Highlands Manor had been built with secrets in mind.
Not the petty kind—hidden drawers, false panels, or concealed locks—but the deep, old secrets that assumed enemies would be clever, persistent, and powerful. The manor had been raised during a time when wards alone were not enough, when survival depended on layers: rooms that did not exist on any map, corridors that folded back into themselves, chambers anchored slightly out of phase with the rest of the house.
It was in one of those rooms that Hela stayed.
For two full days, the Goddess of Death did not came out.
Harry checked on her more than once.
Each time, he found her exactly as before—breathing slow and steady, black hair spread across the pillow like ink spilled in water, her presence muted but unmistakable. The room's wards hummed quietly around her, not restraining her so much as buffering her from the rest of the manor.
No one else knew she was there.
Hermione, Draco, Andromeda, and Tonks spent those two days resting, laughing, and slowly recovering from the exhaustion of their journey. Hermione monopolized the library. Draco argued with Sirius over obscure points of magical law. Tonks slept in odd places and shifted her hair color unconsciously depending on her mood. Andromeda observed everything quietly, sharp-eyed and thoughtful.
None of them sensed the ancient power sleeping a few walls away.
And that was exactly how Harry wanted it.
On the second evening, after a final shared dinner and more promises to write than anyone truly intended to keep, their guests departed. Hermione's parents were expecting her. Andromeda and Tonks had obligations of their own. Draco returned to Malfoy Manor, carrying with him all the things he bought for his mother.
When the last person vanished from the fireplace, the manor changed.
The wards tightened. Harry felt the shift through his bond with the house, the way a spider might feel the tension of its web adjust. External perception dampened. Magical signatures blurred. Any attempt to observe the manor from afar would now slide off into harmless ambiguity.
Only then did Wanda nod.
"It's safe," she said. "As safe as it can be."
Harry exhaled.
They went to the hidden wing together.
Hela was awake when they arrived.
She sat on the edge of the bed, boots on the floor, posture relaxed but alert. She looked… better. Less sharp around the edges. Still dangerous—always dangerous—but not coiled for violence.
"You hide your secrets well," Hela said, glancing around the chamber. "This place reminds me of the old Asgard. Before the walls became only symbols."
Wanda crossed her arms. "You're free to walk the manor. Inside the wards."
Hela raised a brow. "And outside?"
Harry answered calmly. "Not yet."
Hela studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Reasonable."
They moved to a sitting room—one of the neutral spaces, comfortable without being indulgent. Tea appeared without being summoned; the house-elves had learned quickly when to intervene and when to remain unseen.
Silence settled between them.
It wasn't awkward.
It was heavy.
Harry broke it first.
"Start from the beginning," he said. "Tell us exactly what happened in Vanaheim. Not what you think we already know. Not what you assume Odin believes. What you experienced."
Hela leaned back, fingers steepled. "You assume I know where I went wrong."
"I assume something changed," Harry replied. "Because Odin doesn't act without reason. Even when his reasons are… flawed."
Hela snorted softly. "Flawed is one word for it."
She stared into the middle distance.
"Vanaheim was rotting," she said. "You saw part of it through your mother. Guilds controlling armies. Kings reduced to ornaments. Wars manufactured for profit."
Wanda nodded slightly. "Freir told us some of it."
"I broke that structure," Hela continued. "Not gently. I never claimed to be gentle. But effectively. Guild leaders died. Armies were disbanded. The King reclaimed authority."
Harry leaned forward. "And that wasn't the problem."
"No," Hela said quietly. "Even I don't know what the problem is."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Harry stared at Hela as if expecting her to laugh, to sneer, to admit this was some elaborate manipulation.
Wanda's expression was even more guarded—her chaos magic wasn't visible now, but it was there, coiled and ready, responding not to fear but to uncertainty.
"You don't know?" Wanda asked slowly, carefully. "You truly don't know why Odin and King Freir tried to have you killed?"
Hela met her gaze without flinching. There was no mockery in her eyes. Only irritation—deep, sharp, and wounded.
"No," Hela said flatly. "If I did, I would tell you. I gain nothing by pretending ignorance."
Harry shook his head once, running a hand through his hair. "That doesn't make sense. Grandfather doesn't act without cause. He's ruthless when he needs to be, but he doesn't strike blindly. And Freir—" He paused, frowning. "Freir invited you. He asked for your help."
"Yes," Hela agreed. "He begged, actually. On his knees, if you care for the image."
Wanda's eyes flicked to Harry. That matched what Freir himself had implied. What they had seen.
"Then explain this," Wanda pressed. "One day you're stabilizing Vanaheim, dismantling guild armies, restoring royal authority—and the next, a joint Asgardian–Vanir force tries to arrest or kill you?"
Hela leaned back against the arm of the chair, fingers curling slightly. "That is exactly what happened."
Sirius, who had slipped into the room quietly and now stood near the doorway, let out a low whistle. "That's… not just suspicious. That's insane."
Hela glanced at him. "You're the reckless one, aren't you?"
"Usually," Sirius admitted. "But even I don't try to murder the person who just saved my kingdom."
Harry paced the length of the room, boots silent on the stone floor. His thoughts churned, patterns forming and collapsing just as quickly.
"You escaped," he said.
"Yes," Hela replied. "I killed those who directly tried to bind me. Soldiers. Commanders who attacked first. I did not raze cities. I did not retaliate against civilians. And I left Vanaheim entirely."
Wanda studied her closely, red eyes faintly glowing as she read the subtleties beneath the words. Lies had weight. Half-truths vibrated differently.
Hela's account was… clean.
"And yet," Wanda said quietly, "Odin believes you're a threat great enough to justify open war preparations."
"That," Hela said, "is the mystery."
Silence fell again.
Harry stopped pacing and turned back to her. "Was there anything unusual before the attack? Messages. Envoys. Changes in Freir's behavior?"
Hela's brow furrowed slightly. "Freir became… distant. Not hostile. Just evasive. Meetings were postponed. Decisions delayed. I assumed it was fear—rulers often grow uneasy when their authority is restored too quickly."
Sirius folded his arms. "Or when someone else starts looking like the real power."
Hela shot him a sharp look. "I never claimed his throne."
Harry met her eyes. "Someone may have convinced Grandfather—and King Freir—that you weren't helping stabilize Vanaheim. That you were consolidating power."
Wanda's expression darkened. "A planted narrative."
"Exactly," Harry said. "A story tailored to trigger Odin's worst instincts."
Hela's lips pressed into a thin line. "Fear of what I represent."
"Fear of what you were," Wanda corrected. "Not necessarily who you are now."
Sirius frowned. "So who benefits from this? Who gains if Hela and Odin go to war?"
Harry didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze drifted toward the window, beyond the wards, beyond Midgard itself.
"The same kind of people who benefit from chaos," he said at last. "The same kind who tried to manipulate Asgard before."
Hela straightened. "The nobles."
"Yes," Harry replied. "Not just Asgardian ones. Vanir guild leaders. Inter-realm profiteers. Anyone who loses power when realms stabilize."
Sirius looked between them. "Alright. Let's say someone played Odin and Freir both. That still leaves one problem."
Hela tilted her head. "Which is?"
"You," Sirius said plainly. "Even innocent, you're still the Goddess of Death. The moment Odin thinks you're loose in the realms, he'll escalate."
Wanda nodded. "Which is why we can't let him know you're here."
Hela's smile was thin but amused. "I gathered as much when you hid me behind wards layered like a fortress."
Harry crossed his arms. "Until we know who orchestrated this, you stay here. Off the board."
"And when Odin finds out anyway?" Hela asked.
Harry's eyes hardened—not with anger, but resolve.
"Then," he said, "he'll find out the truth."
The room fell quiet once more.
Speculation filled the halls of Highlands Manor like mist—thick, restless, and ultimately useless.
Harry knew better than to trust it.
He had not been raised as a reckless hero, nor as an impulsive warrior who leapt at the first explanation that fit his emotions. Between Odin's lessons in rulership, Frigga's quiet wisdom, Wanda's discipline, and the brutal clarity of Asgardian politics, Harry had learned one truth above all others:
A king does not act on half a story.
And what they had now—no matter how troubling, no matter how contradictory—was still only half.
Hela insisted she did not know why Odin and King Freir had turned on her. Wanda believed her. Sirius believed her. Even Harry's instincts—those honed across realms and wars—told him she was speaking the truth. There was no deception in her words, no hidden edge of manipulation.
Yet instinct was not proof.
And Odin does not attack on rumors.
Harry stood alone in the forge beneath Highlands Manor, the heat washing over him in steady waves. The forge was smaller than Nidavellir's grand halls, humbler than Asgard's royal smithies, but it was his. Built stone by stone, ward by ward, rune by rune—capable of shaping metal that existed halfway between magic and matter.
Before him lay the unfinished armor.
Loki's armor.
Dark metal rested on the anvil, veins of frost-blue light running through uru alloy infused with ice-aspected enchantments. It was elegant in a way Loki would appreciate—less brute force than Thor's, less overwhelming dominance than Odin's, but layered, adaptive, treacherously clever.
Harry ran a gloved hand along the breastplate.
"This is the only way," he murmured.
He could not simply return to Asgard.
He had already told Frigga—and Odin himself—that he would remain on Midgard until the summer's end. To appear now, unannounced and unexplained, would raise immediate suspicion. Odin would ask questions. Frigga would read between answers. Heimdall would notice.
And worse—if Odin even suspected that Hela was hiding with Harry, the response would not be measured.
It would be absolute.
Nor could Harry simply ask.
There was no casual way to say, Grandfather, why did you try to have your firstborn executed? without revealing that the supposedly dead goddess was very much alive—and very much under Harry's protection.
That left only one option.
A reason.
A pretense strong enough that no one could question it.
Harry lifted the helm, examining the interior runic lattice. Loki's armor was keyed to frost magic, illusion matrices, and realm-walking anchors—designed not just for battle, but for survival in Jotunheim's hostile environment.
He would finish it.
Then he would go to Asgard as a smith, not a prince.
A grandson delivering a long-promised gift to his uncle.
No suspicion.
And once in Asgard…
He would listen.
Asgard was never silent to those who knew how to hear. Servants talked. Guards complained. Archivists remembered. Records existed—battle orders, deployment logs, sealed missives exchanged between realms.
And if Odin had acted on intelligence?
That intelligence had a source.
Harry set the helm aside and began engraving the final runes, his movements precise and calm. Each stroke of magic sank deep into the metal, binding form and function into something that would one day define Loki's reign over Jotunheim.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Wanda did not announce herself. She never needed to.
"You're certain?" she asked quietly.
Harry did not look up. "It's the cleanest path."
"You'll be walking straight into the center of another war."
"Yes."
"And Odin?" Wanda pressed. "If he realizes what you're doing—what you're looking for—"
"He won't," Harry replied evenly. "I'll be there as a smith. As family. As someone fulfilling a promise."
Wanda studied him, the glow of the forge reflecting faintly in her eyes. "You sound very sure."
Harry paused, then finally turned to face her.
"I'm not," he admitted. "But certainty isn't required. Preparation is."
She sighed softly. "You sound like him."
"Odin?" Harry asked.
Wanda shook her head. "A king."
There was no pride in Harry's expression at that. Only weight.
"I won't accuse Aunt Hela," he said. "And I won't condemn grandfather. Not until I know what truly happened between them."
"And if the truth is ugly?" Wanda asked.
Harry returned to his work, voice steady over the hum of the forge.
"Then I'll deal with it as a king should."
The armor began to glow brighter as the final enchantments took hold.
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