thing, and the damage done during Harry’s pregnancy was because of the child’s strength and not his height. Loki was shorter than the average giant, after all, just like Hagrid was. Still, he wouldn’t consider having a baby Hagrid’s size, because the man was still larger than Loki, broader and probably a little stronger physically. Babies grew fast though, and his baby was half-human as well so he probably won’t grow to be more than seven foot at the tallest as an adult, which would make him a little taller than Loki, and a hell of a lot taller than Harry.
Aric was long and thin, though he had a little pot belly, that Hermione had also promised was normal and not a result of Harry over feeding him. Puppy fat, she said, he’ll grow out of it. He was blue sometimes, like his father should have been, with deep groves across his face and hands, lines on rock or scars on skin, depending on how you thought about it. The first time since the day of his birth that Aric had turned blue was the day he had been introduced to Ron, who was now Hermione’s fiancé, and George who lived with them, in their own little house because he couldn’t bear to live in the house he used to share with his twin.
George had held him as he changed, hissing slightly from the sudden cold. Ron had screamed, and red eyes gazed curiously up from a blue face for a moment before turning back to the red head man who was running curious fingers through the wisps of Aric’s black hair.
“How did he do that?” George asked, sounding intrigued and excited. Ron looked a little horrified, or perhaps he was fighting the urge to get sick, because all he could think of while looking at the baby’s red eyes was Voldemort and the thought of Voldemort reproducing. Which, admittedly, was a rather sickening thought, Harry agreed later on after Ron had explained why he had reacted like that.
“His father could do it too,” Harry told them, sounding wistful. “I never got to see it though, but he was a Jötun, a Frost Giant, I mean, but he used to glamour himself unconsciously. I’ve seen pictures of adult Jötuns though, while I was living with Loki.”
“What kind of a name is Loki anyway?” Ron mumbled, glancing warily down at the child who had once more turned his skin to peaches and cream.
“Norse trickster god, right?” George asked, “Is he named after him?”
“He is him,” Hermione had told him matter of factly, glancing at Harry when George’s mouth dropped open in shock and only the fact that he was carrying a defenceless, breakable baby stopped him from fainting dead away. After he had gotten over his shock, George had announced that regardless of the fact that Ron had known Harry first and been through more shit with Harry than anyone should ever experience, George was going to be the baby’s godfather.
“Well, he has a trickster for a father,” George had offered, shouting to be heard over Ron’s indignant sputters. “In his father’s absence, Aric needs a trickster for a godfather and who better than me?” They were silent for a second, before George spoke up again. “You’re right, of course. There is no one better than me! Hey baby, guess you’re my godbaby now, huh? So turn blue again for me, cause that was neat!” Aric had cooed at the attention, and his skin had tinged blue and his eyes had turned red, but Loki’s hair, inky black with the barest hint of a wave to it, remained unchanged upon his head.
And that was how Aric got himself a godfather. Of course Hermione was his godmother, because despite how they had grown apart and he hadn’t seen her in a year almost, she had happily welcomed him back into her life and was as willing as ever to help him research and protect his family. But Ron was the child’s uncle, because he was Harry’s brother, despite their fights and the long-distance aspect to their relationship lately, and Bill and Fleur who had their own child by then had welcomed Harry and the baby into their lives with open arms, just as Molly and Arthur had.
No one had seen Charlie for ages, he had been told; the most they got from the eldest Weasley were letters and the occasional gift from Egypt or Brazil, or wherever the hell he was that week.
Percy was back at the Ministry, and back to his old self, tailing the Minister like a shadow and refusing to listen to anyone else’s opinions. Harry thought it best to keep Aric away from Percy until the skin-changing toned itself down, because he had no desire for his son to end up in the Unspeakables’ grasps.
Ginny was the only one who hadn’t taken his return well. Teddy’s death, apparently, had been a good thing in her eyes, because it meant that there was no one tying Harry down, no children who weren’t her own with him to hold Harry’s love and affection, and the loss of the child would mean Harry would want to replace him soon. That wasn’t how it had happened at all, because Aric wasn’t a replacement for Teddy, and Harry loved them both equally, but separately at the same time, because one was there and the other Harry had failed. Ginny had taken his return to mean that Harry was finally ready for children and she had not reacted well to the knowledge that Harry already had had a son with his husband. She had been surprised and angry and offended that he would lie to her and lead her on. His marriage had been public knowledge, and he and Loki had been hand-fasted in the Ministry of Magic and they had even posed outside for photographs for the ‘Daily Prophet’, so Harry wasn’t sure how this could be considered a surprise. His son maybe, but his marriage, no.
Harry had ignored all questions and insults’ relating to him leading her on, because as far as he was concerned, the day she had proposed to him in Diagon Alley and he had rejected her was clearly indicative of the extent of their relationship. Even then, he had been wearing a ring of Loki’s on his wedding finger, a symbol of possession and ownership before marriage had united them, and Loki had held his hand above the table as Ginny screamed at him, making sure the ring was on show.
Harry had been glad after that meeting that it had been held at the Burrow, and not his own home. Ginny didn’t know where he lived, and she hadn’t been let through the wards, so he could sleep easy without threat from her at least.
Hermione had been a great help in reconstructing Godric’s Hollow. She had helped him buy back the deeds to the property, which had automatically transferred to the Ministry after the property had become a national landmark. It was Hermione who had argued that the property had been Harry’s first, and it would have been his parents’ wish for Harry to raise his family there like they had planned to raise him there, rather than to have strangers trespassing when it suited them. After throwing enough money around, and wasn’t that just the way the world worked, Harry had gotten his way. He had his house back, though he didn’t remember a thing of it, aside from the nursery lit up in green like in his nightmares, and the gate that creaked ominously as a disguised Nagini led them passed and into Bathilda Bagshot’s home.
He had put up wards, of course; Bill had helped with those. But he refrained from hiding the property completely. He still lived in hope that one day Loki would stumble across him, or that Odin would tell the truth (for all that his son was meant to be the liesmith, not him, he was awfully good at telling lies). Or, maybe Thor would finally anger his father enough to warrant a temporary banishment, the likes of which Loki had whispered excitedly about in Harry’s ear on days that Thor’s desire for him made his husband angrier than usual, and they had sat and planned exactly how it would happen and how it could be made worse for Thor, because it calmed Loki down. Instead of landing in a desert, as they had planned, Harry imagined Thor landing outside of his front door. Thor would call for Loki, or Heimdallr, and because he wasn’t the one being hidden they would see him, and in turn, they would find Harry and bring him home. Because while Godric’s Hollow was his and Aric’s house now, it wasn’t quite his home without Loki there to complete it.
XXX
Loki might not have been as strong, or as brave, or as bold as his brother, but there was no denying he was smarter. And he was smarter than his not-father too, and for that matter his real father as well. They were so easy to trick and to manipulate and humiliate.
They were, all of them, beneath him, so stupid and sentimental. They had believed him when he had whispered “I forgive you” to Thor, though he would never, could never forgive his not-brother for his part in Harry’s death. He would never forgive his not-father, for Odin would have had to have known Harry would be there that day and Odin could have stopped their fight any time he liked but he’d chosen not to. His not-father had apologized as well; of course he had, and naïvely had murmured he thought Loki would have understood now that he knew of his true parentage why Odin couldn’t allow the child to live. And yes, if Loki had known then that he was Jötun and that Harry had been carrying a Jötun child, he probably would have agreed the pregnancy was too dangerous and despite his own desires would have begged Harry to abort the baby to save his life.
But the fact of the matter was that Loki had been lied to, manipulated, though when he did the same he was looked down upon and sneered at, but Odin did the same and was thought wise. Harry had died from Odin’s manipulations, and from Loki’s foolishness; how foolish he was to have ever believed he belonged there, that he was wanted there or loved. The only one who had ever loved him was Harry, the only one who ever stood up for him or protected him was Harry, and he had killed Harry with his own hands, for wasn’t it him who knocked Thor’s hammer through the air and into his husband’s head?
Thor had not thrown the hammer at Harry. Thor wouldn’t have hurt Harry, for he believed himself in love with Loki’s husband. And he, who really was in love with his husband, had been the one to strike the killing blow. That made him more of a monster than being Jötun ever could, but he lied, and acted more horrified of being Jötun than he should have been (because all he could think of was Harry now, and not of himself), and when Odin cast Thor out, Loki pretended to be upset and outraged. But inside he was laughing.
“Not worthy,” his not-father had said. “You are not worthy of your name, not worthy of your powers, not worthy of the friends you have betrayed and endangered,” Odin had angrily told him, summoning Mjölnir to his own hand, before stripping Thor of his powers and sending him to earth.
Loki watched his not-brother fall. He watched with wide green eyes, excited and justified and vindicated because Thor was finally being punished for his part in Harry’s death, even if he didn’t know it, even though he thought this was Odin’s idea, punishment for starting a war with Jötunheimr. But it wasn’t. This had been Loki’s idea, the payoff of over a year’s worth of scheming and planning, of biding his time and pretending to forgive his not-family, of pretending to get over Harry, to pay attention to Sigyn the way Odin wanted him to. Thor was finally being made to suffer, the way Loki suffered every moment of every day without Harry by his side.
Soon Odin would suffer too, he would pay his own penance, and so would Laufey. One father who hadn’t wanted him and another who had wanted him to be someone else. One he could not please and one who hadn’t given him the chance. But both would pay, both would die at his hands one way or the other, and when he was finished, when all of his plans had come to fruition, he would be the true leader of Asgard and Odin would be in his debt, at his mercy. And Loki would show him none.
Odin mumbled to himself, his hands shaking at his sides, and Mjölnir thrown to earth. “You were not worthy,” he said softly, before turning to gaze at his youngest son, unaware of the tortures Loki acted out upon him within his mind.
Loki listened to his not-father. He tried to plead with him, beg him to change his mind and let Thor come home, but inside of his head he agreed with his father. But rather than care about the name Odinson, or about Fandral or Volstagg or Hogun, he thought to himself, “you are not worthy of Harry.”
But if he was basing that conclusion upon the fact that Thor had hurt Harry, then, neither was he.
XXX
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Loki reflected. He had killed Laufey, in front of his mother, publically saving Odin’s life. He had even announced his allegiances for all to hear: “And you were killed by the son of Odin!”
The son of Odin, Loki thought with a half-smile, keeping a white knuckled grip on the handle of his sceptre. Thor held the other end, and Odin had grabbed onto Thor and was attempting to pull them both up, back onto the ruined bifrost, together.
“Hold on, brother!” Thor cried down at him.
And wasn’t that the kicker. Even though Loki had banished him, even though Loki had sent the destroyer to kill him, and Loki had threatened this new mortal whom Thor believed himself in love with, Thor was still trying to save him.
Thor rescued him, that was what Thor did, but never once had he stepped in to prevent a punishment or such a situation, never once had Thor defended him as Harry had done before Odin. Yet, he had gone against Odin’s orders, his banishment, and against Loki’s orders, Loki who had been his king for a time, and Thor still came out of it golden, while Loki hung above an abyss, tarnished and broken and so very lonely. And Odin was still disappointed in him, though he owed Loki his life now. But what did that matter in the scheme of things? For Thor had ruined his scheme, had come back from Midgard where he should have stayed gone forever, and ruined everything.
Laufey was dead.
Jötunheimr should have followed, but Thor had stopped him, pinned him to the bifrost with his hammer and then destroyed the bridge. Without the bridge Thor could never go to Midgard, never see Jane again, but he had done it anyway, limited himself to save a race of monsters. And was Loki not proof enough that they were monsters? Look at all he had done, of all the harm he had caused, and know that even the Jötuns didn’t want him.
And Odin didn’t want him either, so Loki could not stay upon Asgard. Thor could not travel without the bifrost, but Loki could, Loki had mastered the shadow ways. But he had nowhere to go, no one he wanted to go to.
And then Odin spoke, one last ditch effort to draw his youngest son back from the brink of insanity. “Harry is alive.”
For one precious moment the worlds, all nine of them, stopped spinning. Loki’s breath caught in his chest, his heart sputtered to a stop before beginning anew, beating faster than before. He was about to scream at them, to demand they stop lying to him, but the look upon Thor’s face was one of shock and hope, pure and un-faked. Though Odin would lie to him, he would never have led Thor on in such a matter, nor have raised his hopes so high with a lie for he could never bring himself to dash them after.
“He’s alive?” Thor breathed, stunned. Loki had opened his mouth to ask the same, but his breath caught, and his mind wouldn’t let him speak, wouldn’t let him hope, for he had done nothing in his life to deserve such a miracle.
“He survived Mjölnir. I hid him from you both. It was my manipulations that caused that boy to almost loose his life, and I felt that while you were both fighting over him it was unfair to have him caught between you both, his life at risk. I felt as if I owed him, so I hid him from sight. He’ll be able to live out the rest of his life in peace and safety.” Odin pulled again, and Thor was raised up high enough to grab onto the edge of the bridge with one hand. The other hand continued to hold onto the sceptre that kept Loki from falling. “Loki, please?” Odin whispered, leaning down over the edge of the bridge and holding a hand out to Loki. Now that Thor had a grip for himself, he could pull himself up, but not until he had the use of both hands. “Swing towards me, my son. We can put all of this behind us. We can be happy again.”
“I was happy,” Loki whispered back. He looked up with wet green eyes. The sight of them made Odin think of a different set of eyes just as green, and he just knew without Loki having to say another word what the younger man was planning to do.
“NO!” Odin and Thor screamed together, both of their cries echoing down the bifrost and into Asgard.
And Loki fell.
XXX
May 20th 2001. Midgard.
When Loki had fallen, he had thought of Harry: Harry’s laugh, Harry’s smile, Harry’s child who had died within him (for Odin had not mentioned the child surviving). Thoughts of Harry kept him sane, kept him alive, with nothing else but darkness to surround himself with. He fell through nothing, then through cold, and heat, and fog, he fell through silence so loud it made Loki scream, and sounds so wretched he sobbed for the silence back, and then he fell through trees, hitting every other branch on his way down. Loki landed with a groan, his back aching from the fall and his chest bruised from having Mjölnir lie upon it. He stood stiffly, carefully pulling himself to his feet using the trunk of the tree for help.
Around him were trees, just a small grove of them, but tall and wide and full of green leaves and life. He didn’t know why he had fallen here, but Loki figured he might as well take a look around. He could move on again later, travel from world to world until he found where Odin had hidden Harry away from him, he would look forever if he had to, and without the bifrost there was nothing Odin could do to stop him. Loki had chosen to fall, had chosen to take the risk of dying for it meant that he would not have to go back into Asgard, cowed by Odin and Thor, his not-family, the ones who had taken Harry from him in the first place. If he had died, he had died and Harry wouldn’t have known any differently. But if he had stayed and Odin had managed to find a way to keep him trapped, Loki wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself for another foolish mistake.
He lost himself in thought, moving through the trees until he came to a small cemetery. It was as he drifted through the clearing, passed stones and monuments and memories of those long gone, that he spotted a name from the corner of his eyes that had him gasping. The stone read: Lily and James Potter.
Loki glanced around, at the stones beside this one, and behind and in front, until eventually he had read the names on every single marker in the cemetery. But none were Harry’s final resting place, though this one was the place of his parents’.
Loki was cloaked, like he always was when he travelled without the use of the bifrost. Odin could not see him, just like Loki had not been able to see Harry whenever he searched for his husband in those first few days before being told of his death. But perhaps Odin had bared Harry to his sight once more, and that was why Loki had landed here of all places? Did Harry live nearby? Did Harry visit here sometimes?
He made his way through the kissing gate and out of the cemetery. There were a line of neat looking houses before him, and a pub at the very end of the cobbled street. It was all so quaint looking, nothing like the house on Grimmauld Place, nothing like Loki’s Asgardian palace, but there was something very welcoming about one house in particular, and Loki found his feet bringing him to stand before the garden gate without his having to think about it. A banner was tied across the gate and it read, happy first birthday. Noises from inside drifted out, singing and laughing, and Loki could make out the name Aric used in the middle of the song.
Everything within him, every part of his being that made him who he was, willed him to enter the house. He needed to be inside. He needed to be a part of whatever was happening in there, just as he knew he belonged here. But he hadn’t been invited and Loki doubted the party goers would welcome a strange man crashing into their home. He turned to go, stopping to cast his eyes upon the golden statue of two adults and their baby. He read the plaque dedicated to Harry Potter who had saved them all, and he read the messages people had left to the boy-hero. With a flourish of his wrist, Loki added his own message. A simple ‘I love you’, in cursive script, right at the very bottom of the statue so that everyone, big or small, would be able to read it and trace the words with one finger as Loki did then.
“I love you too,” a voice whispered from behind him.
Loki turned slowly, with his eyes tightly closed because while they were closed he could listen to the voice and pretend that it was Harry standing there. With his eyes closed, he wouldn’t have to see the truth, and he could believe his own lie, because surely it couldn’t have been that easy to find his husband? He had only been on Midgard fifteen minutes at most!
“Loki?”
Harry had been in the kitchen, along with all of Aric’s guests singing along to ‘happy birthday to you’, when his wards had flared. There was someone his wards didn’t recognize at his front gate, which is as far as anyone could come without having been invited through the wards before. Harry had wondered if maybe someone was late, or someone he hadn’t invited had been thoughtful enough to buy his son a gift anyway, but there wasn’t anyone he could think of off the top of his head. So he had gone to look. Loki had been walking away from the house, his shoulders slumped, and his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck, with pale hands clenching at his sides half-hidden by the sleeves of his Asgardian robes. Without having to see his face, Harry knew that that man could be no one other than his husband, and he had followed him outside unhesitantly, his feet in only socks because he hadn’t wanted to waste time finding shoes just in case Loki disappeared again.
“Are you real?” Loki asked, with his eyes still closed.
Harry leant against him, his hands on Loki’s shoulders, pulling the man down slightly so that they were almost the same height. “You tell me,” he murmured against the sorcerer’s lips, before their mouths met. At the first taste of him, something so familiar and right that Loki knew without a doubt who was within his arms, the elder man’s arms came up to grab Harry’s waist, drawing him even closer, squeezing the boy tight against his chest. Their legs were pressed together, one of Harry’s slotting between Loki’s own, and Harry’s hands came up to play with the god’s hair and ears.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Loki moaned against Harry’s mouth.
“We’ve missed you too.”
They kissed again, holding on tightly to one another, and Loki never considered who ‘we’ might have been, not once. All he could think about was Harry, who was back where he belonged at last, within the circle of Loki’s arms, pressed against his chest, panting softly into his mouth, and mewling those delicious sounding noises that he had missed so much, intermittent with “I love you, I love you.”
After they had managed to separate themselves, and their hands and their mouths, Harry led Loki back towards his house. Loki followed Harry through the garden gate, running his fingers wistfully over the birthday banner for a baby that wasn’t his, and then through the wards, that let him enter inside as willingly as Harry’s body always had.
“Who is the birthday child?” Loki asked, glancing around the walls from pictures of Harry in school uniform with his friends, to Harry as a baby with his parents, to him, Harry and Teddy from what seemed like eons ago, and then to new photos he had never seen before, of a blue skinned child held between Harry and a laughing red headed man with one ear. His hand was upon the picture before Harry could respond, and he stroked his fingers down a blue cheek as the child in the photo laughed at him with wide green eyes.
“Aric’s. He’s one today.” Harry held out a hand and Loki took it willingly. He cast another look back at the photo, feeling horribly jealous of the redhead whose arm was around Harry’s shoulders and whose child was in Harry’s arms, though he wondered how and why they had turned the baby’s skin blue.
The same redhead was at the head of a small table when Loki entered the kitchen. The baby from the photo was in his arms again, but at the sight of Harry the child began to wriggle and George placed the boy gently on the floor. Harry crouched down, crawling awkwardly so that he was a little closer to the child, and held his arms out. With what appeared to be an intense amount of concentration and effort, the baby pulled himself to his feet and waddled unsteadily to where his mother waited to catch him. Harry scooped him up, proudly exclaiming how clever he was, how brilliant, how well he had done to move six inches across the floor all on his own and Loki watched it all in awe.
“Hello,” he murmured to the child who gazed up at him over Harry’s shoulders. “Whose is he?” Loki asked softly. The child couldn’t be his, for his son had died within Harry, and yet there was so much about this boy that reminded Loki of every dream his son had featured in from the moment he had first learnt Harry was pregnant. He was envious, but he was not angry. He had been away for a year, and Harry was entitled to move on, but to have a child so old, so soon?
“Where would I have gotten a year-old baby, Loki, if not from you?” Harry asked him in return, standing up and offering him a look that spoke of how stupid that question had been.
“My son died.”
“Oh,” Harry murmured, suddenly understanding. George ushered everyone out of the kitchen then, and Harry ignored them all as he kept his gaze focused on Loki. “No, no he didn’t. He’s here, alive and safe, and I’m here and we’re all together now. Everything is ok, Loki. It’s why I left Asgard. I needed to get the baby out of me to keep him alive and my healer was the only one I trusted to do that.”
Loki’s eyes had shut again, and he took two deep breathes before he opened them again. Red eyes peered back at him out of a blue face. The god startled, not having expected that despite seeing the photo of a blue child hanging in the hallway. Loki’s fingers moved to trace the marks of Jötunheimr and Laufey that decorated the baby’s forehead and the lines across his cheeks and hands. “He is my son?” The god asked, hardly daring to hope.
“Loki Odinson, meet Aric Frey Potter.7 Aric, baby, this is your father. How do we greet people we love?” The child gave a laugh, his mouth smiling widely, before he pressed his palm against it and then held the hand out giggling. “You’re supposed to blow him a kiss back now.”
Loki leant down, both hands upon his son’s face, and pressed his mouth gently to the top of Aric’s head. “I love you,” he whispered to his son. The baby blew him another kiss, his skin turning the colour of cream again, and his eyes going green. Harry let Loki hold him, smiling softly as the man first appeared terrified and unsure for a moment before carefully gathering his son to his chest and holding him securely in place, his head beneath Loki’s chin. The man kept tilting his head down; to press kisses to Aric’s hair. Harry left him to it to go in search of his missing guests.
The party picked up where it had been interrupted, and Loki joined in with wishing his son a happy birthday as Harry helped Aric blow out the one candle upon his cake. When everyone had left, and Aric was sleeping peacefully under the watch of Kreacher, his very devoted house elf, Loki moved behind Harry to pull the boy against his chest and keep both hands on his flat stomach.
“I missed so much.” He thought of the birth, as horrible as it must have been, and how he hadn’t been there to comfort Harry or his son. He thought of first smiles and first steps and first words, and then of all the firsts to come that he would be there for yet. He sighed happily into Harry’s hair, before leaning down to bite lightly over the mark of Ansuz upon his throat.
“You’ll be there for it all the next time,” Harry promised him softly. “And the time after that.” Loki looked confused, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to meet his husband’s eyes. “I believe you told me you wanted many, many children, did you not?”
“I am a frost giant. My children will kill you, Harry. You were incredibly lucky to survive one labour, let alone several. There will be no more children of my seed.” It hurt him to say it, because he had wanted many children by his Omgás, and he had looked forward to loving each and every one and being loved in return. But his husband’s life was more important than his own wants and desires, and regardless, Loki wanted Harry alive more than anything else in the world.
“Silly god,” Harry said fondly. “If I had known you were a frost giant, I could have done something about the pain. Neat little spell to create Wizard Space, have you ever heard of it? It makes the inside of a small object so much bigger than it appears. All of our other children will have plenty of space to grow without injuring me in the process, I promise you.”
Loki had heard of the spell. Harry had told him of Wizarding tents that looked like houses on the inside and his friend’s father’s flying car that could fit eight people inside at one time with room to spare. His hand caressed Harry’s stomach lightly, fingers ghosting over Nauthiz, whose magic had kept their child alive until he could be born, before moving to his side to press against Hagalaz. He whispered against Ansuz, voice full of longing and promise, “then I want many, many more.”
Harry turned in his arms, eyes heavy lidded as he bit lightly at his bottom lip. Loki felt fire in his crotch, his blood burned within him, and he was hard at that very first look Harry sent him. He reached out for Harry, trying to capture his mouth, but the boy dodged out of the way then held his hand out in invitation.
“What do you say we start right away?”
“Now?” Loki questioned, glancing around the house. It was big enough for another few children, and it could always be extended, but it was already home to one child he did not know yet and a husband he had missed so much of. “But I have only arrived. Surely you want to wait a while, to come to know each other again?”
“I know you. I love you. I’ve waited a year for you, Loki. Can you think of any other reason to wait?”
“I cannot,” he admitted with a small smile, his voice low and raspy. He was aroused, Harry realised, recognizing the sound of Loki’s voice once he was overcome with desire.
Loki took Harry’s offered hand, following him in silent anticipation to his bedroom, their bedroom now. They undressed in silence, bar for muffled moans of desire that escaped their lips unchecked. They came to each other in a dizzying blur of passion and desperation. Harry clung to Loki’s shoulders, his legs up around Loki’s waist as the man moved inside of him, hunched down over Harry so that he could kiss all of the skin within reach. They rocked together, affirming their bond and their love, and with every thrust Harry cried out for more, and harder, and faster, and Loki gave him everything he asked for with pleasure. Harry came into his own hand first, from the press of Loki’s cock against his prostate and Loki’s teeth against Ansuz. When Loki came within him, something burned upon his back. It was an ‘X’, though one of its legs was wavy instead of straight, and it marked his skin upon the base of his back, dipping between the cheeks of his arse to where Loki had joined to him. Gebo, the rune of uniting and merging. Loki traced his fingers over it reverently, once he had separated their bodies and cleaned up the mess.
“It is a sign,” Loki murmured softly, holding Harry against his chest. “Frigga smiles upon our union.”
“Does that mean we’re married now by Asgardian standards as well?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. Frigga presided over all marriages on Asgard, she blessed them with prosperity and happiness and fertility, and while Harry hadn’t had need of her blessing before now, it wasn’t something he’d throw back in her face either. She had seemed like a nice woman, if a little soft in allowing her husband to make all of her decisions for her.
“Yes,” Loki told him happily.
“Suppose we’ll have to change Aric’s surname to ‘Lokison’ now.”
“You would do that?” The pale god seemed so surprised, and a flush rose up to his cheeks as Harry laughed at him.
“We generally pass down the parent’s surname on earth, but well, he’s your son too. And if he’s welcome in Asgard, then he should have a traditional Asgardian surname. If you want, that is.”
“Yes. Please.” They came together a second time then, celebrating their union under Frigga with a union of their own; of bodies, sweat and seed. After they had climaxed in each other’s arms once more, Loki sweating and Harry hoarse from screaming, the Asgardian drew his husband close to his side, his hand instinctively tracing over the flat stomach in hope. “I suppose,” he murmured once he was able to breathe easily again, “I should be thankful to Thor for ruining my plans. If he had not destroyed the bifrost, I would not have fallen. I would not be here.”
Harry smiled softly. He thought about how he had imagined Thor being banished and landing on his doorstep and how great he had thought it would be, because Thor would have gotten Loki for him somehow. But this? Having Loki fall into his arms instead, landing practically on his doorstep, on today of all days, it was better than any of his dreams or fantasies, it was more than Harry could have dared to hope for. Thor had been a little creepy and a lot overzealous, but he was a good man who had meant well for the most part, at least where Harry was concerned. Harry didn’t like how Thor thought he could take what belonged to Loki, nor how uncaring he had been of Loki’s pain at Thor’s attraction to Harry, but despite that, it had been Thor’s actions which had led them here. So yes, Harry supposed, they owed Thor a lot.
Not that Loki would ever let Thor know, of course. He was still angry at his not-brother, and his not-father, and their lies and their plots and the pain they had caused him, but in time he would understand. Harry would help him understand why it had all been necessary, and how everything that had happened to him, to them, had made them who they are today. And what they were ‘today’ was together and happy and in love.
Five weeks later, Harry fell pregnant.
It would be another boy. Together Harry and Loki had decided to name him Thorer Annar,8 after Thor, whose actions had unintentionally led them back to one another. Back home.
The End
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I’m going with the original view that Loki had green eyes, rather than the movie, where Tom Hiddleston (though gorgeous and amazing) has blue eyes.
1 - Magiker: meaning Magician in Norwegian.
2 - Veiviser: meaning Wizard in Norwegian.
3 - Omgás: meaning Consort, etc.
4 - Skjøge: meaning whore.
5 - I kept writing Midgar… Final Fantasy crossovers, anyone?
6 - I was informed that babies could survive between five to fifteen minutes in the womb before suffocating if the mother has died once they’ve reached the stage that they could survive independently of the womb as well.
7 - Aric: eternal ruler. Frey: Lord/one who is foremost.
8 - Thorer: Thor’s Warrior. Annar: the second. All of them are Norse names for boys.
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That turned out to be a lot longer than I had originally anticipated, this time last year, when I thought of the idea after watching “Thor” in the cinema twice! But I enjoyed it, and I hope you all will too. Please let me know what you think, or leave a smiley face and I’ll pass them onto Loki… and then get to work on my Avengers crossover!