FIC: Redemption Songs Part 08 - Harry/Loki
PREVIOUS HERE
Wow this is so unbelievably late! But I had hela problems with this chapter and a shit couple months, and yeah this chapter isn’t all that great anyway… But hopefully it’s something to make up for the wait? And longer than I thought it would be too.
Enjoy and let me know what you thought!
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Words: 7,514
Chapter 8
July 7th 2015. Little Hangleton.
Loki hadn’t been sure what to expect whenever she thought about Harry introducing her to Voldemort - no, that was a lie: she had expected hatred, resentment and anger. To be shunned and ignored and reviled. To be pushed aside and spat upon behind Harry’s back, to be rejected, cast dirty glances out of the corner of each Death Eaters’ eye, the way it had always been among Thor’s friends when Thor’s back was turned. That was what she had been expecting - but it had not been this. Not acceptance, nor smiles, or Voldemort’s hand clasping her own tight enough that Loki feared she might never get it back. The Dark Lord raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of her palm, just before the wrist. He pulled her into a hug then, and Loki stood stiff and silent as their bodies pressed close enough together that she was sure Voldemort could feel the small bump of her unborn child. As she had thought, he had, and he pulled back to glance down at her belly and then over her shoulder to Harry who waited with a smile on his face and their son in his arms.
“Congratulations,” Voldemort murmured, first to her and then to his husband, as he released her hand. “Welcome to the family.” He turned from her completely then, glancing around at the gathered Death Eaters and began to speak. As he introduced her, Eileifer ran forward, having wiggled rebelliously until Harry put him down, and the toddler happily wound his arms around his father’s legs. Voldemort reached down to pet his hair gently, fingers carding through the dark strands as the child babbled into the back of his knees, and Loki reached up to brush the tears from her cheeks, though she didn’t even know why she was crying.
“I told you,” Harry whispered into her ear, having come up behind her to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her tight against his side. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Loki chuckled softly, heart hammering in her chest. “You did,” she agreed quietly, “I should learn not to question you, oh wonderful Wizard.”
“If ever a wiz there was,”1 a voice said softly from behind them. Loki and Harry turned in sync, though Loki had tensed up, one hand over her belly and the other held out in front of her, green sparks of magic crackling at her fingertips. Harry hadn’t tensed though, because he had recognized the voice; it was airy and light and so very uncommon that it would have been quite hard to imitate it. He took in the sight of her, even beneath the mask she wore Harry could see the wonderful shade of silver-blue that were her eyes, and her wheat coloured hair spilled out over her shoulders just as long as it had ever been but not an inch longer. She was covered in a long black robe, the hood pulled up and casting shadows across the pale mouth that was free of the mask, but Harry caught the familiar quirk of familiar lips, and though it had been years since he had seen her last, since the day she had taken his child away and he had sent her away in turn, but Harry recognized her nonetheless. “Peace Evanora, I am a friend.” She whispered at Loki.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but he did place one hand on Loki’s arm, pushing it down gently until she allowed it to drop completely and the magic fizzled out.
“And a foe,” the Death Eater added unexpectedly, glancing this time at Harry, “in equal parts.”
“Yes, you are,” he whispered, his own hand pressing to his stomach, and he remembered the pain of their last meeting and how he had laughed in Dumbledore’s face before he realised, and how he had woken, alone and empty and then Luna had been there with that same sad smile and those bright sad eyes and Harry had hated her. More than he had hated anyone ever, and because he was her master when Harry had sent her away, Death had left. “But I have missed you anyway, Luna.”
“What?” Loki murmured. He cast a glance around, searching for Eileifer and after seeing him hiding behind his father’s legs, the God glanced back at the intruder, nervous and wary because she had some idea of who this strange woman was.
“A nightmare for some.” She glanced at Harry again, before turning to stare at Loki, who had for how many months prayed for Death’s embrace every time the guards had left him alone. “Others, as a saviour I come. What am I?”
“Mistress!” Loki dropped to her knees, one arm crossed over her chest, hand fisted over her heart, and she kept her head bowed even as she tried to tug Harry down to his knees alongside her.
“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, pulling her up to her feet again, “its ok. She’s a friend.” He said it calmly, almost certain, but there was enough of a question left in his words that even Voldemort raised an eyebrow in Luna’s direction.
She pulled off her mask and tucked it back inside of her robes; now that Harry knew who she was it was pointless to hide her face. “I am a friend,” she agreed. She crooked a finger towards Eileifer, beckoning him closer and he ran to her, trusting in the way all happy children are. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I am so sorry, Harry.” She picked the child up, and his hands tangled in her hair, immediately a fistful of it even making its way to his mouth before she tugged it free.
“I will help you protect your family,” she offered. But because she is Death, and all beings have a time and a place and there was nothing she could do to interfere with that even if she wanted to, she qualified herself, adding, “If I can.” Loki glared at her, but Harry who had lost once to Death and won many other times because he was master and he had the Hallows and they would only protect him understood that Death lays his icy hand on kings1, and what was one child in comparison?
Voldemort broke the silence then, clearing his throat loudly, and turning back to his Death Eaters to finish Loki’s introduction. Loki cried again, pressed into Harry’s side with Eileifer hugging her legs this time, because Voldemort said only nice things about her - unlike Thor who had once introduced him to a visiting Lord as his ‘useless runt of a brother’ because Loki had fallen off of his horse and gotten his clothes dirty - and his Death Eaters were smiling at him for the most part and those who weren’t at least didn’t look like they hated him and Harry had been right, like Harry was always right. Everything would be ok.
XXX
August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton.
When the werewolves came back, Voldemort and Harry stood side by side in the doorway to the manor to greet them. Loki waited a little behind them, and she smiled faintly when Luna came forward to pluck Eileifer out of her arms. The blonde woman just smiled, ignoring the questioning look Loki sent her, and took careful steps backwards. “Harry,” she called softly, “come stand beside Loki.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at her, and then at Loki who stood bemused and sans child, and he obediently walked towards her. Shoulder to shoulder they waited instead, and Voldemort remained alone in the threshold waiting for his friend to return to him.
They waited patiently, though that was difficult for the toddler who once more was trying to wiggle his way to freedom, desperately demanding, “Down, down, down” to no avail. Luna held him tightly, still and silent, but she smiled like the Mona Lisa and Harry narrowed his eyes first at her and then at the group of people who were beginning to appear in the distance.
He hadn’t seen Fenrir since the war ended. The man had helped clean up the stragglers, those who had refused the new regime initially, those who continued to torture and kill indiscriminately targeting Muggleborns and Muggles and ‘proving themselves’ to the Dark Lord, carrying out his true work by their own admission. The werewolves had become a temporary police force, keeping anyone over zealous from acting out and frightening the more submissive non-supporters into silence until Voldemort and Harry had had time to hash out the details of their truce.
Once it was signed, and the couple were married and consummated and the government had been re-established (with a few changes here and there and everywhere really) Fenrir had asked for somewhere to take his pack, somewhere to live in peace from humans. Voldemort, who was so much younger than Fenrir was, was also the father the wolf had never had the chance to have. The Dark Lord had found him and rescued him, saved him from the punishment of his biological grandfather, long after his Father had stopped trying futilely to free him from Gleipnir, the Dwarven chains that bound him, and he had cared for him during his first rise to power. After his second rise, Voldemort had called him back, taken him and his pack into his home, his arms, and welcomed them, cared for him once more. Voldemort had granted him his wish, securing land and warding it from humans (with the exception of those keyed to the wards) and Fenrir had left them.
They wrote to each other, occasionally, Harry knew, though he hadn’t really known Fenrir well enough to ask after him or add words to the letters. Harry didn’t know that Fenrir had wrote to Voldemort in the days after Harry had reappeared back into the Wizarding world, or that Fenrir sometimes taught classes in Hogwarts to the part-creature students mostly and that he had seen Harry there, smelt Harry there, and had asked Voldemort if he knew why Harry had smelt how he did. Voldemort had replied, telling him of Harry’s lover whose name he did not know, but who had been tortured for more than a year and saved in part by Harry, who used magic and named Voldemort’s son Eileifer, the Norse name for ‘Ever-Heir’. Fenrir had taken what he could from that, made as many assumptions as he had dared, and later seen Harry Potter on the six-o-clock news in New York fighting off the Mad Titan who had kept calling him “Odinson”, and Fenrir had known.
Fenrir Greyback, Fenris Lokison, had come back to Little Hangleton prepared for who he would meet, but no one had told Loki. No one had known to tell Loki, because Fenrir had not told anyone, not since Voldemort, of what he truly was, and now he did not wish to frighten his Father away. He wondered, as he walked with his pack towards the house, if his Father had stopped trying to free him because he no longer loved him or if he had simply run out of ideas? Fenrir was not angry; he had stopped being angry a long time ago, but he was curious and hurt, because there she was, holding hands with Harry Potter and her stomach was rounded out but not enough to tell for sure the difference between overweight and pregnant, but Fenrir could smell it in the air. Father, and magic, and pregnancy, and home: after all this time apart, Loki still smelt like home, and Fenrir bounded forward, slipping easily into the form he had always taken until Voldemort had shown him how to change. The wolf charged forward, gun metal grey with black streaks around his nose and around the ankles of each leg, like a scar that would never heal, and he stopped with a growl right in front of Loki who reached out a shaking hand to touch the top of his head, fingers just barely brushing over soft fur before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Harry caught her; she was limp and pale and he hoisted her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style passed Luna who was still smiling.
“You could have warned her. Or me,” he muttered.
Behind him Fenrir whined, but followed as Voldemort did, and Harry brought Loki to the nearest living room and laid her out along the couch carefully setting her head in his lap so that he could run his fingers through her hair. Fenrir crouched on the floor by her feet, head still taller than the sofa even though he was sitting. Voldemort sank into the armchair and when Luna let Eileifer go he scrambled up into his father’s lap.
“Is mum ok?” He asked, thumb in his mouth a second later.
“She’ll be fine, darling boy. She just needed to take a nap.” Harry answered, and Voldemort snapped his mouth shut, about to say something about stupid wolves and heart attacks and then thought better of it.
“Dad,” he asked again, voice soft and green eyes wide. He could talk when it suited him, about certain subjects that interested him, but some words were still difficult and longer sentences were hard to string together but he was doing awfully well for a two-year-old. “Having baby now?”
“No, not yet, darling.”
Eileifer nodded his acceptance, though he did pout at the thought of having to wait even longer for a sister to play with, and he leaned back against his father’s chest and yawned. He glanced at Fenrir then, as if seeing the wolf for the first time, and his eyes blew wide and he grinned enough to show off his baby teeth. The wolf grinned back in kind, fangs flashing. “Who you?”
“I am Fenris Lokison,” the wolf whispered, his voice soft inside of each of their heads. He glanced with grey eyes that looked darker on the wolf than they did on the man first at Harry and Loki and then at Voldemort and the child in his lap who called Loki ‘mother’ though she was not his. He grinned again, deciding, “I am your Brother.”
“Hi,” Eileifer greeted with a wave. Harry chuckled, because his son was cute and adorable and never failed to amuse, and because he could wait and get the whole story out of Fenrir and Voldemort and Loki when she woke up. “Dad? I thought sister?” He pointed at Loki’s stomach, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
“Yes, you’re going to have a sister soon. But right now, you’ve also gained a brother. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” So Eileifer did, and when Loki woke up it was to the sight of Fenrir pinning Eileifer to the floor, a wolf the size of a bear and a baby who only came up to her knee and she screamed softly before she was even aware that she was fully awake, but Fenrir only licked her son and Eileifer only giggled, exclaiming how icky it was. As Harry laughed, stomach vibrating against her cheek, Loki sat up and she threw herself at them, mindful of her bump. She pulled the toddler into her lap, one hand holding his head to her throat so she could feel him breathing against her bare skin, and the other fisted Fenrir’s ruff, her own face pressed into fur and she kissed him, over and over, wherever she could reach without having to move. Fenrir huffed loudly over her head before raising one paw to rest on her shoulder, drawing her closer to him as she began to cry.
“I have missed you too, Mother,” Fenrir whispered as he touched his muzzle to the top of her head in a kiss.
XXX
Circa 1970s.
It was cold and dark, but that was nothing a Lumos and some warming charms couldn’t take care of. The sounds of claws gouging chunks out of rock and those tortured animal noises were another matter entirely. Tom Riddle was not a coward, but he was a firm believer in self-preservation, and by the sounds of whatever animal was trapped here in the dark it would be safer for him to turn around and leave.
But.
This was where he had been told to go. First to Albania, and he had found the diadem, but he was short of one more item, and the villagers had told him of the stories they had heard from travellers, and he had travelled there himself to ask them and they had told him the same. An ancient treasure hid away in the cave, sent down from the heavens by a God, and though no one had come to in search of the cave for generations, their great-grandparents still remembered the tall, dark haired man who had offered them their weight in gold coins if they could break the chains that bound the animal.
Voldemort had not been certain whether the treasure was the wolf himself or whether it was the sword that was supposedly pinning its jaws to the ground, but regardless, he had come looking for the sword. He would kill the wolf and take the sword and use the first person he came across as the sacrifice needed to shred his soul. The sword would be his last Horcrux and he would hide it back inside of the cave where no one would ever think to look, because it had been centuries since the old Gods had deigned to walk amongst mortals.
The creature howled again. It was less of a howl though, and more of a garbled moan, filled with so much pain that Tom couldn’t help but think of the desperate sounds he had made as a child, full of hate and hunger and trapped amongst Muggles who had hurt him. He had been trapped and afraid then too, he remembered, an arm broken one summer so he could not complete his chores, and little children who couldn’t work for their supper received none.
Perhaps he would not kill the wolf. He could just take the sword, curse it and bring it right back. Even if anyone discovered its location no one would be foolish enough to brave the Fenrisulfr? The villagers were so afraid of him, even chained and muzzled by Odin’s blade that they refused to bring him food, and yet he still moaned and cried at night when thunder crashed overhead and no one came to rescue him. If no one would approach him bound as he was, surely no one would dare once Tom had freed the sword from between the creature’s teeth?
No, he decided. His Horcrux would be safe here.
He made his way closer to the sounds, wincing at the scratching of nails across the ground like they were being dragged over a blackboard, and Tom was well used to hearing that sound in Hogwarts but it didn’t mean he liked it. He cringed again at the noise, ears hurting and heart hammering, because there he was, the wolf, and he was bigger than even Tom had imagined. He was crouched down, on his belly, all four legs chained together beneath him as if he had been hog tied and then rolled back over, and it looked to be more than uncomfortable. The chains looped back up around the wolf’s head, melting into the pommel of the sword, either made in one go or welded together later, and the sword itself was stabbed downwards, through the muzzle of the wolf, through both jaws and so deep into the ground that Tom could see the crater from where he stood. To have stayed like that, for centuries; Tom couldn’t even being to imagine the suffering.
“Hello,” he whispered to the wolf. The creature’s head snapped towards him, followed by a whine as it pulled the sword further into his flesh, creating little trails of blood that spilled down over his nose. “I am here to take that sword, if you would not mind me doing so.”
The wolf considered him. Grey eyes were narrowed, the black of the middle darker than any Tom had ever seen (even though black was black, but now he was starting to feel nervous and paranoid but then the wolf was nodding). Fenris lowered his head, pushing himself as far down onto the sword as he could go so that as much of the pommel as possible was showing.
Tom glanced at it, glanced at the wolf, and sighed. “It is not that I’m not glad you are being so agreeable, but in my experience you get nothing for nothing. What is it you want? Because if you attempt to eat me once the sword is free I will be very displeased, and since I had already decided not to kill you before I left, I would hate to have to change my plans.”
“I am not planning to eat you,” the voice said. Tom jumped, strengthening his Occlumency shields at the same time, but that only made the voice chuckle. “You cannot keep me out of your head, little mortal. I am Fenris Lokison and my Mother has walked your dreams many times I’m sure, you and every other mortal who has ever prayed to him. I have inherited enough of her talents to be able to speak with you in the waking world, even if I cannot do it in your sleep.”
“Your mother is a man?” It wasn’t what he had originally planned to say, but those were the words that had escaped his mouth.
“My Mother is Loki Odinson, sometimes Lady Loki, sometimes a mare or a snake or a falcon. A spider at times, or a fly. A salmon once though that did not end well for him. He is a Prince of Asgard, the Mother of my eldest brother and Father to my other siblings, even those he cannot claim as his own, sired upon married women as they were.” Fenris snorted, and rolled his eyes. Voldemort thought on that last comment and mentally compared Loki to Abraxas Malfoy; the amount of women claiming to have had his child, and then taking back their accusations, was astronomical and Voldemort would bet that at least a third of those children were actually his though having already produced an heir and married a wife he would never admit to it.
“I am a wolf. My brothers a horse and snake respectively. My sister is the half-dead Goddess of Death and Queen of Helheimr, the realm of the dead who were unworthy of paradise, which contrary to its negative connotation is actually where the majority of people who die go. My other brothers who I have never met and have long since joined Hela in her realm were Áss enough, though Father’s wife was half-nymph, but even they were not exempted from their Father’s reputation. Man he may be for most of the time, but he is our mother nonetheless. They call him the Mother of Monsters, and a Monster I am, am I not?” Fenris raised his eyes, searching over Voldemort’s face for something that would prompt him to continue but the man remained motionless and blank and Fenris wondered if his father had managed to reach that level of stoicism since the last time they met. He had always tried so hard to keep his emotions off of his face, but never really managed to succeed when his children were involved.
“I only ask that if you take the sword you do not interfere with my actions concerning myself. Though, on my honour and my name, I mean you no harm, little mortal.”
“Very well,” Tom whispered at last. “But know this wolf, if you cross me you will not live long enough to regret it. Lord Voldemort is not a merciful lord.”
To be safe, rather than sorry, Tom did not approach the sword himself. Instead, he waved his wand, concentrating furiously, with an intentness he only displayed when he wanted to prove how much greater than everyone else he was.
“Accio!” There was a snap - the chains tearing away from the pommel of the sword, falling limply across Fenrir’s back - and there was a howl of pain and anger, like a scream from something dying and the wolf thrashed against his chains as the sword ripped itself free of his mouth and flew towards Tom. The Wizard caught it, the force of the spell knocking him off of his feet, but he kept his arms around the sword and one hand tight on his wand nonetheless.
There was blood running from Fenrir’s muzzle. His gun metal grey coat red all over his face, but it began to heal in front of Tom’s eyes, and where it had been all grey and silver now there was a streak of black, like a scar on skin, all along the fur between his nose up to the middle of his eyes. There was a matching one under his jaw, but Tom did not see that one until Fenrir rose to his feet, head thrown back to howl. The chains, now free from the sword, had some slack in them and Fenrir surged to his feet, legs still bound but able to move at least. His legs wobbled, and he crashed back down, but Voldemort could hear him laughing in his head as he tried again to stand.
He was taller than Voldemort was, even standing on his tip toes, and Voldemort was not a short man. The wolf seemed to take up the entire room, large and intimidating, even looking half-starved as he did.
“Would you like some help with the chains?” Voldemort asked, unsure why he cared other than the knowledge that the wolf would not last long with his legs chained up once he left the cave. Humans now weren’t like humans centuries ago, they had guns and canons and missiles of death instead of swords and torches, and Fenris only had his teeth and his bound claws.
“You cannot break them. But thank you for your offer.” He paused, shifting so that he could stare down at Voldemort. “Would you heal me?” He asked then, before he crouched back down again. His muzzle was against one foot and he began to chew, ignoring his own whimpers and Voldemort’s flinches and the puddle of blood that began to pool beneath his bulk until there was a crack of bone snapping and Fenrir ripped his paw clean off. The chain that had once looped around that foot fell to the floor with a rattle, unbroken but no longer binding him. Fenris turned to Voldemort, eyes wide and there was fear there, because he could not heal himself Voldemort realised, but he had been so desperate for freedom he would prefer to bleed to death than remain trapped for a moment more. “Please?”
Voldemort cast every spell he knew that could be useful. In five minutes, the paw was reattached and the bleeding had stopped, and like his muzzle Fenris now had a ring of black fur all the way around his ankle, a scar that no one would understand but them. He started on the next leg, chewing and pulling and Voldemort waited for the crack of bone and the squelch of parting flesh before he began casting spells again.
And again.
And again. Until all four legs were free of Gleipnir.
“My thanks, little human.”
“Have you got somewhere to go?” Tom was never quite sure why he had asked that. Or why he had offered to teach the wolf to take a human form, which he should have been able to do because his mother could and he had magic but he had been young when he had been taken and had never had the chance to learn. But he asked and he offered and Fenrir accepted his help and his hospitality and followed Voldemort home. And when Voldemort went to war, Fenrir followed then too.
XXX
August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton.
Loki stayed pressed against Fenrir’s side, long after Harry had taken Eileifer for his nap. It was usually Loki’s pleasure to do that, to sing the child to sleep and read him stories and do all of the things for him that Odin had stopped her from doing for most of her other children, but today she couldn’t bring herself to leave Fenris’ side. The wolf was a warm weight against her, his paw on her back and his head resting on top of hers, and she clung to him, fingers digging into the fur of his neck and his belly and she eyed the black patches that were never there before with worry.
“How?” She whispered at last, after hours of semi-silent crying, as the others around her talked about the coming war and Fenrir comforted her with soft growls.
“The thing about animals is if you trap them for long enough they’d chew off their own leg to get free.” It was Luna who answered, with that same half-smile on her face, knowing and teasing and Loki hated it but she was afraid enough of Thanos’ lover to bit her tongue.
Instead wide green eyes fixed themselves on Fenrir’s scars, and she hated herself for crying again, but he had hurt, had hurt for centuries and she had not been able to prevent it. “I am a terrible mother,” she whispered into his fur, wiping her tears there too so no one else could see them.
“No, you aren’t,” Fenrir told her softly, just as Harry said:
“You never stopped loving them or looking for them, and that’s what matters, love.”
Fenrir moved then, shifting so that Loki had no choice but to pull away. He nodded to Harry, who leant down over the edge of the sofa to grab his lover under her arms and pull her up. She sat beside him, one hand fisting in the fabric of his robes, but the tension he could feel in her body relaxed a little when Fenrir shifted from wolf to man and took a seat on her other side. Loki remained there, silent except for the occasional suggestions she offered as the others talked of how to deal with Thanos and of whom to involve.
There were mentions of the Avengers that Loki ignored purposely, still not fond of Harry’s association with them or Thor’s involvement either. But she perked up when the X-Men were mentioned; thinking back on Gambit who had accosted her outside of Baba Yaga’s shop what seemed like a life time ago. There was talk of the Fantastic Four and a child who crawled up walls like a spider and a Brotherhood of Evil that had offered their assistance because apparently Thanos had stolen from their leader and Magneto was none too pleased about that.
They talked, and the more involved Loki became in the discussion, the more Fenrir stopped contributing. He had not yet offered his help, though it was implied between himself and Voldemort that he would help. But he had not offered it yet, and he was waiting to do so until he could see for himself what exactly it was about Harry Potter that made people love him, people who were usually thought so incapable of the emotion. The Dark Lord would lay down his life for the other man, who still looked so very young, too young to have eyes so old, and his mother clung to him like a life line, smiled at him and laughed softly as he spoke, glowed from her pregnancy, her hands and his always around her stomach though Fenrir knew from Sleipnir’s stories that Loki hadn’t been able to bare touching him while he was in the womb. And yet Harry’s child brought her such joy. And she cared for the other child as well, loved him as if he were her own, and Fenrir could see the way she preened whenever Eileifer called her ‘mother’ as if she was one.
Harry kissed her softly, taking her attention off of Luna who had spoken once more, her soft voice sending tendrils of fear whispering through Loki’s veins.
“She is my friend,” Harry promised her softly, mouth against her ear and making her shiver. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, friend or otherwise, ok?”
“Everything is going to be ok,” Loki agreed, calming down. ‘It would be’, Fenrir read the thought from her mind, pushing his own emotions, the well of protectiveness for her that existed in all good children for their mothers towards her, ‘because Harry said it would be’.
Fenrir turned from her thoughts then, leaning forward to look around his mother and speak straight to Harry. “Thank you,” he said loud enough to catch the man’s attention. The room went quiet for a moment, before Luna, being undeniably brilliant, purposely started talking to Voldemort, keeping his attention on her and off of them. “For loving my father and for taking care of her.”
“She deserves it,” Harry offered with a small shrug. He cast a fond glance in Voldemort’s direction, who was watching Luna though Harry knew he was listening, interest caught by the sound of his husband’s voice (and they were husbands because they were family and had been for fifteen years and Harry could marry Loki if he liked because they weren’t married, but they weren’t ex- anythings either). “I spent fifteen years being taken care of. As they say, turnabout is fair play. Is that the right saying?” Harry frowned, but Fenrir chuckled and reached out for his hand to shake.
Fenrir’s hand was huge even as a human, and Harry felt tiny and insignificant as the God clung to him and stared deep into his soul. “I owe my gratitude and my allegiance to your Dark Lord and he cares for you so I have tried my best to keep out of your affairs and I helped you when you needed my help. But Loki is my mother, and I am loyal to her above all. If you hurt her there will be no place you can run, no crevice where you can hide and no pitiful army will protect you from me,” Fenrir hissed, fangs bared and the pupils of his eyes turning darker until they were the eyes of his wolf and his nails were black and long and digging into Harry’s hand but the human didn’t complain.
Loki flinched, the words too much like those the Other had hissed in his ear years ago, before the invasion had gone so terribly wrong and he had suffered so terribly; but these words were not for her, so she tried to calm her racing heart. She opened her mouth to reprimand her son, because his words were unnecessary and Harry had always and would always take care of her, because Harry made everything ok and he saved people. That was what he did. Whether they deserved it or not, whether she deserved it, Harry would save her.
“But until you do, if you ever do, I am in your debt too and at your service, my Lord. It would be an honour to fight against the armies of the Mad Titan in your name Harry Potter.” Fenris grinned then, teeth sharp and bright and Harry could imagine them dripping with the blood of his enemies and had to shake his head to clear it of such thoughts. “And it would be my pleasure,” Fenrir continued before pressing a kiss to Loki’s forehead and making his way towards the door, “to sink my teeth into the fustilarian who dared lay hands upon my mother.” He slipped from the room then, and Loki pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide the blush that grew there. But she smiled when Harry caught her gaze and he pressed his lips to her forehead too.
“One down,” Harry joked, referring to Fenrir. Loki only frowned at him, not understanding his intentions, but Luna snorted and Voldemort rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. Red eyes met Harry’s and the Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders, as elegantly as anyone could manage to, and though he did not know himself he did consider whether or not Fenrir would know where Jörmungandr hid. Harry, who knew what he was thinking after fifteen years of seeing that same look upon his face, turned to grin at Luna, like a child begging for ice cream, because if Fenrir didn’t know Death probably did.
XXX
August 23rd 2015. Space.
It had been easier than He had expected. But so had His theft from Magneto and the killing of the other Elder, the one Thor had sought to defend. Thanos wondered, as He ripped the ring and the ring finger away from the old man crumbled at His feet, if Thor would seek to avenge this one too. Would he bring his brother again? Even surrounded by the other ‘heroes’ Loki was no match for His might and the insolence of the man, to deny Him, to defy Him, after the pains Thanos had taken to teach the little God-child his place, well, it only made Him all the more determined to get Loki back. The little runt needed to be taught once and for all his place, and that was at Thanos’ feet, licking His boots, or upon his back with his legs spread wide or his mouth open and waiting or both simultaneously because Thanos was a kind master and the Chitauri had yet to be rewarded for the valiant efforts in New York. Loki’s failure was not their failure, though Loki insisted the Tesseract had been theirs for the taking and none had taken it, because Thanos had bid Loki bring it to Him.
But enough about the wretch, for his punishment was yet to come. But for now, Thanos glanced once more down at the dead Guardian, who had once protected the Galaxies from danger and from Him, had once defeated Him with the help of his comrades and Odin Allfather, who now cowered in Asgard upon his throne, too cowardly to ask after the true fate of his false son, and the Guardians were down two members, dead at Thanos’ hands. Only the Avengers stood in His way. He had three of the Infinity Gems, and He knew where the fourth one was. He had the Ego Gem stored safely away, because even He wasn’t fool enough to mess with that one unless it was desperately needed, but the Soul Gem was next on His list because it was in the possession of a mere mortal, genetically modified though he may be he was still human, and once He had possession of the Soul Gem Thor would fall at his feet.
The Thunderer would not be able to fight Him, lost to the might of Thanos and the power of the Gem, and with Thor in His thrall He would have a way to bring Loki out of hiding. With Thor’s defeat, Thanos would earn the Space Gem, and with Loki’s the Mind Gem and victory would follow. With both of them under His complete thrall, they would go to Asgard together and take what was rightfully His: the Gauntlet, His vengeance, and the universes. His Mistress would be pleased by His offerings when at last Thanos allowed His enemies the respite of death and severed their worthless heads from their weak bodies. She would thank Him and love Him once more despite His past failure.
The Titan would rule by Death’s side. Once He was done, there would be no one left who could part them.
XXX
September 28th 2015. New Jersey.
He fought well for a mortal, though he took to hiding behind his army of controlled civilians once the Avengers appeared. The police had been hesitant to shoot at the army of people, blank faced and silent, all staring towards Adam Warlock every time he spoke, in sync, like puppets on a string, and so they waited for the Avengers to arrive and do their job for them. Inside of Adam’s breast pocket, a Gem shone lightly, not enough to give itself away but enough to cast a little light upon his chin.
Thor, who was still far enough away to need to squint, mistook the light of the Gem reflecting for the brightness of Adam’s eyes. He surged forward, hammer outstretched as he called to his friends, “this man is under the Titan’s control!”
Mistakenly believed to have been mind controlled himself, Adam didn’t know what to do. He had not planned for this. He had escaped the facility, found a really neat looking bauble that so happened to make people susceptible to his suggestions and thought he’d have a little fun with it. He’d built an army, and looted a few shops, and used the crowd to keep the police from getting too close to him. But he hadn’t thought they’d send in the Avengers. Because he was a petty criminal: theft, arson at that one place, looting, loitering, vagrancy maybe if the Judge was really hard on him, but the Avengers weren’t necessary!
Then Thor was on him. Barton and Loki and Selvig had all been ordered to protect themselves to protect the mission, and Thor had assumed Warlock would too fight back, but he didn’t.
Mjölnir struck him in the face, and his neck snapped back with a crack like thunder and Thor dropped the hammer in surprise. The body crumpled to the floor, neck bent unnaturally, and the hammer fell to land beside him. Around them, the people he had controlled collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut; though some had begun to shake their heads and push themselves carefully back to their feet by the time Thor came to his senses. His friends watched him with wide eyes, uncomprehending, because never before had they killed one of their enemies and even though it was an accident it was still a death.
“Well, big guy,” Tony said, leaning over to slap Thor on the shoulder, “think of that as practise for Thanos.” Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and tense situations made him babble.
“Point,” Clint agreed, offering Steve a shrug when the man turned wide, horrified blue eyes on him instead of Tony. “There’s no one whose neck I’d love to snap more.”
The police took care of the body.
The Avengers took care of Thor, who had not killed a soul since the day he had invaded Jötunheimr and been banished to Midgard and learnt his lesson well about the preciousness of life. His hands shook from shock or from adrenaline Thor wasn’t sure, but he held tight to Mjölnir and allowed his friends to lead him to the waiting Quinjet, and once at the Tower to steer him towards a sofa with warm smiles and condolences and in Tony’s case congratulations for “kicking that jerk’s ass, or, well, neck but whatever!”
While they celebrated as much as anyone would dare, because there had been a death, but they had also won one more battle in the war against Thanos, Adam Warlock was driven to the closest morgue and his time and cause of death pronounced. The mortician left the room just as the Soul Gem in Adam’s pocket started glowing again, and brown eyes snapped open no hint of Tesseract blue in them, despite the shine of blue the Gem left along his jawline. Adam gasped for breath, throat aching and head pounding but he touched his face and neck and chest and everything seemed to be in working order so he sat up, fished the gem out of his pocket and kissed it.
“Thank you, I don’t care whoever the fuck you are up there, but thank you! And thank you too, shiny bauble that saved my life. I thought I was a goner when I saw that hammer coming at me, but fuck me! Here I am. Ha!” Adam climbed off of the metal slab and quietly went in search of anything they might have taken out of his pockets, but he hadn’t been there long enough to dress for burial and there was no need for an autopsy, so he was clothed and burdened with his possessions already. And he was ready to leave.
“Thank you,” he muttered again, leaning his forehead against the doors for a moment after they closed behind him, before he snuck out of the hospital with as little fanfare as he had arrived.
There were no Gods listening to his thanks, and Death had not been responsible for his life either, but Thanos listened and Thanos heard. Once more He began to make His way to Earth, because that was where His next Gem was waiting for Him.
XXX
1 - The Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does. Also, Evanora is the sister of the Wicked Witch, whose magic is also green.
2 - There is no armor against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings - James Shirley, The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses
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Thanks for reading! Hopefully the next chapter comes sooner, cause Loki will finally be having his baby and Jörmungandr will turn up at some point too! And hey, Fenrir and Death were in this one, so yay? The Warriors Three will appear in about three chapters, and the X-Men are back in the next with Spiderman and people are going to start suffering soon enough, so hold onto your feels…
Words: 5,320
Chapter 9
NEXT CHAPTER HERE
Wow this is so unbelievably late! But I had hela problems with this chapter and a shit couple months, and yeah this chapter isn’t all that great anyway… But hopefully it’s something to make up for the wait? And longer than I thought it would be too.
Enjoy and let me know what you thought!
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Words: 7,514
Chapter 8
July 7th 2015. Little Hangleton.
Loki hadn’t been sure what to expect whenever she thought about Harry introducing her to Voldemort - no, that was a lie: she had expected hatred, resentment and anger. To be shunned and ignored and reviled. To be pushed aside and spat upon behind Harry’s back, to be rejected, cast dirty glances out of the corner of each Death Eaters’ eye, the way it had always been among Thor’s friends when Thor’s back was turned. That was what she had been expecting - but it had not been this. Not acceptance, nor smiles, or Voldemort’s hand clasping her own tight enough that Loki feared she might never get it back. The Dark Lord raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of her palm, just before the wrist. He pulled her into a hug then, and Loki stood stiff and silent as their bodies pressed close enough together that she was sure Voldemort could feel the small bump of her unborn child. As she had thought, he had, and he pulled back to glance down at her belly and then over her shoulder to Harry who waited with a smile on his face and their son in his arms.
“Congratulations,” Voldemort murmured, first to her and then to his husband, as he released her hand. “Welcome to the family.” He turned from her completely then, glancing around at the gathered Death Eaters and began to speak. As he introduced her, Eileifer ran forward, having wiggled rebelliously until Harry put him down, and the toddler happily wound his arms around his father’s legs. Voldemort reached down to pet his hair gently, fingers carding through the dark strands as the child babbled into the back of his knees, and Loki reached up to brush the tears from her cheeks, though she didn’t even know why she was crying.
“I told you,” Harry whispered into her ear, having come up behind her to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her tight against his side. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Loki chuckled softly, heart hammering in her chest. “You did,” she agreed quietly, “I should learn not to question you, oh wonderful Wizard.”
“If ever a wiz there was,”1 a voice said softly from behind them. Loki and Harry turned in sync, though Loki had tensed up, one hand over her belly and the other held out in front of her, green sparks of magic crackling at her fingertips. Harry hadn’t tensed though, because he had recognized the voice; it was airy and light and so very uncommon that it would have been quite hard to imitate it. He took in the sight of her, even beneath the mask she wore Harry could see the wonderful shade of silver-blue that were her eyes, and her wheat coloured hair spilled out over her shoulders just as long as it had ever been but not an inch longer. She was covered in a long black robe, the hood pulled up and casting shadows across the pale mouth that was free of the mask, but Harry caught the familiar quirk of familiar lips, and though it had been years since he had seen her last, since the day she had taken his child away and he had sent her away in turn, but Harry recognized her nonetheless. “Peace Evanora, I am a friend.” She whispered at Loki.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but he did place one hand on Loki’s arm, pushing it down gently until she allowed it to drop completely and the magic fizzled out.
“And a foe,” the Death Eater added unexpectedly, glancing this time at Harry, “in equal parts.”
“Yes, you are,” he whispered, his own hand pressing to his stomach, and he remembered the pain of their last meeting and how he had laughed in Dumbledore’s face before he realised, and how he had woken, alone and empty and then Luna had been there with that same sad smile and those bright sad eyes and Harry had hated her. More than he had hated anyone ever, and because he was her master when Harry had sent her away, Death had left. “But I have missed you anyway, Luna.”
“What?” Loki murmured. He cast a glance around, searching for Eileifer and after seeing him hiding behind his father’s legs, the God glanced back at the intruder, nervous and wary because she had some idea of who this strange woman was.
“A nightmare for some.” She glanced at Harry again, before turning to stare at Loki, who had for how many months prayed for Death’s embrace every time the guards had left him alone. “Others, as a saviour I come. What am I?”
“Mistress!” Loki dropped to her knees, one arm crossed over her chest, hand fisted over her heart, and she kept her head bowed even as she tried to tug Harry down to his knees alongside her.
“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, pulling her up to her feet again, “its ok. She’s a friend.” He said it calmly, almost certain, but there was enough of a question left in his words that even Voldemort raised an eyebrow in Luna’s direction.
She pulled off her mask and tucked it back inside of her robes; now that Harry knew who she was it was pointless to hide her face. “I am a friend,” she agreed. She crooked a finger towards Eileifer, beckoning him closer and he ran to her, trusting in the way all happy children are. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I am so sorry, Harry.” She picked the child up, and his hands tangled in her hair, immediately a fistful of it even making its way to his mouth before she tugged it free.
“I will help you protect your family,” she offered. But because she is Death, and all beings have a time and a place and there was nothing she could do to interfere with that even if she wanted to, she qualified herself, adding, “If I can.” Loki glared at her, but Harry who had lost once to Death and won many other times because he was master and he had the Hallows and they would only protect him understood that Death lays his icy hand on kings1, and what was one child in comparison?
Voldemort broke the silence then, clearing his throat loudly, and turning back to his Death Eaters to finish Loki’s introduction. Loki cried again, pressed into Harry’s side with Eileifer hugging her legs this time, because Voldemort said only nice things about her - unlike Thor who had once introduced him to a visiting Lord as his ‘useless runt of a brother’ because Loki had fallen off of his horse and gotten his clothes dirty - and his Death Eaters were smiling at him for the most part and those who weren’t at least didn’t look like they hated him and Harry had been right, like Harry was always right. Everything would be ok.
XXX
August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton.
When the werewolves came back, Voldemort and Harry stood side by side in the doorway to the manor to greet them. Loki waited a little behind them, and she smiled faintly when Luna came forward to pluck Eileifer out of her arms. The blonde woman just smiled, ignoring the questioning look Loki sent her, and took careful steps backwards. “Harry,” she called softly, “come stand beside Loki.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at her, and then at Loki who stood bemused and sans child, and he obediently walked towards her. Shoulder to shoulder they waited instead, and Voldemort remained alone in the threshold waiting for his friend to return to him.
They waited patiently, though that was difficult for the toddler who once more was trying to wiggle his way to freedom, desperately demanding, “Down, down, down” to no avail. Luna held him tightly, still and silent, but she smiled like the Mona Lisa and Harry narrowed his eyes first at her and then at the group of people who were beginning to appear in the distance.
He hadn’t seen Fenrir since the war ended. The man had helped clean up the stragglers, those who had refused the new regime initially, those who continued to torture and kill indiscriminately targeting Muggleborns and Muggles and ‘proving themselves’ to the Dark Lord, carrying out his true work by their own admission. The werewolves had become a temporary police force, keeping anyone over zealous from acting out and frightening the more submissive non-supporters into silence until Voldemort and Harry had had time to hash out the details of their truce.
Once it was signed, and the couple were married and consummated and the government had been re-established (with a few changes here and there and everywhere really) Fenrir had asked for somewhere to take his pack, somewhere to live in peace from humans. Voldemort, who was so much younger than Fenrir was, was also the father the wolf had never had the chance to have. The Dark Lord had found him and rescued him, saved him from the punishment of his biological grandfather, long after his Father had stopped trying futilely to free him from Gleipnir, the Dwarven chains that bound him, and he had cared for him during his first rise to power. After his second rise, Voldemort had called him back, taken him and his pack into his home, his arms, and welcomed them, cared for him once more. Voldemort had granted him his wish, securing land and warding it from humans (with the exception of those keyed to the wards) and Fenrir had left them.
They wrote to each other, occasionally, Harry knew, though he hadn’t really known Fenrir well enough to ask after him or add words to the letters. Harry didn’t know that Fenrir had wrote to Voldemort in the days after Harry had reappeared back into the Wizarding world, or that Fenrir sometimes taught classes in Hogwarts to the part-creature students mostly and that he had seen Harry there, smelt Harry there, and had asked Voldemort if he knew why Harry had smelt how he did. Voldemort had replied, telling him of Harry’s lover whose name he did not know, but who had been tortured for more than a year and saved in part by Harry, who used magic and named Voldemort’s son Eileifer, the Norse name for ‘Ever-Heir’. Fenrir had taken what he could from that, made as many assumptions as he had dared, and later seen Harry Potter on the six-o-clock news in New York fighting off the Mad Titan who had kept calling him “Odinson”, and Fenrir had known.
Fenrir Greyback, Fenris Lokison, had come back to Little Hangleton prepared for who he would meet, but no one had told Loki. No one had known to tell Loki, because Fenrir had not told anyone, not since Voldemort, of what he truly was, and now he did not wish to frighten his Father away. He wondered, as he walked with his pack towards the house, if his Father had stopped trying to free him because he no longer loved him or if he had simply run out of ideas? Fenrir was not angry; he had stopped being angry a long time ago, but he was curious and hurt, because there she was, holding hands with Harry Potter and her stomach was rounded out but not enough to tell for sure the difference between overweight and pregnant, but Fenrir could smell it in the air. Father, and magic, and pregnancy, and home: after all this time apart, Loki still smelt like home, and Fenrir bounded forward, slipping easily into the form he had always taken until Voldemort had shown him how to change. The wolf charged forward, gun metal grey with black streaks around his nose and around the ankles of each leg, like a scar that would never heal, and he stopped with a growl right in front of Loki who reached out a shaking hand to touch the top of his head, fingers just barely brushing over soft fur before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Harry caught her; she was limp and pale and he hoisted her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style passed Luna who was still smiling.
“You could have warned her. Or me,” he muttered.
Behind him Fenrir whined, but followed as Voldemort did, and Harry brought Loki to the nearest living room and laid her out along the couch carefully setting her head in his lap so that he could run his fingers through her hair. Fenrir crouched on the floor by her feet, head still taller than the sofa even though he was sitting. Voldemort sank into the armchair and when Luna let Eileifer go he scrambled up into his father’s lap.
“Is mum ok?” He asked, thumb in his mouth a second later.
“She’ll be fine, darling boy. She just needed to take a nap.” Harry answered, and Voldemort snapped his mouth shut, about to say something about stupid wolves and heart attacks and then thought better of it.
“Dad,” he asked again, voice soft and green eyes wide. He could talk when it suited him, about certain subjects that interested him, but some words were still difficult and longer sentences were hard to string together but he was doing awfully well for a two-year-old. “Having baby now?”
“No, not yet, darling.”
Eileifer nodded his acceptance, though he did pout at the thought of having to wait even longer for a sister to play with, and he leaned back against his father’s chest and yawned. He glanced at Fenrir then, as if seeing the wolf for the first time, and his eyes blew wide and he grinned enough to show off his baby teeth. The wolf grinned back in kind, fangs flashing. “Who you?”
“I am Fenris Lokison,” the wolf whispered, his voice soft inside of each of their heads. He glanced with grey eyes that looked darker on the wolf than they did on the man first at Harry and Loki and then at Voldemort and the child in his lap who called Loki ‘mother’ though she was not his. He grinned again, deciding, “I am your Brother.”
“Hi,” Eileifer greeted with a wave. Harry chuckled, because his son was cute and adorable and never failed to amuse, and because he could wait and get the whole story out of Fenrir and Voldemort and Loki when she woke up. “Dad? I thought sister?” He pointed at Loki’s stomach, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.
“Yes, you’re going to have a sister soon. But right now, you’ve also gained a brother. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” So Eileifer did, and when Loki woke up it was to the sight of Fenrir pinning Eileifer to the floor, a wolf the size of a bear and a baby who only came up to her knee and she screamed softly before she was even aware that she was fully awake, but Fenrir only licked her son and Eileifer only giggled, exclaiming how icky it was. As Harry laughed, stomach vibrating against her cheek, Loki sat up and she threw herself at them, mindful of her bump. She pulled the toddler into her lap, one hand holding his head to her throat so she could feel him breathing against her bare skin, and the other fisted Fenrir’s ruff, her own face pressed into fur and she kissed him, over and over, wherever she could reach without having to move. Fenrir huffed loudly over her head before raising one paw to rest on her shoulder, drawing her closer to him as she began to cry.
“I have missed you too, Mother,” Fenrir whispered as he touched his muzzle to the top of her head in a kiss.
XXX
Circa 1970s.
It was cold and dark, but that was nothing a Lumos and some warming charms couldn’t take care of. The sounds of claws gouging chunks out of rock and those tortured animal noises were another matter entirely. Tom Riddle was not a coward, but he was a firm believer in self-preservation, and by the sounds of whatever animal was trapped here in the dark it would be safer for him to turn around and leave.
But.
This was where he had been told to go. First to Albania, and he had found the diadem, but he was short of one more item, and the villagers had told him of the stories they had heard from travellers, and he had travelled there himself to ask them and they had told him the same. An ancient treasure hid away in the cave, sent down from the heavens by a God, and though no one had come to in search of the cave for generations, their great-grandparents still remembered the tall, dark haired man who had offered them their weight in gold coins if they could break the chains that bound the animal.
Voldemort had not been certain whether the treasure was the wolf himself or whether it was the sword that was supposedly pinning its jaws to the ground, but regardless, he had come looking for the sword. He would kill the wolf and take the sword and use the first person he came across as the sacrifice needed to shred his soul. The sword would be his last Horcrux and he would hide it back inside of the cave where no one would ever think to look, because it had been centuries since the old Gods had deigned to walk amongst mortals.
The creature howled again. It was less of a howl though, and more of a garbled moan, filled with so much pain that Tom couldn’t help but think of the desperate sounds he had made as a child, full of hate and hunger and trapped amongst Muggles who had hurt him. He had been trapped and afraid then too, he remembered, an arm broken one summer so he could not complete his chores, and little children who couldn’t work for their supper received none.
Perhaps he would not kill the wolf. He could just take the sword, curse it and bring it right back. Even if anyone discovered its location no one would be foolish enough to brave the Fenrisulfr? The villagers were so afraid of him, even chained and muzzled by Odin’s blade that they refused to bring him food, and yet he still moaned and cried at night when thunder crashed overhead and no one came to rescue him. If no one would approach him bound as he was, surely no one would dare once Tom had freed the sword from between the creature’s teeth?
No, he decided. His Horcrux would be safe here.
He made his way closer to the sounds, wincing at the scratching of nails across the ground like they were being dragged over a blackboard, and Tom was well used to hearing that sound in Hogwarts but it didn’t mean he liked it. He cringed again at the noise, ears hurting and heart hammering, because there he was, the wolf, and he was bigger than even Tom had imagined. He was crouched down, on his belly, all four legs chained together beneath him as if he had been hog tied and then rolled back over, and it looked to be more than uncomfortable. The chains looped back up around the wolf’s head, melting into the pommel of the sword, either made in one go or welded together later, and the sword itself was stabbed downwards, through the muzzle of the wolf, through both jaws and so deep into the ground that Tom could see the crater from where he stood. To have stayed like that, for centuries; Tom couldn’t even being to imagine the suffering.
“Hello,” he whispered to the wolf. The creature’s head snapped towards him, followed by a whine as it pulled the sword further into his flesh, creating little trails of blood that spilled down over his nose. “I am here to take that sword, if you would not mind me doing so.”
The wolf considered him. Grey eyes were narrowed, the black of the middle darker than any Tom had ever seen (even though black was black, but now he was starting to feel nervous and paranoid but then the wolf was nodding). Fenris lowered his head, pushing himself as far down onto the sword as he could go so that as much of the pommel as possible was showing.
Tom glanced at it, glanced at the wolf, and sighed. “It is not that I’m not glad you are being so agreeable, but in my experience you get nothing for nothing. What is it you want? Because if you attempt to eat me once the sword is free I will be very displeased, and since I had already decided not to kill you before I left, I would hate to have to change my plans.”
“I am not planning to eat you,” the voice said. Tom jumped, strengthening his Occlumency shields at the same time, but that only made the voice chuckle. “You cannot keep me out of your head, little mortal. I am Fenris Lokison and my Mother has walked your dreams many times I’m sure, you and every other mortal who has ever prayed to him. I have inherited enough of her talents to be able to speak with you in the waking world, even if I cannot do it in your sleep.”
“Your mother is a man?” It wasn’t what he had originally planned to say, but those were the words that had escaped his mouth.
“My Mother is Loki Odinson, sometimes Lady Loki, sometimes a mare or a snake or a falcon. A spider at times, or a fly. A salmon once though that did not end well for him. He is a Prince of Asgard, the Mother of my eldest brother and Father to my other siblings, even those he cannot claim as his own, sired upon married women as they were.” Fenris snorted, and rolled his eyes. Voldemort thought on that last comment and mentally compared Loki to Abraxas Malfoy; the amount of women claiming to have had his child, and then taking back their accusations, was astronomical and Voldemort would bet that at least a third of those children were actually his though having already produced an heir and married a wife he would never admit to it.
“I am a wolf. My brothers a horse and snake respectively. My sister is the half-dead Goddess of Death and Queen of Helheimr, the realm of the dead who were unworthy of paradise, which contrary to its negative connotation is actually where the majority of people who die go. My other brothers who I have never met and have long since joined Hela in her realm were Áss enough, though Father’s wife was half-nymph, but even they were not exempted from their Father’s reputation. Man he may be for most of the time, but he is our mother nonetheless. They call him the Mother of Monsters, and a Monster I am, am I not?” Fenris raised his eyes, searching over Voldemort’s face for something that would prompt him to continue but the man remained motionless and blank and Fenris wondered if his father had managed to reach that level of stoicism since the last time they met. He had always tried so hard to keep his emotions off of his face, but never really managed to succeed when his children were involved.
“I only ask that if you take the sword you do not interfere with my actions concerning myself. Though, on my honour and my name, I mean you no harm, little mortal.”
“Very well,” Tom whispered at last. “But know this wolf, if you cross me you will not live long enough to regret it. Lord Voldemort is not a merciful lord.”
To be safe, rather than sorry, Tom did not approach the sword himself. Instead, he waved his wand, concentrating furiously, with an intentness he only displayed when he wanted to prove how much greater than everyone else he was.
“Accio!” There was a snap - the chains tearing away from the pommel of the sword, falling limply across Fenrir’s back - and there was a howl of pain and anger, like a scream from something dying and the wolf thrashed against his chains as the sword ripped itself free of his mouth and flew towards Tom. The Wizard caught it, the force of the spell knocking him off of his feet, but he kept his arms around the sword and one hand tight on his wand nonetheless.
There was blood running from Fenrir’s muzzle. His gun metal grey coat red all over his face, but it began to heal in front of Tom’s eyes, and where it had been all grey and silver now there was a streak of black, like a scar on skin, all along the fur between his nose up to the middle of his eyes. There was a matching one under his jaw, but Tom did not see that one until Fenrir rose to his feet, head thrown back to howl. The chains, now free from the sword, had some slack in them and Fenrir surged to his feet, legs still bound but able to move at least. His legs wobbled, and he crashed back down, but Voldemort could hear him laughing in his head as he tried again to stand.
He was taller than Voldemort was, even standing on his tip toes, and Voldemort was not a short man. The wolf seemed to take up the entire room, large and intimidating, even looking half-starved as he did.
“Would you like some help with the chains?” Voldemort asked, unsure why he cared other than the knowledge that the wolf would not last long with his legs chained up once he left the cave. Humans now weren’t like humans centuries ago, they had guns and canons and missiles of death instead of swords and torches, and Fenris only had his teeth and his bound claws.
“You cannot break them. But thank you for your offer.” He paused, shifting so that he could stare down at Voldemort. “Would you heal me?” He asked then, before he crouched back down again. His muzzle was against one foot and he began to chew, ignoring his own whimpers and Voldemort’s flinches and the puddle of blood that began to pool beneath his bulk until there was a crack of bone snapping and Fenrir ripped his paw clean off. The chain that had once looped around that foot fell to the floor with a rattle, unbroken but no longer binding him. Fenris turned to Voldemort, eyes wide and there was fear there, because he could not heal himself Voldemort realised, but he had been so desperate for freedom he would prefer to bleed to death than remain trapped for a moment more. “Please?”
Voldemort cast every spell he knew that could be useful. In five minutes, the paw was reattached and the bleeding had stopped, and like his muzzle Fenris now had a ring of black fur all the way around his ankle, a scar that no one would understand but them. He started on the next leg, chewing and pulling and Voldemort waited for the crack of bone and the squelch of parting flesh before he began casting spells again.
And again.
And again. Until all four legs were free of Gleipnir.
“My thanks, little human.”
“Have you got somewhere to go?” Tom was never quite sure why he had asked that. Or why he had offered to teach the wolf to take a human form, which he should have been able to do because his mother could and he had magic but he had been young when he had been taken and had never had the chance to learn. But he asked and he offered and Fenrir accepted his help and his hospitality and followed Voldemort home. And when Voldemort went to war, Fenrir followed then too.
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August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton.
Loki stayed pressed against Fenrir’s side, long after Harry had taken Eileifer for his nap. It was usually Loki’s pleasure to do that, to sing the child to sleep and read him stories and do all of the things for him that Odin had stopped her from doing for most of her other children, but today she couldn’t bring herself to leave Fenris’ side. The wolf was a warm weight against her, his paw on her back and his head resting on top of hers, and she clung to him, fingers digging into the fur of his neck and his belly and she eyed the black patches that were never there before with worry.
“How?” She whispered at last, after hours of semi-silent crying, as the others around her talked about the coming war and Fenrir comforted her with soft growls.
“The thing about animals is if you trap them for long enough they’d chew off their own leg to get free.” It was Luna who answered, with that same half-smile on her face, knowing and teasing and Loki hated it but she was afraid enough of Thanos’ lover to bit her tongue.
Instead wide green eyes fixed themselves on Fenrir’s scars, and she hated herself for crying again, but he had hurt, had hurt for centuries and she had not been able to prevent it. “I am a terrible mother,” she whispered into his fur, wiping her tears there too so no one else could see them.
“No, you aren’t,” Fenrir told her softly, just as Harry said:
“You never stopped loving them or looking for them, and that’s what matters, love.”
Fenrir moved then, shifting so that Loki had no choice but to pull away. He nodded to Harry, who leant down over the edge of the sofa to grab his lover under her arms and pull her up. She sat beside him, one hand fisting in the fabric of his robes, but the tension he could feel in her body relaxed a little when Fenrir shifted from wolf to man and took a seat on her other side. Loki remained there, silent except for the occasional suggestions she offered as the others talked of how to deal with Thanos and of whom to involve.
There were mentions of the Avengers that Loki ignored purposely, still not fond of Harry’s association with them or Thor’s involvement either. But she perked up when the X-Men were mentioned; thinking back on Gambit who had accosted her outside of Baba Yaga’s shop what seemed like a life time ago. There was talk of the Fantastic Four and a child who crawled up walls like a spider and a Brotherhood of Evil that had offered their assistance because apparently Thanos had stolen from their leader and Magneto was none too pleased about that.
They talked, and the more involved Loki became in the discussion, the more Fenrir stopped contributing. He had not yet offered his help, though it was implied between himself and Voldemort that he would help. But he had not offered it yet, and he was waiting to do so until he could see for himself what exactly it was about Harry Potter that made people love him, people who were usually thought so incapable of the emotion. The Dark Lord would lay down his life for the other man, who still looked so very young, too young to have eyes so old, and his mother clung to him like a life line, smiled at him and laughed softly as he spoke, glowed from her pregnancy, her hands and his always around her stomach though Fenrir knew from Sleipnir’s stories that Loki hadn’t been able to bare touching him while he was in the womb. And yet Harry’s child brought her such joy. And she cared for the other child as well, loved him as if he were her own, and Fenrir could see the way she preened whenever Eileifer called her ‘mother’ as if she was one.
Harry kissed her softly, taking her attention off of Luna who had spoken once more, her soft voice sending tendrils of fear whispering through Loki’s veins.
“She is my friend,” Harry promised her softly, mouth against her ear and making her shiver. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, friend or otherwise, ok?”
“Everything is going to be ok,” Loki agreed, calming down. ‘It would be’, Fenrir read the thought from her mind, pushing his own emotions, the well of protectiveness for her that existed in all good children for their mothers towards her, ‘because Harry said it would be’.
Fenrir turned from her thoughts then, leaning forward to look around his mother and speak straight to Harry. “Thank you,” he said loud enough to catch the man’s attention. The room went quiet for a moment, before Luna, being undeniably brilliant, purposely started talking to Voldemort, keeping his attention on her and off of them. “For loving my father and for taking care of her.”
“She deserves it,” Harry offered with a small shrug. He cast a fond glance in Voldemort’s direction, who was watching Luna though Harry knew he was listening, interest caught by the sound of his husband’s voice (and they were husbands because they were family and had been for fifteen years and Harry could marry Loki if he liked because they weren’t married, but they weren’t ex- anythings either). “I spent fifteen years being taken care of. As they say, turnabout is fair play. Is that the right saying?” Harry frowned, but Fenrir chuckled and reached out for his hand to shake.
Fenrir’s hand was huge even as a human, and Harry felt tiny and insignificant as the God clung to him and stared deep into his soul. “I owe my gratitude and my allegiance to your Dark Lord and he cares for you so I have tried my best to keep out of your affairs and I helped you when you needed my help. But Loki is my mother, and I am loyal to her above all. If you hurt her there will be no place you can run, no crevice where you can hide and no pitiful army will protect you from me,” Fenrir hissed, fangs bared and the pupils of his eyes turning darker until they were the eyes of his wolf and his nails were black and long and digging into Harry’s hand but the human didn’t complain.
Loki flinched, the words too much like those the Other had hissed in his ear years ago, before the invasion had gone so terribly wrong and he had suffered so terribly; but these words were not for her, so she tried to calm her racing heart. She opened her mouth to reprimand her son, because his words were unnecessary and Harry had always and would always take care of her, because Harry made everything ok and he saved people. That was what he did. Whether they deserved it or not, whether she deserved it, Harry would save her.
“But until you do, if you ever do, I am in your debt too and at your service, my Lord. It would be an honour to fight against the armies of the Mad Titan in your name Harry Potter.” Fenris grinned then, teeth sharp and bright and Harry could imagine them dripping with the blood of his enemies and had to shake his head to clear it of such thoughts. “And it would be my pleasure,” Fenrir continued before pressing a kiss to Loki’s forehead and making his way towards the door, “to sink my teeth into the fustilarian who dared lay hands upon my mother.” He slipped from the room then, and Loki pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide the blush that grew there. But she smiled when Harry caught her gaze and he pressed his lips to her forehead too.
“One down,” Harry joked, referring to Fenrir. Loki only frowned at him, not understanding his intentions, but Luna snorted and Voldemort rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. Red eyes met Harry’s and the Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders, as elegantly as anyone could manage to, and though he did not know himself he did consider whether or not Fenrir would know where Jörmungandr hid. Harry, who knew what he was thinking after fifteen years of seeing that same look upon his face, turned to grin at Luna, like a child begging for ice cream, because if Fenrir didn’t know Death probably did.
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August 23rd 2015. Space.
It had been easier than He had expected. But so had His theft from Magneto and the killing of the other Elder, the one Thor had sought to defend. Thanos wondered, as He ripped the ring and the ring finger away from the old man crumbled at His feet, if Thor would seek to avenge this one too. Would he bring his brother again? Even surrounded by the other ‘heroes’ Loki was no match for His might and the insolence of the man, to deny Him, to defy Him, after the pains Thanos had taken to teach the little God-child his place, well, it only made Him all the more determined to get Loki back. The little runt needed to be taught once and for all his place, and that was at Thanos’ feet, licking His boots, or upon his back with his legs spread wide or his mouth open and waiting or both simultaneously because Thanos was a kind master and the Chitauri had yet to be rewarded for the valiant efforts in New York. Loki’s failure was not their failure, though Loki insisted the Tesseract had been theirs for the taking and none had taken it, because Thanos had bid Loki bring it to Him.
But enough about the wretch, for his punishment was yet to come. But for now, Thanos glanced once more down at the dead Guardian, who had once protected the Galaxies from danger and from Him, had once defeated Him with the help of his comrades and Odin Allfather, who now cowered in Asgard upon his throne, too cowardly to ask after the true fate of his false son, and the Guardians were down two members, dead at Thanos’ hands. Only the Avengers stood in His way. He had three of the Infinity Gems, and He knew where the fourth one was. He had the Ego Gem stored safely away, because even He wasn’t fool enough to mess with that one unless it was desperately needed, but the Soul Gem was next on His list because it was in the possession of a mere mortal, genetically modified though he may be he was still human, and once He had possession of the Soul Gem Thor would fall at his feet.
The Thunderer would not be able to fight Him, lost to the might of Thanos and the power of the Gem, and with Thor in His thrall He would have a way to bring Loki out of hiding. With Thor’s defeat, Thanos would earn the Space Gem, and with Loki’s the Mind Gem and victory would follow. With both of them under His complete thrall, they would go to Asgard together and take what was rightfully His: the Gauntlet, His vengeance, and the universes. His Mistress would be pleased by His offerings when at last Thanos allowed His enemies the respite of death and severed their worthless heads from their weak bodies. She would thank Him and love Him once more despite His past failure.
The Titan would rule by Death’s side. Once He was done, there would be no one left who could part them.
XXX
September 28th 2015. New Jersey.
He fought well for a mortal, though he took to hiding behind his army of controlled civilians once the Avengers appeared. The police had been hesitant to shoot at the army of people, blank faced and silent, all staring towards Adam Warlock every time he spoke, in sync, like puppets on a string, and so they waited for the Avengers to arrive and do their job for them. Inside of Adam’s breast pocket, a Gem shone lightly, not enough to give itself away but enough to cast a little light upon his chin.
Thor, who was still far enough away to need to squint, mistook the light of the Gem reflecting for the brightness of Adam’s eyes. He surged forward, hammer outstretched as he called to his friends, “this man is under the Titan’s control!”
Mistakenly believed to have been mind controlled himself, Adam didn’t know what to do. He had not planned for this. He had escaped the facility, found a really neat looking bauble that so happened to make people susceptible to his suggestions and thought he’d have a little fun with it. He’d built an army, and looted a few shops, and used the crowd to keep the police from getting too close to him. But he hadn’t thought they’d send in the Avengers. Because he was a petty criminal: theft, arson at that one place, looting, loitering, vagrancy maybe if the Judge was really hard on him, but the Avengers weren’t necessary!
Then Thor was on him. Barton and Loki and Selvig had all been ordered to protect themselves to protect the mission, and Thor had assumed Warlock would too fight back, but he didn’t.
Mjölnir struck him in the face, and his neck snapped back with a crack like thunder and Thor dropped the hammer in surprise. The body crumpled to the floor, neck bent unnaturally, and the hammer fell to land beside him. Around them, the people he had controlled collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut; though some had begun to shake their heads and push themselves carefully back to their feet by the time Thor came to his senses. His friends watched him with wide eyes, uncomprehending, because never before had they killed one of their enemies and even though it was an accident it was still a death.
“Well, big guy,” Tony said, leaning over to slap Thor on the shoulder, “think of that as practise for Thanos.” Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and tense situations made him babble.
“Point,” Clint agreed, offering Steve a shrug when the man turned wide, horrified blue eyes on him instead of Tony. “There’s no one whose neck I’d love to snap more.”
The police took care of the body.
The Avengers took care of Thor, who had not killed a soul since the day he had invaded Jötunheimr and been banished to Midgard and learnt his lesson well about the preciousness of life. His hands shook from shock or from adrenaline Thor wasn’t sure, but he held tight to Mjölnir and allowed his friends to lead him to the waiting Quinjet, and once at the Tower to steer him towards a sofa with warm smiles and condolences and in Tony’s case congratulations for “kicking that jerk’s ass, or, well, neck but whatever!”
While they celebrated as much as anyone would dare, because there had been a death, but they had also won one more battle in the war against Thanos, Adam Warlock was driven to the closest morgue and his time and cause of death pronounced. The mortician left the room just as the Soul Gem in Adam’s pocket started glowing again, and brown eyes snapped open no hint of Tesseract blue in them, despite the shine of blue the Gem left along his jawline. Adam gasped for breath, throat aching and head pounding but he touched his face and neck and chest and everything seemed to be in working order so he sat up, fished the gem out of his pocket and kissed it.
“Thank you, I don’t care whoever the fuck you are up there, but thank you! And thank you too, shiny bauble that saved my life. I thought I was a goner when I saw that hammer coming at me, but fuck me! Here I am. Ha!” Adam climbed off of the metal slab and quietly went in search of anything they might have taken out of his pockets, but he hadn’t been there long enough to dress for burial and there was no need for an autopsy, so he was clothed and burdened with his possessions already. And he was ready to leave.
“Thank you,” he muttered again, leaning his forehead against the doors for a moment after they closed behind him, before he snuck out of the hospital with as little fanfare as he had arrived.
There were no Gods listening to his thanks, and Death had not been responsible for his life either, but Thanos listened and Thanos heard. Once more He began to make His way to Earth, because that was where His next Gem was waiting for Him.
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1 - The Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does. Also, Evanora is the sister of the Wicked Witch, whose magic is also green.
2 - There is no armor against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings - James Shirley, The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses
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Thanks for reading! Hopefully the next chapter comes sooner, cause Loki will finally be having his baby and Jörmungandr will turn up at some point too! And hey, Fenrir and Death were in this one, so yay? The Warriors Three will appear in about three chapters, and the X-Men are back in the next with Spiderman and people are going to start suffering soon enough, so hold onto your feels…
Words: 5,320
Chapter 9
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