Part the Sixth
Loki might not have exactly told Tony Stark everything about the Quidditch World Cup. He mentioned it was in England. That the event could last up to three weeks. That he would personally see to Harry’s safety. That there would be tents with assigned beds—however, it would be his personal lot and his personal tent that he would share with Harry. The tent also would come from Asgard.
Of course, he would never impose upon Harry and he was still so young. He wanted Harry to have fun, not have to deal with the conflicting feelings of sex and desire. It still baffled Loki that wizards were allowed to court one another at the age of thirteen, witches at sixteen. Loki wasn’t permitted to even look at a lady of the court until he reached his thousandth year—not that he had any interest in ladies or, indeed, Asgardians.
Still, for this match Loki had a comfortable tent with several rooms, a master bedroom that he’d give to Harry and a comfortable divan he would make up for himself. He’d done his best to give it luxurious fabrics that could appear on Midgard and yet seem to be what a bachelor would own.
Then he went around altering the memories of various Slytherins, which took over half an afternoon. His dummy wand was forgotten in his sleeve. He wasn’t constricted to a wand; it was more of a hindrance than anything. Harry had become a viable possible consort when he showed his parlor trick with the fork the afternoon they met… any reason the Allfather might throw at them could be negated with that one brilliant talent.
Harry arrived by international portkey half a day after Loki, and Loki was waiting for him. Harry was wearing an outlandish button down shirt with ribbing and a leather jacket made out of—it might have been hippogriff hide—with puff shoulders.
Wrapping an arm around Harry and grabbing his bag before leading him away from the filthy non-magic users, they wended their way through the campsite.
“How was Malibu?” Loki asked, looking down at Harry. He’d only seen him on the one Salem weekend and had to content himself with letters.
Harry’s face fell. “You haven’t heard. It’s a mess. The government wants the Iron Man suit and—it’s just—all hell has broken loose. I’m so glad to get away for a bit, especially since Tony has been acting so—weird.”
Loki just pulled him closer before they arrived at the tent.
He watched Harry as he entered and his courted took in the wizarding (Asgardian) space with wonder. Soon Harry was rushing through all the rooms and Loki was leaning against the door to the kitchen as Harry inspected it along with the running water, a curl to Loki’s lip. “Does it pass muster?”
“Don’t be silly, Loki,” Harry chided, “of course it passes muster. Are you sure you don’t want me to take the divan? This is your tent—I am your guest.”
“No,” Loki quickly assured him. He ran a hand along Harry’s fringe which had grown quite long over the past few months. “I want you to have fun, to have every comfort I can give you. Now do you want to wander? There are some Slytherins here.”
Harry grimaced. “Who?”
“Oh,” he stated casually, pulling the names to mind and the ridiculous looks on their faces when they fell all over themselves when they ‘recognized’ him. “Montague. Asper. Jenkins. But they’re all ahead of you. I think I saw Lord Malfoy’s tent.—but we can assiduously avoid him.”
“I’d rather not be recognized,” he admitted carefully, coming up to Loki and accepting the two hands that were offered to him.
Loki pulled him close and rested his forehead up against Harry’s. “I thought you didn’t want to wear glamours.”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “I hoped it would be enough without glasses, without the scar, and having my hair longer. I also brought clothing that I only bought in the U.S. so no one can recognize me by my clothing.”
“And you have a different name,” Loki reminded him without delay, tilting up his chin to show that Harry should always hold his chin high. It was something he had learned on Asgard, as the brother of popular Thor Ordinson. “Anthony, Jr.” Then he leaned down and kissed Harry carefully, relishing in the smell of fresh sea air.
The kiss was repeated and then Loki was moving his head to the side to get better access. His kisses became more hurried, more passionate, and Harry was slightly reticent at first until, just when Loki was about to pull back, Harry moaned and pushed himself into Loki, their fingers now entwining.
Guiding Harry’s arms around his neck, Loki let his hands roam up Harry’s back, pulling him closer until they lost their balance against the door and Harry giggled a little. “Hello,” he murmured as his green eyes sought out Loki’s.
Kissing him again, a quick dart forward and then back, he was happy when Harry met the teasing kiss and they situated themselves against the door.
Someone, unfortunately, knocked on the outer door and Loki moaned before placing one last kiss on Harry’s lips. He turned and went to the door and saw Marcus Flint leaning there. It really was astounding how ugly he was, but he had been on Loki’s Quidditch team when he was Captain sixth and seventh years. Or so the story went. Loki, in actuality, had been on Jotunheim.
“Flint,” he greeted. “Good showing out there?” He stepped away from the doorway and let Flint enter.
Harry came out of the living room and leaned up against the door casually, all pureblood elegance. The sight made Loki’s blood rush through him. “Marcus Flint, Anthony Stark, Jr., my courted.”
“I don’t know the name Stark,” Flint stated rather viciously, though his eyes were taking in Harry and his expensive wizarding clothing.
“It’s American,” Harry answered calmly. “The Starks are rather prominent in some circles.”
Sizing him up for a moment longer, Flint offered his hand, which Harry took. “You sound English.”
“Mum’s an English witch,” Harry answered, shrugging. “My father’s American. International couples do exist.”
Not answering except with a nod of the head, Flint turned back to Loki. “All of us Quidditch players from Slytherin are having an impromptu rave if the game ends before four a.m. Everyone’s invited, even Malfoy. I made him Seeker my last year. Bring whatever you’ve got and, well, if we find you snogging Stark, I guess we won’t be shocked.—play Quodpot, Stark?”
“Quidditch,” he answered. “Chaser. Mum’s British, remember?”
“And she let you come all the way here without her—at the mercy of Odinson?” His eyes were definitely flashing in amusement.
“I assured Anthony, Jr.’s father that I would be a gentleman,” he told him point blank, not liking the lack of disrespect. Clearly, in his desire to appear Midgardian he hadn’t taken the proper precautions to ensure his natural majesty. “I won’t take kindly if you start suggesting something different to Lord Malfoy or the Minister. Anthony, Jr. is also an international guest.”
Flint held up his monstrously large hands, that were perfect for a beater. “Just teasing. Stark.”
He exited and Loki was happy to close the door on him. “We don’t have to go,” he promised. “I don’t know how Americans view excessive alcohol intake in minors. I know your father never caught onto the fact that I gave you firewhiskey—”
“Is that what that was?” Harry asked. “And he caught on. That sort of thing doesn’t make it past Tony Stark.” He came over and kissed Loki lightly. “Come on, let’s explore.”
Harry had not expected to meet Viktor Krum. At all. He’d seen posters up of him scowling everywhere, of course he had, but meet him? No.
He and Loki were wandering through a particularly dense crowd that was speaking some language he didn’t understand when they came across a large red tent.
“That’s worse than Lord Malfoy’s tent,” Loki stated in shock, as if he didn’t expect such a thing to be possible.
“Is it?” Harry asked, looking at it, calculatingly. “You should have seen the hotel in Monte Carlo. Tony fortunately let me wear American wizarding fashion. Everyone thought I was just some rich kid, it was quite fun, until Tony decided to race his own car,” he added wryly.
Loki rubbed a hand up and down his back in support.
It was then that Harry felt someone tugging his sleeve. He turned and saw a witch he didn’t recognize, about his age and wearing a miniskirt, standing there. “Anthony, Jr.?” she asked in shock. Oh, no. She was American. She must be an upper year or had just graduated. “Can I have your autograph?”
Knowing it was best to sign a few and then make a hasty exit, Harry held out his hand and a New York Times was shoved in his hand. There was his face along with an insert of Tony’s. He remembered this article. It was calculating whether he would be prepared to take over Stark Industries when he turned eighteen or if Pepper Potts was a better fit.
Trying not to roll his eyes, he signed it quickly and gave it back.
However, she wasn’t the last.
When they were trying to leave politely after he had signed about twelve magazines, newspapers, or slips of paper for American Muggleborns, someone came out of the tent with a huff.
“Vhat is going on?” It was Krum. His scowling face was really no better in person than it was up on posters.
Great. Harry had been signing autographs in front of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team’s tent.
“Anthony, Jr.!” Some idiot shouted. Oh, no. He recognized her from Charms. Wait. Or maybe not. Whatever. “Will you marry me?”
Krum glanced over the crowd in suspicion especially when they all seemed to be focused on someone other than him.
“Do they always do this?” Loki murmured worriedly in his ear.
“Usually I have security or Natalie,” Harry apologized.
The small crowd of eager fangirls were pushing forward and then Harry felt an arm on his shoulder and he was pulled inside a tent. A moment later Loki followed, barely ruffled. How did he manage it?
“You are being famous?” A gruff voice asked and Harry turned to, once again, see Krum.
Harry shrugged. “My dad is. I honestly didn’t think I’d have this problem in Britain.—Thanks, by the way. I know you have a match and I’m the last sort of thing you want to deal with.”
Krum eyed him for a moment. “You can stay ‘til they be leaving.” Then, he himself walked through an opening and disappeared.
“Well,” Loki remarked as he came up to Harry. “Fame seems to only get you so far. Breeding, for instance, cannot be earned on the Qudditch pitch.”
“You were Quidditch Captain,” Harry reminded him. “I played Quidditch. I’m trying out for Quodpot this year just to make Aldric squirm every time he faces against me.”
“Yes, your other suitor,” Loki stated dryly, clearly not liking the reminder of the President of MACUSA’s son.
Harry turned to him and placed a hand over Loki’s heart, which Loki instantly claimed with his own. “He was kind to me and I wanted—it won’t make sense. I wanted to be wanted for me and not for the other things that go along with being my mother’s son or my father’s heir. But you made my heart stop as soon as I laid eyes on you.”
Loki smirked. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Why did you approach me?” Harry asked carefully.
For a moment, Loki was quiet. “I wanted to see if your eyes would darken after I snogged you. You were the height of refinement and pureblood elegance. Americans only play at it—but you possessed it in your very being, just standing there and looking at me. I suppose we can blame it on you being brought up in Britain.”
“I suppose we can,” Harry agreed. “Tony still hates you.”
This seemed to secretly please Loki. “It’s only because he loves you so much. You’re his precious son whom he lost for thirteen years. Those are years he’ll never get back and I think he knows I plan on stealing you away as soon as you will let me.”
Harry sighed, not in disappointment or contentment. Just simply in being. “Not to England,” he begged despite himself. “Norway.”
“Not to England,” Loki agreed.
Draco Malfoy, at first, thought he was seeing things. Harry Potter had been removed from Hogwarts by his filthy Muggle of an Aunt and stashed away somewhere that no one could find him. Not even his father could find out what had happened, and he was a school governor. All that was known is that the correct paperwork had been filed and sealed.
But there he was entering the stadium with—was that Lord Loki Odinson?
A sliver of memory slipped into his head—as if Loki Odinson had once been studying in the Slytherin Common Room—and then it was as natural as if he had seen it happening all throughout his first year.
Odinson was a god in Slytherin House. He was absolutely legendary on the Quidditch Pitch, beating out Charlie Weasley all but one game in his entire career!
“Father—” Draco hesitantly asked as he made his way into the Top Box with his two parents and his sister Lacerta. Iolanthe was too young and had been left at home with a distant Malfoy cousin. “Did you know Lord Loki Odinson was going to be here?”
“Yes,” Lucius answered as he ushered his children in. “He’s courting an American wizard and brought him along to the World Cup as a treat.”
“American?” Narcissa asked, a little confused. “It’s not like the Odinsons or the Norwegians in general to go to the colonies for a potential bonded—”
“No one knows the whole story,” Lucius confided. “I just heard that Odinson went over on an errand and came back besotted.”
Then, strangely, Draco thought he saw Harry again. There were huge screens that followed the Quidditch players throughout the game and once Krum caught the snitch (but lost the game), he flew into the stands and approached—Harry Potter. Who didn’t have a scar.
Of course, you’d have to have known Harry Potter quite well to have recognized him. He must have grown and his face had become more chiseled. Still, there was that same quality. Did Draco mention that Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses which just changed the dynamics of his face drastically?
Harry looked surprised when Krum came near him and held out the Golden Snitch. After looking to the side at a person who wasn’t shown on screen, he took the snitch and then folding one arm over his chest and extending the other to the side, he bowed formally.
The Quidditch pitch went eerily silent.
Then someone screamed out, “Anthony, Jr., will you marry me?” She must have cast a sonorous charm on herself. “We can have wizarding babies!”
Immediately Harry looked up, his eyebrows crossed, before he looked at Krum and then over again to the side. Draco saw him mouth the word, “babies,” in obvious confusion.
The screen cut and Draco looked over to his father, who was staring quite pointedly at the place where the image had been projected by magic. “Is that who I think it was?” he asked no one in particular.
“Where’s his scar?” Draco answered in obvious confusion.
Harry did not want to go out that night with the other Slytherins. He was terrified of the American Muggleborns. His entire potential status as a pureblood in the United States was being compromised by silly witches who wanted to have his children.
They didn’t have butterbeer in America and so Loki had stocked the refrigerator with it and Harry sat on the kitchen counter, just staring at the Snitch sitting beside him.
Loki came in and tilted up an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
“It’s not alcohol,” Harry immediately offered. “I’m not allowed to drink alone and only in moderation.”
Sauntering up and running a hand down Harry’s neck, Loki sighed. “You’re a young pureblood wizard. You’re allowed a glass of firewhiskey, but that’s not what I was talking about.” He picked up the snitch and tried to laugh. “I thought he was going to kill you with some sort of unknown Eastern Magic with the intensity of his glower.”
A smile crooked Harry’s mouth. “It was odd, wasn’t it? Krum barely spoke a word to us and then—” He shrugged. “It’s something to show my children, I suppose. My dad will try to make a mechanical version, too. He’s such a kid sometimes.”
“I suppose,” Loki agreed, inserting himself between Harry’s legs. “I think you need to be reminded how unimportant those Americans are and Quidditch stars who have hooked noses and slouch unbecomingly on land.”
Harry laughed. “Really, Lord Loki?” Still holding the bottle of butterbeer, he hooked his hands around Loki’s neck and looked up into his expressive blue eyes.
He knew, even from knowing Loki for such a short time, that Loki tried to hide his emotions behind slyness and mischief. There was something about an older brother who got all the recognition.
Both he and Harry were renegades in their way, aspiring to pureblood culture for different reasons, both belonging and yet not belonging in entirely different ways. Harry almost thought that Loki should find a pureblood witch of impeccable birth—but if Loki was one thing, he was decisive. He had decided he wanted Harry and so he had Harry, and he treasured him all the more for it.
Soft looks became soft touches before lips gently met lips and Harry was lost in the sensation of being with his boyfriend.
When the butterbeer bottle dropped and smashed on the floor, neither really noticed.
Tony was in his Malibu mansion just eating a pizza (and drinking far too much alcohol) when Pepper was announced.
“No Anthony, Jr., I see,” she commented as she put aside her purse. She had nothing else on her. Why on earth was Pepper here then?
“He’s in England,” Tony explained lazily. “Some sort of sports tournament. His boyfriend had tickets.” Looking into his glass, he then inhaled it. There was no one to see. No one of importance. And he was dying with no one to leave his kid to.
Pepper raised her eyebrow. “I thought that business was done with. Natalie said something about Anthony, Jr.’s plans changing that day when that Aldric boy stood him up.”
Laughing, Tony didn’t bother to look at her even though she was devouring him with his eyes. “Pep, he’s my son. Do you honestly think he’s going to stay single for long if he has other ideas on the matter?” He took up another piece of pizza and a swig of his beer. “Lord Loki is a ponce, but he cares for Anthony, Jr. and seems to hate the fact that I’m a well-known figure, so he’s not after my money.”
Sitting down across from him, smoothing out her—were those skinny jeans?—Pepper took a slice of pizza. “And you let Anthony, Jr. go with him?”
“Anthony, Jr. is an aficionado and apparently the event has been sold out for years. I trust my kid, and I sufficiently threatened Lord Loki.”
“What of his parents?”
The names Odin and Frigga ran through his mind, along with Thor, but Tony pushed them out quickly, just as he was supposed to. But that was just it, wasn’t it? Whoever Lord Loki’s parents were, he was an adult. An adult to choose, an adult with his own responsibilities.
“Why are you here, Pep? I know it’s not to make me sign something.” Tony was frankly in an interesting mood. He wished that he could get JARVIS to tap a feed of the tournament—he’d been trying since Harry left yesterday—
It was then that the AI called to him. “Sir, you need to see this. It is confidential.”
Tony was immediately up on his feet and in his private office where he watched the end of a game where there were figures on a broom and then this brooding figure—that was Anthony, Jr. Tony’s blood ran cold when someone shouted out that they wanted to have his son’s babies. It had started then.
“There are no TV stations to hack,” he checked.
“Affirmative, Sir,” JARVIS told him. “There is only the wizarding wireless which can only be picked up by certain magically altered devices.”
Tony swore. He’d have to go out and get one that summer so he could listen in. He ran a hand down his face and when he finally emerged it was to find a high heel in front of the door. A few steps away was a tanktop, beginning a trail toward the private part of the mansion.
He was going to have to change his security codes. Again.
Loki changed into casual wizarding black, which brought out his chiseled features and his magic green eyes. He was in the shower room, which didn’t have a mirror, having left the bathroom to Harry in case he needed it. He came out and looked around only to find that Harry still seemed to be in the bathroom. He wondered why.
About three minutes later, Harry emerged with kohl around his eyes.
It was certainly a surprising look, one rarely seen out of the Near East, and certainly never in Asgard. “Are you come straight from a harem into my dreams?” Loki teased.
Harry blushed. “It’s all the rage in America—I thought I’d just represent.”
Coming up to him, Loki took him in his arms and kissed his smooth forehead before tucking his face underneath his chin. “Represent,” he told him. “I think I’m going to have to use an Unforgivable on anyone who looks at you too long with that transparent shirt.” He’d just have to remember to use his dummy wand and make the spell look like a Midgardian one. Oh, and say the words. He’d need to remember to say the words. Ridiculous wizards and their mortal limitations.
“I’m wearing a waistcoat!”
“Barely,” Loki jested, his voice a drawl. “Come on, Anthony, Jr. Let’s go perpetrate a fraud worthy of only Slytherins.”—The both of them: a prince of Asgard and a Muggle entrepreneur’s half-blood son.
Aldric Weathercrest had gotten his seat at the Quidditch World Cup just twenty-four hours before the match. His older brother Aloysius fell ill and his mate Jeremy said it was all right if he tagged along. It could have gone to someone else, but, of course, courting President Nathaniel Weathercrest was always important to those trying to skate around excise duties.
He thought he had heard wrong when whispers went around the American part of the camp that Anthony Stark, Jr. was there. Some witches were giggling together, talking about how handsome he was, and how wealthy, and could they believe that he was a wizard? More and more wizards came through, talking of Anthony, Jr. instead of Krum or Quidditch in general.
Then he was everywhere at the end of the match. His face was blown up, surprised and confused—and Aldric felt a kick in his gut. He had let his father bully him into giving Anthony, Jr. up. He wasn’t into blood politics like the rest of the Weathercrest family. He knew how dangerous the Salem witch trails were, how earth witches were sacrificed on plantations during the time of slavery.
Anthony, Jr. was sweet, smart, and just wanted to live his life in a way that wouldn’t beg apology to anyone. He didn’t care if people thought he was a bit too posh because his mother was British. He wanted his father’s approval, which was apparent in every letter he wrote in the corners of the school. He would be himself—neither quite fully British anymore, never American despite whoever his father was (though most thought that Stark Sr. was a British wizard who had emigrated to America). He wanted to soak up magic, you had to drag him away from his Arithmancy—
And now he was gone.
The thought gutted Aldric in a way he hadn’t thought it would.
“Who is that?” someone whispered to him.
“A boy at my school,” he answered, knowing he could claim nothing else. “I didn’t know he was coming.”
The camera flickered for a moment and it showed Anthony Jr. looking up at a wizard in traditional British wizarding shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his black hair smooth to his chin as his green eyes shone mischievously from his face. They were whispering together as this mystery wizard held the snitch before handing it back to Anthony, Jr., who looked back adoringly.
The screen flicked black again.
Anthony, Jr. was once again gone.
The Dark Mark lit up the sky and Loki looked up at it in shock. Loki’s arm was around Harry, who was sipping on a spiked licorne lemonade. There were screams somewhere else in the camp and he was quickly on his feet, pulling Harry with him and heading away from the screams. He didn’t look back at the other Slytherins. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone had known about it which was why the fire had been so well contained and the amount of alcohol consumed surprisingly small.
He felt Harry pause and saw him looking up at the Muggles who were being suspended in air.
“How can they—?”
“Not here,” Loki begged before he began to hurry Harry away from the commotion. He could get involved—he could—but he had a strict policy of not getting overly noticed when on Midgard. Odin AllFather would just punish him when he returned back to Asgard.
They breached the line of trees and then turned back, looking at the camp and the chaos there. Loki looked over to see Heir Draco Malfoy and he nodded his head. They had been at the bonfire together, Malfoy withdrawn and his eyes on Harry, taking in his every move.
Malfoy nodded back.
Some children came through, but Loki and Harry continued to look out. When it was finally quiet, Malfoy asked quietly, “Are you happy? In America?”
“Tell Snape,” he answered after a moment, “that I found Anthony, Sr.”
Not another word was spoken for the rest of the night.
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