The Highlands Manor had never looked more alive.
Candles floated in the air like fireflies, glowing in shades of gold and blue. A soft magical mist danced along the floor, giving the impression that the manor was nestled on a cloud. Color-changing ribbons hovered along the walls, occasionally twisting into the number "10", or into the shape of a lightning bolt—Harry's signature, whether he wanted it or not.
It was Harry Potter's tenth birthday.
Wanda had gone all out. She floated around the kitchen with her signature red magic, icing three cakes at once while pouring butterbeer into enchanted goblets that refilled themselves. She had even made a traditional Sokovian honey bread, infused with magic to stay warm and soft for hours.
Sirius had taken charge of decorating the main hall. He had summoned enchanted paper dragons that zoomed around the ceiling in a friendly chase.
"You're ten now, pup," Sirius told Harry, draping an arm around his shoulder. "Double digits. Soon, you'll be slaying trolls before breakfast and charming witches before lunch."
"Sirius!" Wanda snapped, elbowing him gently. "Don't give him any ideas."
"Too late," America called from the couch, laughing as she watched Hermione try to keep her floating birthday gift from spinning out of control. "He already has an admirer. Look at Hermione."
"I'm right here!" Hermione huffed, trying to hide her blush.
Harry laughed.
"It's alright. I think the book she got me is heavier than she is."
Then the doorbell rang.
With a flick of his wand, Sirius opened the door magically.
In stepped Kyle Walker, the young wizard who had first told Harry about the magical world, back when Harry was still living with the Dursleys. Kyle now looked very tall in his neatly pressed blue robes and held a magical compass that glowed whenever it faced Hogwarts.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" Kyle said with a grin, giving him a firm handshake. "Thanks for the invite."
"Of course," Harry replied. "I never forgot what you did for me."
Then came Nymphadora Tonks, her hair today a bright electric purple, matching the theme of the party.
"Oi! The birthday boy!" she said, sweeping Harry into a quick hug. "You're going to have to stop rescuing damsels like me. It's bad for my pride."
The gifts were many—Hermione brought a magically bound book titled "The Hidden Worlds: Intermediate Arithmancy for the Gifted," with gold-inked pages that shimmered when touched.
Kyle gave Harry a Quidditch miniature set that zoomed through the air when activated.
Tonks gifted him a cloak that could glow and change colors at will—a perfect accessory for showing off.
Wanda handed Harry a magical armor lined with protective runes.
"Enchanted to resist hexes and flames," she said, fastening it at his neck. "It will grow with you."
"Can I enchant it to flash lightning?" Harry asked.
"We'll work on it," she smiled.
Sirius presented a box wrapped in black silk.
Inside was a dagger forged from meteoric iron, its blade humming with a faint magical pulse.
"For emergencies only," Sirius warned. "Not for duels with your classmates."
"Unless they start it," America added, earning a look from Wanda.
Sirius grilled sausages over conjured flames. Wanda's magic turned the air sweet with the scent of sugarbread. Hermione, Tonks, and Kyle all sat together trying to guess the enchantments placed on various party dishes. One cupcake would start singing if bitten into. Another would teleport to your shoulder.
Harry couldn't stop smiling.
As night approached, fireworks lit the sky—enchanted bursts of color spelling "Happy 10th, Harry" across the heavens.
Then the music slowed.
Wanda stood up, raising her glass.
"To my son," she said, voice clear and strong. "Born of chaos and storm. You've survived darkness, fought for good, and earned love with your kindness. I never knew how much I needed you until I had you. You gave my life purpose. You are a gift, Harry."
There were tears in her eyes.
"And now… I get to watch you grow."
Everyone toasted, even Hermione, who was trying very hard not to cry.
Later, when the guests were starting to drift into laughter and late-night games, Harry stepped onto the manor's balcony alone. The stars above Scotland were sharp and endless.
Wanda joined him silently.
"That armor," he said, "was amazing."
"So are you."
"Thank you. For everything. I never thought I'd… have this."
She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You deserve it, and more."
Then from the sky above, golden sparks shimmered for just a second. It was not fireworks.
It was a ripple in the Bifrost, a reminder that tomorrow—the Asgardian half of the celebration—awaited.
But tonight, Harry was just a boy. A ten-year-old boy, loved by his family and friends.
And he went to bed with a full heart, dreaming of thunder and stardust.
When Harry stepped through the Bifrost that morning, his breath caught in his throat.
Asgard was glowing.
Banners bearing the emblem of House Odinson danced in the skies. Fireworks made of lightning and stardust bloomed overhead, releasing sparks that turned into ravens and thunderclouds. Across the rainbow bridge, music floated—a symphony of war horns, flutes, and drums.
And when Harry reached the golden gates, a chorus of voices rang out in unison.
"Hail Prince Harry of Asgard!"
Thousands of voices.
Harry blinked. "You've got to be kidding…"
Beside him, Thor laughed heartily and clapped a massive hand on his shoulder.
"No jokes today, Harry. This is Asgard. We celebrate hard. And today, we celebrate you."
The royal palace had transformed into a festival ground.
Tents were pitched across the golden courtyards. Jugglers threw flaming swords into the air. Dancers twirled in enchanted garments. Creatures from all nine realms—Asgardian nobles, dwarves from Nidavellir, even a few Vanir from Vanaheim—had arrived to honor the son of Thor.
Even the walls bore Harry's sigil—a newly designed crest depicting a thunderbird in flight, lightning trailing from its wings.
Frigga met him at the steps, her silver robes flowing behind her. She kissed him gently on the forehead.
"My dear child," she said warmly, "it's been centuries since Asgard saw a celebration this grand for a prince's name day."
"I… I don't know what to say," Harry whispered.
"Then don't say anything. Just smile and enjoy it."
The gift-giving began almost immediately.
An elder dwarf approached first, beard braided with golden rings.
"I bring you a dagger forged in the burning core of Muspelheim," he said, bowing. "Sharp enough to cut thought itself."
Then came a Vanir noblewoman in silks that shimmered like moonlight.
"A chariot led by storm-elk, young prince. Ride them across the skies. May they answer only to your voice."
More came—axes carved from meteoric steel, tomes of lost sorcery, enchanted scrolls that floated by themselves.
Thor watched with crossed arms and a beaming smile.
"You'll need your own armory at this rate," he chuckled.
"I'll need my own castle," Harry murmured.
At midday, the celebration moved to the Hall of Warriors.
There, long tables were laid out with steaming platters—boar roasted in honeyfire, barrels of mead enchanted to never run dry, golden apples from Idunn's orchards.
Loki arrived fashionably late, dressed in black and emerald green. He approached Harry with his usual sly smirk, but today, there was no teasing malice in his gaze.
"Happy birthday, child of chaos," Loki said softly.
"Thanks," Harry said, glancing at him. "You don't look like the birthday party type."
"I'm not. But I came for you."
He pulled a satchel from his cloak and handed it to Harry. Inside was a book—bound in serpent-hide, glowing faintly green.
"It's a grimoire of illusions and shadow magic," Loki said. "It's the same I used to craft my first double. Thought you'd appreciate the challenge."
Harry grinned.
"Thanks, Uncle Loki."
That made Loki blink.
Then smirk.
"You're welcome, nephew."
Later in the evening, Thor pulled Harry aside near the observatory balcony. The stars had begun to shimmer above the golden dome.
"You should know," Thor said, his voice quieter now, "you've brought something new to Asgard. Joy. Unity. Even my brother… I haven't seen him smile like that in a long time."
"I didn't really do anything," Harry said.
"You just existed," Thor said. "Sometimes, that's enough."
As night fell, the celebrations only grew louder. Inns across Asgard overflowed with dancing, drinking, and storytelling. Magical flames painted the sky in Harry's colors—blue and gold, with streaks of white lightning.
But amidst all the revelry, a moment passed quietly—when Loki pulled Harry aside near the bridge.
"I meant to thank you," Loki said. "For what you did."
"For what?"
"My son. Sleipnir. Odin had been using him… as a steed. A war mount. You were the one who broke his chains."
Harry nodded slowly. He hadn't known Sleipnir was Loki's son until later.
"He asked for help. I listened."
"That's more than most have done," Loki murmured. "You remind me… not all in this realm are cruel."
He reached into his cloak and handed Harry a second gift—a small pendant with a serpent and thunderbird entwined.
"For protection. And for identity. You are both."
Harry took it reverently.
Back in the palace, Frigga raised her glass and called for silence.
"Tonight, Asgard welcomes not just a prince—but a bridge between realms. Magic and thunder. Mortality and immortality. Let us drink to Harry of House Odinson, our lightning-born wonder."
The roar of the crowd shook the hall.
Two birthdays. Two worlds.
But only one identity.
Harry Potter. Son of Thor. Prince of Asgard.
The warm glow of afternoon sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the ancient chapel nestled deep within the Scottish Highlands. The structure stood timeless, shielded by enchantments, away from the eyes of Muggles and hidden even from most wizards.
It was not a grand ceremony, nor a lavish one.
Just family.
Harry stood at the altar, fidgeting slightly in his finely tailored black suit with a silver trim. His thunderbird pendant hung around his neck, a reminder of who he was—but today, he was just a boy, witnessing something he had waited for a long time.
Sirius Black stood beside him, unusually quiet, his hair tied back, face clean-shaven, dressed in sleek ceremonial robes of the House of Black. His grey eyes were soft, filled with something more than mischief for once.
Across from them stood Wanda Maximoff, now known more as Lily Evans, dressed in a gown of red and silver. The magic in the fabric shimmered with every breath she took. Her auburn hair was twisted into an elegant braid pinned with tiny starlight crystals gifted by Frigga.
Before the ceremony, they had asked for Harry's permission.
Two nights earlier…
Wanda sat beside Harry in the library, nervously tracing her finger along the edge of a book she wasn't reading. Sirius stood in the doorway, visibly tense.
"Harry," Wanda said softly, "Sirius and I… we've been together a while now. And we wanted to ask—"
"You're getting married, aren't you?" Harry grinned, interrupting them. "Took you long enough."
Sirius blinked. "Wait, you're… okay with it?"
"Why wouldn't I be? You both deserve to be happy. You've both been through so much. And… you know, mum—" Harry smiled at her, "—you look a lot like my birth mother now. But you're still you. I know that."
Wanda swallowed back emotion. "I wanted you to know that no matter what happens… you'll always be the center of our world."
"Well," Harry teased, "as long as you don't name your next kid after me, I think we'll be fine."
Sirius laughed. "So… does that mean I'm officially your stepdad now?"
Harry pretended to groan. "Don't make it weird."
The wedding was short.
Simple vows. Quiet music. Hermione, America, and Harry stood as witnesses. Even Loki had popped by briefly through a portal, leaving behind a box of enchanted wine with a cheeky note: "For when the mortal world becomes too boring."
When the couple kissed, Wanda's magic flared in crimson swirls, dancing in the air like rose petals.
Everyone clapped.
Everyone cried—just a little.
And then they were off.
Odin had been unusually warm in his invitation. After all, the wife of Thor's son deserved the respect of the realm, and the last surviving heir of the House of Black—newly married—was considered Asgardian royalty by association.
They arrived by a ceremonial Bifrost arrival—Harry, Wanda, Sirius, and America—greeted by a full retinue of guards and nobles.
"Welcome, Lord and Lady Black," Frigga greeted them with a motherly smile, offering both Wanda and Sirius a wreath of starlight blossoms.
"I don't think I've ever been addressed as 'lord by Royalty," Sirius muttered to Harry.
"Don't worry," Harry said with a smirk. "Give it a week. You'll love it."
The royal suites they were given overlooked the cascading stars of Yggdrasil's horizon. They bathed in enchanted springs that glowed like moonlight. They dined on celestial fruit and spice-roasted meats.
Wanda wandered the palace libraries in quiet awe. Sirius sparred with Einherjar warriors and quickly earned a reputation as a duelist with unorthodox, but brutal, tactics.
Even Thor, amused by the newlyweds, joined them in celebration.
"To Lily," he raised a golden goblet, "who broke into our realm with fire and fury to protect her son, and to Sirius—whose hair is nearly as majestic as mine."
"I accept the comparison," Sirius replied, bowing dramatically.
Harry trained during the mornings in the royal courtyard. In the evenings, he and America explored the less known parts of Asgard—stargazing from the Watcher's Tower, sneaking into illusion-cast taverns run by Loki's secret apprentices.
Hermione sent letters often. She couldn't believe she was missing Harry's royal vacation, and she demanded Asgardian clothes as compensation.
As the days turned into weeks, Harry often watched his mother and Sirius walking hand in hand through the golden gardens of Asgard, laughing like two souls reborn.
And even though they were surrounded by gods and immortals, Harry realized something very mortal—and yet very magical—had happened:
His family is happy.
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