Prince Thor of Asgard was a peculiar character by any measure. Despite his towering presence, divine bloodline, and thousands of years of age and experience, he carried himself more like a boisterous teenager than a future king. He thrived on adrenaline, basked in glory, and embraced chaos with the same eagerness one might have for a fine feast. Drunken parties, fierce battles, a string of lovers from every realm—Thor had it all. He was quick to anger, quicker to laughter, and slowest to consider consequences. Suffice to say, he was not what one would consider father material.
No sensible father would bring a ten-year-old into the heart of an inter-realm skirmish just to "show him what real battle looks like." Yet, that was precisely how Harry Potter—son of Thor, prince of Asgard, and Midgardian wizard—found himself on the war-torn plains of Vanaheim.
The skies were darkened by the exhaust trails of descending ships. The scent of ozone and scorched metal filled the air. Smoke coiled up from burning towers, and in the distance, the screech of Skrulls echoed like a warhorn.
"Stay close, boy!" Thor bellowed, his golden hair matted with sweat, his Mjolnir already humming with lightning in his hand.
Harry stood behind a shattered wall, breathing fast. He wore Asgardian battle leathers, tailored to his small frame, and a wand strapped to his wrist. "You brought me into an actual invasion!"
Thor grinned like it was a holiday. "You said you wanted to learn. There is no better teacher than war!"
"I meant books and training halls!" Harry shouted, ducking as a bolt of green energy scorched the stone behind him.
A Skrull leapt over the rubble. Before Harry could react, Thor hurled Mjolnir. The hammer struck the shape-shifter mid-air, sending it flying through two stone pillars.
"See? Nothing to worry about!" Thor boomed.
"I'm ten!" Harry barked back.
But the truth was—despite the danger, despite his panic—a part of Harry felt exhilarated. His blood sang with storm. His hands crackled with untamed sparks. The skies answered his heartbeat.
More Skrulls descended, cloaked in shimmer-tech, attempting a flank.
"Behind you!" Harry cried.
Thor spun and unleashed a bolt of lightning that tore the ground asunder.
Harry, taking cover, drew his wand. He whispered, "Confringo!" and blasted one of the invaders. The magical explosion sent debris flying, and Thor turned to his son, eyes wide.
"That was good," Thor said proudly. "Do it again. And aim for their heads."
"You're insane!"
"So I've been told!"
For the next twenty minutes, father and son fought side-by-side. Thor summoned storms. Harry weaved spells between bursts of thunder. And even the Skrulls, fearsome warriors of deception and might, began to fall back under the onslaught.
When the last of them retreated to their smoldering ships, and the battle ceased, Thor panted with laughter, his armor scorched but his spirit unbroken.
"What a day! What a battle! Did you see how that one screamed when I hit him with Mjolnir?"
Harry sat on a stone, wiping soot off his cheek. "Mum is going to kill you."
Thor blinked. "Ah. Right. Your mother."
They exchanged a look.
Then, as one, they said, "We don't tell her about this."
"Agreed," Harry sighed.
Thor patted him on the back with a thunderous thump that nearly knocked the wind out of him. "You fought well, my son. You are truly of Asgard."
Harry, despite himself, smiled.
And somewhere in the smoke and storm, a bond began to grow—not of perfect understanding, but of shared battle, mutual madness, and the unspoken knowledge that chaos flowed in their blood like lightning through a stormcloud.
The skies over the Highlands shimmered with a fleeting hue of gold and green as the Bifröst faded into mist. With a soft thud of boots on grass, Sirius Black and Wanda Maximoff—now Lily Black—stepped onto the familiar grounds just outside Highlands Manor. A warm breeze carried the scent of heather and wild mint, and the manor stood tall in the distance, quiet but waiting.
Sirius turned to look at his wife, who was still gazing at the spot where the rainbow bridge had vanished.
"Well," he grinned, stretching his arms. "Back to the land of dust and dishes."
Lily gave him a sidelong glance. "You're lucky I'm magical, or you'd be the one doing all the cleaning."
"Please," Sirius laughed. "I was prepared to scrub every tile by hand—then I remembered I married a witch with chaos magic and very little patience."
They walked hand in hand through the field, their steps slow, as though they wanted to savor the last bits of Asgard still clinging to their clothes and hearts. Behind them, the soft hum of a portal sealed, thanks to Heimdall's silent, watchful help.
Highlands Manor came into view, quiet and noble, surrounded by hills blooming with flowers Wanda had enchanted before their departure.
As they approached, the wards shimmered in recognition, and the front gates swung open. Inside, a soft chime rang—a signal to the house that its master and mistress had returned.
"Let's get to work," Lily said with a smile. "We've got one month of laundry, dust, and unruly vines waiting."
Sirius groaned dramatically. "Let's just blow it all up and start over."
"Don't tempt me."
With a wave of her hand, Lily sent red magic flickering through the air. Doors opened, brooms floated, and cloths began to clean on their own. Sirius conjured fire into the hearths, and a kettle boiled in the kitchen without ever touching a hand.
Soon, the entire house was alive—bedsheets flapping in the air, windows scrubbing themselves, furniture dusting, and the magical greenhouse slowly blooming back into shape.
The once-abandoned kitchen now smelled of cinnamon and chocolate, as Lily, always one to indulge her sweet tooth after a battle—or a honeymoon—decided to bake cookies the Muggle way, while Sirius watched in awe.
"I never thought I'd find you elbow-deep in flour," he said, flicking a bit of dough at her.
She flicked it back—except hers caught fire midair and turned into a caramelized blob.
"Don't mess with the Scarlet Witch when she's baking," she said with a smirk.
Just as Sirius was preparing to test a cookie prematurely, the front bell rang—two soft knocks, followed by one louder bang.
"I'll get it," Sirius offered.
When he opened the door, there stood Hermione Granger. Her cheeks were flushed from running, and strands of her bushy brown hair clung to her face. She held a book tightly against her chest.
"Is Harry back?" she asked quickly, her voice full of urgency and hope.
"Missed him, did you?" Sirius asked teasingly.
Hermione looked down shyly. "He said he'd be back today. He promised. And I—I just…"
Sirius opened the door wider. "Come in, he's in the library, probably stacking those Asgardian tomes like dragon hoards."
Hermione rushed past him without even a proper hello.
She found Harry in the magical library tucked inside his enchanted trunk. The door to the trunk opened wide into a sprawling space, with glowing lanterns floating gently above, and rows upon rows of shelves. Harry was standing barefoot on a ladder, sorting books larger than his head onto the higher racks.
"Harry!" Hermione called.
He turned around quickly. "Hermione!"
Before he could climb down, Hermione had already bolted up the ladder and thrown her arms around him.
"You're back," she whispered. "I thought they took you forever."
"I told you I'd be back," Harry said, hugging her tightly. "No realm, no thunder, no Odin can keep me away from you."
Hermione pulled back slightly and punched his shoulder lightly. "That's for disappearing without me."
"Ow! I didn't know I was staying there for a whole month!" Harry laughed.
She giggled, wiping her eyes. "Welcome back."
"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Wait until you see the new books Frigga gave me. One of them teaches elemental transmutation with cosmic threads!"
"You're not allowed to read anything cool until I'm caught up," she warned, pointing her finger at him.
"Deal," Harry grinned.
Back in the kitchen, Sirius and Lily sat together, sipping tea and watching the house slowly return to life.
"They're really inseparable now, aren't they?" Sirius said.
Lily nodded, her eyes soft as she watched Harry and Hermione laughing together in the library through the open door. "I think they've always been."
The Daily Prophet lay spread across Hermione Granger's neatly made bed, the ink still faintly warm from the morning owl delivery. Her eyes darted over the headline again and again, unable to contain her excitement.
"Newt Scamander Releases New Volume on Magical Creatures of the Northern Wilds"
She gasped out loud for the fifth time. "A brand-new field guide… with rare species from beyond the Arctic Circle!"
Her fingers fidgeted over the corners of the newspaper. "Oh, With or without Harry, I am going to Diagon alley " she whispered, glancing at the small enchanted clock on her desk. It
At the door stood a boy wrapped in a dark hoodie. His glasses slid a little down his nose, and strands of jet-black hair peeked from under his hood.
"Hello, Harry" Hermione greeted, grinning widely.
Harry smirked, lifting his hood slightly to reveal his face. The face of James Potter—rounder, softer features than his Asgardian self, with emerald eyes that hid lightning behind their calm gaze. His glasses gleamed in the morning light.
"Miss Granger," he said with mock formality, "I hear a certain bookworm is desperate to raid Flourish and Blotts."
"You know me too well," she replied, already pulling her coat from the hook. "The Newt Scamander! You have to come with me."
Harry laughed. "Of course. I wouldn't dare miss seeing you meet your idol's new book."
They walked together toward the side street where the Knight Bus usually arrived. As always, Hermione couldn't help but steal glances at Harry.
Hermione was about to ask Harry something, but the Knight Bus appeared with its usual bang and screech. A purple blur materialized in front of them, and the door swung open.
"Where to, dears?" asked the conductor, a pale wizard with wild eyes.
"Diagon Alley," Harry said.
The ride, as always, was wild. Beds flew past, chandeliers clinked overhead, and a goat brayed somewhere in the back. Hermione held tight to the handle, while Harry stood easily, unaffected by the sudden lurches.
"You're used to various magical travel methods," Hermione muttered. "This should be boring for you."
"It's like riding a dragon," Harry chuckled. "Very nostalgic."
When they arrived, Diagon Alley was bustling with weekend activity. Witches in bright robes haggled over wand polish, children licked melted ice cream, and an entire crate of screaming Puffskeins toppled from a stall.
Harry kept his hood low, it was always safer to avoid unnecessary attention.
They passed by Zanko's joke shop—temporarily closed for renovations—and moved toward Flourish and Blotts.
Hermione's eyes lit up like spellfire.
The window display showcased Magical Creatures of the Northern Wilds in shimmering silver lettering. A life-sized model of a froststag pawed at the icy ground within the display case, snow drifting from the top corners magically.
Hermione rushed in with the kind of excitement she usually reserved for magical books. Harry followed with a small grin tugging at his lips.
Inside, the smell of ink and leather filled the air. Stacks of books towered like miniature castles. Hermione immediately found the display table and picked up a copy with reverent fingers.
"This is… oh Merlin, Harry, feel the texture of the cover—dragonhide print, see this runic embossing?"
Harry chuckled. "You sound like you're falling in love."
"I might be."
He raised an eyebrow.
Hermione rolled her eyes and hugged the book to her chest. "This book covers arctic thunder eagles, Harry. Thunder eagles. Newt Scamander discovered an entire nest."
Harry blinked. "Okay… that does sound cool."
Diagon Alley was still buzzing around them, filled with laughter, the occasional broom zipping overhead, and the magical hum of everyday life. Harry and Hermione had just left Flourish and Blotts, their arms weighed down with a respectable hoard of books. Hermione chattered excitedly about the northern wilds, flipping open her copy and reading while walking—a talent Harry had seen her master over the years.
"I still can't believe Newt included illustrations drawn with enchanted ink," she murmured.
But Harry wasn't paying attention.
He was scanning the crowd ahead of them—half-listening, half-focused—when he accidentally bumped into someone.
Thud!
Books flew everywhere. The large man stumbled back and fell to the ground with a startled grunt. Harry immediately dropped to his knees.
"I'm so sorry—I wasn't looking where I was going!"
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his brown coat fraying at the edges, patched in places. His robes were faded and old, but carefully maintained. What stood out the most were the scars—jagged, healed-over lines across his cheek and jaw, barely visible beneath the stubble.
Harry began gathering the fallen books quickly, and so did the man, both stacking volumes in their arms without speaking at first.
"Here—these are yours," Harry said, standing and handing half the books to the man.
The man rose slowly, eyes narrowing as he studied Harry.
"Thank you," the man said with a raspy, calm voice. "Strong lad, aren't you?"
Harry shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry. I wasn't watching."
The man didn't answer immediately. He was staring at Harry—really staring now. Something between recognition and confusion danced in his tired eyes.
Harry met his gaze—and then it hit him.
The man's face.
The voice.
The faint scent of tea and old books.
He'd seen him before—in memories Sirius had shown him.
"Mr. Remus Lupin."
Harry's breath caught. He stood frozen, clutching the strap of his book satchel tightly.
Lupin's eyebrows lifted slowly. "Do I know you?"
Harry blinked.
He couldn't risk it. Not yet. Not now. His disguise—his identity—everything would unravel.
"S-sorry, Mr. Lupin," Harry stammered, taking a step back. "I—I have to go. I have some really busy things to do!"
Lupin looked even more confused. "Wait—how did you—?"
But Harry was already moving.
"Sorry!" he called again and turned, rushing back into the alleyway, weaving through the crowd like smoke.
He didn't stop until he found Hermione, who had just emerged from the nearby potion shop.
"There you are!" she said. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Let's go. We need to get out of here."
Hermione blinked. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just bumped into someone. Let's catch the Knight Bus before it gets packed."
Hermione didn't press further, but she could tell something was off. Harry glanced back once over his shoulder, toward the alleyway.
Remus Lupin stood alone among the crowd, still holding his books… and staring in the direction the boy had vanished.
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