Part the Seventh (Unfinished)
Part the Seventh
With a final kiss on his lips, Loki Odinson returned to Asgard. He took one of the roads that was hidden from Heimdall’s sight, wearing the dark green tunic of a prince of Asgard. His brown boots were made of the stags of Vanaheim, and he knew that no Midgardian wizard, not even his clever Anthony, Jr., would be able to identify them.
He breathed in the scent of the early morning star as he traversed the roots of the tree Yggdrasil, and thought that someday, hopefully soon, he would not be walking these paths alone.
“Odinson,” Frigga greeted him when he walked into the palace less than a week after the Quidditch World Cup, “you have been hiding something from me.”
Looking at the Queen with a smirk, he came up beside her and kissed her head. “What have I been hiding from you, Mother? You know that I care to travel although my brother is content to remain on Asgard. I will gladly tell you where I have gone. I have been gone for less than a month. Surely, you have taken account of that.”
She pressed her hand to his cheek, looking up into his eyes, and gave him a soft smile. “It is not that, Odinson. It is that you have not spoken your heart to me.”
This, certainly, surprised Loki. “You have not probed into my heart, Mother, all the years since I have been born from your loins.”
A look he could not identify passed over her beautiful face, but it was soon gone. A small smile replaced it and she let her fingers stroke his cheek. “I did not need to probe before. I knew before with the birth of your children”—Ah, yes, his children; Loki was still uncertain how Harry would take the fact that he had lain with a Giantess from Jotunheim and a stallion—“it was lust and curiosity. This, however, is different. You have found your bride, have you not?” Her smile widened as he tried to hide his discomfort. “Where is she from if not from Asgard? I trust she will grace our court well.”
Pausing as if to consider as he had not prepared himself for this discussion, he admitted, “Anthony, Jr. hails from Midgard.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “He wields magic, Mother. Like me.”
Frigga paused and removed her hand carefully. “You know that this union cannot and will not be blessed.”
He looked away from his mother, hurt by her rejection. “Would you have me go to Midgard and spend the rest of Anthony, Jr.’s natural life with him in exile before returning to your side, Mother? You know my heart has been touched. I will not give him up now that I have found him.”
She grabbed his chin and turned it to her. “This is ill-advised, Odinson.”
“Why?” he demanded. “You have not given me a reason.” His eyes flashed an even brighter green in his confusion and his hurt.
Taking a deep breath, Frigga admitted, “If you join with Midgard, you will be setting forth a prophecy—”
But he only laughed. “A prophecy. I believe not in prophecies. My children are to end the world and so have been banished from Asgard. Frenrir, Hel, Jormungandr—Sleipnir is in the stables like a common animal,” he bit out.
“What do you expect?” she hissed back, “when you act like a common whore?”
It was as if he had been slapped and Loki pulled back away from his mother physically. “I will not give up Anthony, Jr.,” he stated solemnly. “He is my heart—and I had thought, long ago, that I no longer possessed one.” Turning, he strode down the hall even though his mother called out to him. He frankly didn’t care. He was decided on Harry. He had been decided since the young wizard had flicked his finger and the fork had moved of its own accord. That sort of magic was unheard of in Midgard and unnaturally brilliant in a child.
And Loki was a shapeshifter. He could have heirs with Harry, once his courted became aware of his status as a prince of Asgard and became accustomed to the life that they could lead among the stars. They would have sons who would rule the Nine Realms—forget about Thor—all would be well.
… … … … …
Harry sat down at their home in Malibu and looked at his father the night before he was to go back to Salem. “Let me get this straight, Grandfather Howard—”
“Right,” Tony agreed.
“Founded something called S.H.I.E.L.D. to fight evil and just be generally badass and they’ve been infiltrating us for months?” He sounded a little hysterical at this point. “Tony, this is really bad. The Statute of Secrecy.”
Reaching out, Tony took his son’s hands and stroked them. “It’s all right. I contacted MACUSA and they’re doing some mind control thing so that they’ll forget.”
“Obliviation,” Harry mumbled.
“That’s the one!” Tony declared with a hesitant smile. “Natalie—”
“Natalie?” Harry asked in shock. “No, not Natalie. I trusted her—” He squirmed in his seat and his mind just started running quickly through everything that had happened over the last six months.
Tony quickly grabbed the sides of Harry’s arms. “Hey, kid,” he stated clearly and calmly, his voice firm. “She’s taken care of. The representative of MACUSA was very understanding. We weren’t put in the proper security field where they thought we were going to be spied on.”
“Well,” Harry asked, trying to relax a bit, “What’s going to happen?”
Sitting back a little, Tony let out a breath. “Now we decide. Do I help S.H.I.E.L.D. out or do I walk away? I have a family. It’s my right to walk away.”
Looking into his hands, Harry mumbled, “I walked away?”
Clearly confused, Tony stated, “No one blames you for leaving England and coming to live with me—”
His eyes fiery, no longer obstructed by glasses, Harry refuted, “Oh yes they do. Or they would. I’m the prophecy child. I don’t even know what that means but Voldemort—the darkest wizard of Mum’s generation—came to the house to kill me, and killed her and James Potter instead. I ended up with that bloody scar instead!” He huffed and crossed his arms with all the aplomb a fourteen-year-old could. “I got my own mum killed.”
Running his hand through Harry’s long fringe, Tony soothed, “Don’t think of it like that. I know,” he took a deep breath, “at the bottom of my soul, that Lily loved you more than anything. She wanted you so much. I couldn’t save Lily from James—but I was able to do one thing for her—I was able to give her you. And if she died that night, it was damn well because she thought she had no choice or that she was protecting you.” He leaned forward and kissed Harry’s smooth forehead. “It’s what any parent would do.” Then, quietly, Tony asked: “But Voldemort is dead, right?”
“Right,” Harry answered. “Some people like my old Headmaster think not, but they’re mad.”
Tony nodded and pulled Harry to him. “So, I stay out?”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” Harry mumbled, though he wanted his father to walk away.
Scoffing, Tony told him. “I’m the Iron Man. I have a multi-billion dollar company to work with.” He sighed as Harry curled into him, just glad to have the feel of his father.
“Can I call you ‘Dad’? It’s been about a year,” Harry murmured.
“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “I think I’d like that, Anthony, Jr.”
They sat on the couch, curled up together, knowing that they were moving forward as father and son. It wasn’t perfect. Tony still freaked out when Hedwig flew in with a letter. Harry always lost his STARKphone. But those were little things. The point was that they were a family, and not even something as strong and might as S.H.I.E.L.D. could take them down.
… … … … …
The files were heavily redacted, but there weren’t any copies of the originals—even on the computer. It was as if there had been no other version to begin with. Fury looked over at Natasha Romanov (a.k.a. Natalie Rushman) and asked, “What am I missing here? What’s the kid’s name? The one always with Stark?”
“Oh,” Natasha murmured, not really paying attention. “I read about him in the papers. He’s Stark’s kid. Junior or something. Not a threat, I’d imagine, just a kid who likes to work on engines and build robots.”
That answered that then.
Nick Fury put the files in a stack next to his computer to show that they should be refiled and thought no more about it.
… … … … …
It was a dormitory with five bunkbeds all with warm dark blue comforters with silver trees sewn into them with witches hanging from them. This unearthly image was the symbol of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry was trying to sleep but he felt like there was something wrong. It was deep within his bones. He was restless and tried not to toss and turn as it would move the bed and bother his bunkmate, but still, something kept on niggling his mind. The silver thread in his comforter shone in the darkness, irritating him although he usually found it calming.
It was then that he became aware that there was a shadow picking its way through the beds, stopping at the bottom of each and staring at the child sleeping there. Carefully pulling his wand (holly with phoenix feather core) from under his pillow, Harry waited with baited breath until the shadow came to the end of his bed. Opening his mouth to speak, he noticed the sheen of green eyes and he quickly lowered his wand.
“Loki?” he whispered in shock.
“You’re awake,” the familiar voice sighed as he came around and sat on the bed. “My brother is being crowned and I was hoping—” he sighed and looked out. “I had hoped to have more time to properly explain the situation.”
“Crowned?” Harry murmured, casting a muffliato. “I thought you were a ‘lord’!”
“Oh, Anthony, Jr.,” Loki sighed. “I’m Prince Loki—I just didn’t want to startle you when we met. My brother is receiving what should have been my birthright and although Mother will have nothing of you—I had determined to either come here or bring you there.”
“If you’re the oldest—” Harry began carefully.
“It’s not that simple,” Loki tried to explain, clearly frustrated. “Will you allow me—” He reached out, his hand hovering over the top of Harry’s head. “If you will permit me.”
Carefully, Harry nodded as he trusted Loki implicitly, and Loki lowered his hand so that it was cradling the crown of Harry’s head.
Colors erupted behind Harry’s eyes as he saw the nine realms unfold in his mind, an innate knowledge of each coming to him, until he got to the greatest of them, to Asgard—to Odin Allfather, to his Queen Frigga, to his two sons Thor and Loki. He saw the impressive mass of muscle that was Thor Odinson with his blue eyes and long blond hair and then the familiar and beloved face of Loki with his mischievousness and his thirst for life. He gasped as the hand released him and his eyes fluttered open to look at Loki.
“You’re a prince,” he murmured, trying to grasp the situation.
“Yes,” Loki agreed.
“Not of Earth.”
Carefully, Loki nodded. “I did not mean to lie to you, Anthony, Jr.,” he murmured quietly, staring into Harry’s green eyes, but was surprised when Harry leaned forward and kissed him.
“Let’s go shock some royalty,” Harry stated with a grin before he was out of the bed and quietly moving around his trunk. Harry, on consideration when he was deciding between crosses, thought he was taking it all rather well, but perhaps that was the nature of the magic. Perhaps it was the nature of his relationship with Loki Odinson. Loki accepted him as he was—the half-blood son of Lily Potter and Tony Stark—and Harry was going to return the favor.
They scampered off into the woods and then, taking his hand in his, Loki looked up into the sky and called, “Heimdall, we would return!”
A bright light appeared from the sky and enveloped them, blinding Harry, and he plunged his face into Loki’s chest partially in fear. A strange sensation of being lifted appeared a moment later and when he opened his eyes again he found himself standing on a bridge that led to a towering city, a man in a helmet and armor in front of him.
He did everything possible not to gape.
“Heimdall,” Loki introduced, “this is Monsieur Anthony of Midgard.”
Harry nodded his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man looked him over once before he made a motion that they should leave. It was then that Harry realized he was still in his pajamas and slippers. The halls of the palace—when they finally reached it—were made of silver and gold and made Harry stare in wonder. “We have—nothing—like this,” he murmured in absolute shock.
“Imagine how I felt about stone walls,” Loki laughed into his ear, causing Harry to smile.
It was fortunate they did not seem to run into anyone in particular on their way to Loki’s rooms. Harry did garner a few peculiar glances, but he thought little of it for as soon as Loki had let him into his sitting room he was caught in a searing kiss. It was achingly slow and wonderfully languid and made Harry’s nerve endings come alive as he wrapped his arms around Loki’s neck. “Don’t stop,” he begged when Loki pulled away to kiss the edge of Harry’s jaw. “Just don’t stop.”
However, just as Loki was beginning to nibble on Harry’s bottom lip, a knock came on the door announcing the call to dinner.
Harry groaned as he pulled away, going and finding his sack, which had his clothes. It was a quick moment’s work to press into dragonhide trousers, a ripped white tunic, and a hippogriff skin jacket. Loki watched appreciatively as he took off his traveling robe, revealing a green tunic, only to put on a long ceremonial cloak for the occasion.
“Is this Asgardian?” Harry asked as he quickly slid a wizard’s cross over his head, coming up to Loki and fingering the cloak. “I can hardly see anything of you.”
“I think that’s the point,” Loki jested as he kissed Harry once again. “We like armors and cloaks here in Asgard.”
“Oh, dear,” Harry murmured. “And here I thought I’d get to see you wear more cravats.”
“Later,” Loki promised, a whisper in his ear, as the two left and went to the formal dining hall.
At first, no one noticed them. Everyone was milling about, the warrior who appeared to be Thor was laughing with several other youths in cloaks, and Odin Allfather was sitting with his Queen. It was the woman who was with Thor who noticed first and did a doubletake when she glanced at Loki.
After a moment, she walked over and executed a bow to Loki. “Odinson,” she greeted. “You bring a guest to the House of Odin.”
“I bring Monsieur Anthony,” he responded, “from the Realm of Midgard.”
Of course, what followed was ‘much feasting’ of food Harry had never before seen and a great many stares. Loki never introduced him to his parents as he was still peeved at his mother’s reception of even the idea of him.
Perfect Illusion is Unfinished
This is where I left off in September 2018.
The fanfic was originally entitled “Haunted” and involved the attraction between Harry and his biological father, Tony … and then Harry falling in love with “George Warleggan” at first sight and being torn between his two impulses.
I was creeping myself out, however, and George Warleggan (from Poldark) made a brilliant wizard but was very much a man of his times (i.e. the turn of the 19th century).
I cannot say I will continue this version (or any other incarnation) … but this was requested on tumblr by one of my readers.
Thanks, as always, for reading.