So, this is another one of those what-if-Loki-had-landed-in-x sort of situations that kind of...grew out of hand. Enormously out of hand, actually.
Part of a collaboration with Alemantele, who's got an awesome second part titled Not the Fools' Weapon.
Disclaimer: Don't own the Avengers or Harry Potter, and am simply using them for entertainment purposes before putting them back where I found them in one piece. Mostly.
Welcome to Midgard
Or, Loki lands in Midgard, sets up a detective agency, and becomes a professor at a wizarding school
Part I: Dumpster-diving, donuts, and detective-ing
Loki landed in a Dumpster, trash and paper flying in all directions. Not, perhaps, the most graceful entrance, but there was no one around to witness it anyways, save one scruffy-looking grey cat who yowled at him before darting away.
He had had a lot of time to think while he was falling between worlds, and had resolved to take over whichever world he landed in first as a sort of final screw you to Odin and the rest of Asgard.
And he'd do it, too. Other than that SHIELD group, Midgard (and of course he'd land in Midgard; irony took the oddest moments to play itself up sometimes) seemed easy enough to conquer, especially compared to a few other worlds he'd seen. He would start his preparations immediately - just as soon as he could start thinking clearly again.
Something wet was soaking into the back of his shirt. He woozily hoped it wasn't anything that stained. Or smelled.
Dammit, he hated the smell of garbage. Why'd he have to land here? A metre in either direction, and he'd have landed on perfectly...fine, solid concrete. Oh. Well, he supposed it could have been worse, then. And...was that the sound of a motor rumbling?
Motor equaled car equaled people equaled minions. Perfect. He needed some guides to help him get to know this place better, and he was sure that once he'd impressed them enough with his superior magical abilities, they'd only be too happy to serve him. He jerked to his feet, planting himself more-or-less firmly in the centre of the side street. Headlights flashed and a horn blared loudly, and some distant part of mind began realizing that this wasn't, perhaps, one of his better-thought-through plans.
Tires screeched, and he braced for impact.
The car hit him relatively lightly, all things considered, but it was still more than enough to knock him down onto the rough asphalt. The car doors opened, and a litany of harsh cursing filled his ears. For a moment, Loki thought they might be going to help him, but the man and the woman simply reached into the back seats and quickly pulled out two bulging duffle bags each. Siren began sounding from the other end of the street and the two flinched and Loki thought oh, it was one of those situations, wasn't it.
Any other day, he'd probably happily sit back and see what would happen. Unfortunately, this was the sort of day that demanded some sort of spiteful reaction from him, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let these two people run him over and then run away.
He staggered up and leapt forwards, arms outstretched. The man glanced back his and Loki felt vaguely satisfied with the man's momentarily terrified expression before Loki ground it into the dust.
That was how the police found them thirty seconds later, with him sitting on top of the two thieves, picking stray bits of paper out of his hair.
To his consternation, he was still there ten minutes later, slumped against a nearby wall. It seemed that getting hit by a car and then tackling two thieves after crash-landing on Midgard wasn't to be recommended if one planned on making a speedy getaway afterwards. Loki was just getting his breathing back under control when a female police officer crouched down in front of him.
"That was pretty brave, what you did," she said in the grudging voice of someone who didn't admit such things often.
Loki's mouth twisted. He didn't need the thanks of some mere mortal, let alone reluctant thanks. He just needed to get up and get away from this place.
The officer continued as if she hadn't noticed anything. "We might need you to write a witness statement for us later, is that alright? What is your name?"
None of your business, he wanted to say. "Luke Lismuth," he said instead. Later, he'd blame his uncommon cooperation on leftover wooziness from his fall.
She'd pulled out a pad of paper and was jotting some things down. "Phone number? Place of residence?" He spouted the first things that came to mind, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. "What did you see?"
"A car, and two people pulling out suspicious-looking bags after nearly hitting me. Thieves, I take it?"
She nodded. Asked for his signature.
"They had to have been pretty terrible thieves," he told her as he passed the paper back to her. "Black duffle bags aren't nearly as subtle as people think."
Surprisingly, she snickered. "Yeah. And anyone who thinks that stealing from the First Royal Bank is a good idea are idiots."
Loki blinked. "Stealing from the what?"
She cocked her head, blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder. "Not from around here, are you? I thought you looked a little lost. Not to mention hungry - wait here." The officer left with the paper and came back with a small paper bag. She offered it to him.
Loki frowned at the colourful...something he'd pulled from the bag. "What's this?"
She grinned. "You must really not be from around here. It's a donut-try it."
He did.
Perhaps, he thought as he wolfed down the last few bites of the pastry, he could put off the conquest of Midgard for a few more weeks. Any world able to create something this delicious ought to be looked into more closely.
It took three days before he decided to permanently call off his plans to take over Midgard - or Earth, as its inhabitants appeared to be calling it. He'd never really wanted the monotony ruling a world seemed to bode for him, anyways.
It took another five days and various unsuccessful attempts to find out that he wasn't able to return to Asgard - or any other world for that matter.
It took eight days, six hours, two smashed cups, one shattered window, countless sleepless nights, and nearly knocking a family of four tourists into the River Thames for it to fully sink in that neither Asgard nor anywhere else was his home anymore.
It was a ridiculous realization, because weeks spent falling through space or not, Odin had already made his disappointment of Loki obvious. He'd all but thrown him out of Asgard. "No" was pretty clear as far as rejections went, after all.
Those weren't fun thoughts to be having, though. Instead, Loki poured himself into searching for a job suitable for a document-less, education-less alien who had nowhere else to go.
Strangely enough, the first idea that came to mind was of being a police officer. The incongruity of it appealed to him - if Odin ever heard about Loki of all people, becoming an enforcer of the law, he'd...he'd...
(say no and he'd let go of the only thread holding him at Asgard and fall into the dark)
But anyways, there were too many documents involved. The United Kingdom had this idea about people being registered members of society in order to uphold the law.
The second idea was of being a private detective.
And that idea really did appeal. Because besides the amusement involved in being part of the police department, all the rules involved might have driven him - or his commanders - insane. This way, he could create his own hours, choose his own methods.
It sounded fun.
Loki froze for a moment, pen hovered over the paper he'd been using to take notes. Him, seriously considering creating a life for himself on this world? And thinking it might be fun? Perhaps he really had gone crazy during his fall. Why should he, prince of Asgard, act as a glorified scent hound for the petty mortals on Midgard? What in the world was in it for him?
Snorting derisively, he crumpled the paper up and tossed it into the wastebasket in the far corner of the apartment he'd been staying for the past few days in exchange for painting the old lady's living room walls. That, too, was a menial task, wholly unsuited to someone like him.
(But a job was a job, anyways, and Loki finished painting the last metre of wall-space by the next afternoon. It would have been dishonourable to abandon a project halfway through.
Then the old lady's kitchen got an ant problem and it was a simple spell to convince the ants to build their colony elsewhere. If Loki was offered a place to stay for a few more days, who was he to turn down a gift?
And if on the second last day of his stay Loki dug out the private-investigator notes out of his trash bin, well, it's not like anyone that mattered was ever going to know about this little jaunt - because that was all that this was, a jaunt - into law-keeping.
He started posting the ads the next day.)
His first case almost made him rethink the whole private-investigator thing.
It sounded simple enough in the beginning. He and the client - a nervous, red-faced man with thinning hair - met in a cafe because Loki didn't think the old lady would want him bringing guests over to her apartment building. The man had started their meeting off by remarking how the coffee was terrible in that particular cafe, and it degenerated from there.
Turned out, the man had lost the expensive necklace he'd planned on gifting his wife. He was panicking, because it was their anniversary in two days and the two had been arguing on and off for the past few days; the present was supposed to help mend their relationship, or something of the like.
Loki asked for two things: a receipt of the gift, and half his payment up front. The man passed over the first with barely a blink, and outright refused the second. Then, without so much as a goodbye, he up and left.
The nerve of that man. Were all clients going act like this?
He briefly considered giving up altogether and leave the man to find the necklace on his own. Unfortunately, his growling stomach told him that wasn't an option.
Glancing around him, Loki quickly traced out a few quick tracking runes on the receipt. The magic sparked once, before fizzling out.
His lip curled, and he stood up. Looks like he'd have to do this the old fashioned way, then.
In the end, it wasn't all that difficult. One suspicious look and a few carefully dropped hints and the guilty son confessed to stealing the necklace with the intention of selling it. A few more pointed words and the two re-wrapped the necklace, leaving it under the couch.
The father looked about to explode when Loki advised him to look under the couch again (with a smirk, it had to be said). It quickly turned to relief when he spotted the box, pulling it out and inspecting the contents.
Loki asked for his payment. The man gladly gave it to him.
Just before he left, Loki turned and recommended that the father check under his son's bed as well. Honesty was supposed to be the best policy, right? And the son thought he could hide the bitter tang of drugs around him, ha.
Grinning, he left the house. The sun was shining, his pockets were comfortably full, and he had an apartment to rent.
(Perhaps this detectiving thing wasn't so bad. It gave him a legitimate excuse to nose around, after all.)
The first and only case he'd actually felt threatened by had been brought to his attention three months into his career as a detective by Mrs. Thomson, the old lady whose apartment he rented.
It was her niece's coworker's brother, whose wife had gone missing one foggy morning on the docks. He husband was nearly hysterical with worry and the police had their hands full with a series of mysterious attacks that seemed to defy all logical possibility.
Loki had wrapped up a embezzling case almost a month before, and he was itching for another job. He took it on eagerly.
Nearly a week later saw him standing in front of a ragged-looking pub, frowning at the faded sign. Honestly, what self-respecting establishment called itself the Leaky Cauldron? It didn't exactly encourage appetite for whatever delicious lunch the front window was advertising.
Still, it was the address he'd found sitting on the wife's dresser, and seemed important enough. He pushed the door open.
He wasn't sure what he expected, but the inside definitely matched the outside. It was nearly empty, with only a few patrons scattered across the room and a hunched-over man mixing drinks behind the bar. The entire room was dimly lit with...were those candles?
Loki took a seat and ordered juice.
The bartender gave him a strange look. "Exploding lemonade, you mean?"
Exploding what? Loki ran through his considerable knowledge of Midgardian beverages, and came up empty. "Does it really - "
"You bet it does."
"Ah...then. Um. You have plain beer, right?"
The man nodded, pulling a green bottle off the shelf behind him and filling a glass. Loki took the glass, and asked him, "Have you heard of a woman called Gabrielle Jones?"
The bartender's eyes widened. "Oh, Gabrielle! Are you looking for her?"
"That's right." Loki gripped the glass and sipped at it. He glanced up and met the bartender's eyes. Considered for a moment, then said, "Her husband's worried about her."
The man blinked. "Indeed? I wasn't aware that she was married."
"Have you seen her recently?"
"Just today, in fact. Would you like to talk to her?"
Loki nodded. "If that's possible." With any luck, the case could be solved today.
That was a happy thought, and he took another gulp of the beer. The pub really was a strange place, the interior suited more, perhaps, to a medieval building then anyplace else. And were those people in the corner wearing actual robes?
The bartender returned, saying, "She'll meet you momentarily, Mr...ah..."
"Lismuth," Loki said, finishing his glass.
"I see. Will you be wanting a refill?"
Loki shook his head, setting the drink on the counter and pulling out his wallet. He pulled out five pounds and set it on the table. "Is this enough?"
The bartender frowned. "I'm afraid the price for a beer is fifteen Knuts, Mr. Lismuth. Not...whatever this paper is. We don't take IOUs."
"You mean you don't take the national currency of Britain?" Loki scowled. "What is a 'Knut' anyways?"
"Perhaps you are a newcomer from one of the other wizarding countries. But even so, I'm afraid that you'll have to pay one way or another. Gold, I suppose, is a suitable substitution..."
"Gold? That's ridiculous. There's no way I'm - "
" - Is there a problem with anything?" a soft voice floated down the stairs. A woman descended from the stairs, cool brown eyes assessing the situation.
Loki straightened. "Mrs. Jones. I'm Luke Lismuth, and I've been hired by your husband to - "
"My husband?" Her eyes narrowed and she looked him over. "I didn't think he knew anything about the wizarding world. How'd he contact you?"
And...now was probably a good time to start being confused. Loki wasn't sure what delusion or game these pub-goers were playing at, but he wasn't having any part in it. "Wizarding world? What? I'm sorry, Mrs. Jones, but I have no interest in playing games. I just want you to tell your husband that you're fine and that he has nothing to worry about." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the robed figures in the corner tense up noticeably. One of them appeared to be fiddling with a wooden chopstick of some sort.
"You must have some magical talent, at least, or you wouldn't have gotten in here," she continued. "Where did you come from and why are you here? Are you a spy?"
"I - what? No, I told you, I - "
"Who else would feign ignorance about the simplest of things, and come in fishing for information?"
And this really irritated Loki. The rare time he was actually being completely and totally honest, no one seemed to believe him. "Look, all I know is that I've been hired by your husband, Paul, to determine your whereabouts and help you if you were in danger!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what the hell 'wizards' are supposed to be a euphemism for, but you've got it all wrong."
Mrs. Jones paled, eyes widening. "What did you do to Paul?" she demanded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a smooth, wooden stick.
It seemed harmless enough, at least until she pointed it at his face and snapped out something that sounded like Latin. Latin never boded well for anyone.
Loki ducked just in time for a lance of blue, glowing energy to shoot over his head, dissipating off the wall behind him. "I'm telling the truth, for goodness' sake. I - " He dodged another spell, this time from somewhere behind him. One of the other pub-goers, perhaps. The bartender reached behind him and pulled out another wooden rod, and really, this was just getting to be all too much. "Would you stop that?" he snarled, lashing out with one arm.
Green fire danced at his fingertips as all the wooden sticks flew out of suddenly-nerveless hands, the people themselves frozen by an unseen force.
The fire popped and crackled.
Loki groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He reached down and picked up the various sticks, feeling a slight warning buzz when his fingers met the wood. He quickly set them on the counter beside him, out of reach of the still-frozen magic-users.
"Alright," he said to the room at large. "I'm going to let you talk, and one of you is going to explain to me exactly what's going on. Any volunteers?"
So. It turned out that between the last time he'd been on Midgard for an extended amount of time and now, mortals had somehow developed an entire system of magic, one wholly different from any he'd seen before. It could probably be attributed to the isolation of their world, Still, it wasn't at all similar to the instinctive elemental magic found on Jotunheim and Muspelheim, or the rune-based magic from Vanaheim. It wasn't even like the mixture of styles he himself employed.
It seemed clunky and clumsy, even erratic at times. It was dependent on little sticks for use as conduits and unwieldy magic words as catalysts. Still...Loki found himself reluctantly impressed. To evolve a mostly-reliable system of magic completely independently, well, it was something they could (maybe) be (a little) proud of.
Of course, figuring this out didn't leave him better regarded by Jones and the other wizards. In fact, by the end of his information-gathering, he was fairly certain they hated his guts. It probably didn't help matters that he conveniently 'forgot' to release them afterwards...after he advised Mrs. Jones to tell her husband the next time she goes on a field trip, pocketing some of the wizards' loose change as he did so. After all, he wanted to tour Diagon Alley for a bit as himself before getting chased down by a group of murderous wizards, in case he didn't get the chance to later.
There was a bookstore.
He spent a gleeful hour just browsing the shelves and familiarizing himself with the magic system, before deciding it worth a try getting a wand of his own. Smirking at the cashier at the counter, he left the store and rounded a corner, upon which he shifted into the guise of a boy. It seemed that around this time of year, many first-year students preparing to attend the local school of magic went to buy a wand from Olliviander's, and a tow-headed black-haired kid would surely be less suspicious-looking than a full-grown adult, anyways.
The wand-maker, Olliviander, enjoyed waxing lyrical about wand-making materials, how each wand chose its owner, and just about every topic even vaguely associated with wands it was possible to talk about. Truth be told, Loki zoned out after the first five minutes because interesting information or not, there was only so much one could listen about the properties of different woods. He'd ended up with a nice enough wand anyways, made from walnut wood and a phoenix core.
With the remaining money, he returned to the bookstore and bought a few promising textbooks to bring back home, resolving to find a library as soon as possible.
And then - only then, did the thought of contacting Mr. Jones cross his mind. After all, he was still technically on a job, and while he may be an irresponsible detective, he wasn't a forgetful one.
"Hello, Mr. Jones? This is Lismuth. Your wife - no, no, she's perfectly fine, though I'd imagine rather angry at me at the moment. You'll most likely see her by evening. When you do, please have my payment sent to my account, thank you. Goodbye." He hung up in the middle of Mr. Jones' frantic questioning, ducked into another alleyway, shifted back, and rode the tube back to his apartment.
Studying new mortal magic system or reassuring client that their wife is, yes, still alive and no, no, wasn't kidnapped? That was no contest at all.
Part II: Dark Wizards, Death Eaters, and just plain death
There was something almost quaint about the Britain's wizarding community. There was something about it, balanced on the knife's edge of eccentricity and complete insanity that made Loki want to take it apart and figure it out for himself.
He still took on cases, but less often now. He'd begun spending more time in Diagon Alley, and later, Hogsmeade, and it was nice to be able to do magic out in the open again. Every once in a while, a passerby would remark on his ability at wandless, wordless magic. A mistake, of course - it wasn't their magic he was doing, most of the time - but Loki grinned in thanks anyways.
Still, sometimes he got the sense that the wizards and witches were more on edge than they would normally be. He couldn't wheedle much out of anyone without possibly alieniating them (and he'd just gotten used to not having to shapeshift every time he entered a wizarding community, too), and the most he'd gotten thus far were suspicious looks and one muttered mention of, "You-Know-Who's back," before the shopkeeper turned away to scrub holes into his stone counters, leaving Loki with more questions then he'd started with.
It only started making sense when he came across the newspaper article titled in big bold words, "Wizarding World at War?" It was a short article, perhaps no longer than four hundred words and probably filled with more hearsay than anything else, but it explained who 'You-Know-Who' was and explained the sudden wariness that was spreading throughout all the wizarding villages.
...But really, who names themselves "Lord Voldemort"? It was a horrible name, villain, warlord, zombie, or otherwise. Tasteless, really, as were the so-called Death Eaters. Terrible names, terrible goals (as far as Loki could tell, the article wasn't horribly informative), and terrible opponents as well, if it took the wizarding government this long to address an issue like this.
If this were Asgard, any threat as ridiculous as this would have been crushed immediately underfoot. As it was, Loki didn't expect much of any group that called themselves Death Eaters; previous war or not, something like this would probably blow over in a few months or whenever someone in the Ministry used their brain long enough to figure out how to kill someone they've already defeated before. And then, perhaps, that secondhand bookstore owner around the corner would finally stop demanding him for identification he didn't have whenever he went to look through the books.
...Why does no one in the Ministry think?
Loki hated mortal transportation systems. He really did. He hated them even more when they refused to run. Now, he was forced to either walk halfway across the city or call a taxi, and honestly, he was short on money at the moment.
He knew he shouldn't have chosen today to visit the new bakery that'd been open on the other side of London, delicious tarts or no.
Brows drawn, cursing cancelled subway routes under his breath, he strode grimly over the Millennium Bridge. There was a slight queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he glanced at the River Thames far below (too light, too bright, but sometimes the sun caught the surface of the water at just the right angle and it sparkled just like the stars back at - no) but he did his best to ignore it. There was a dark flurry of movement somewhere in the sky, but he ignored that too, because that would require looking up which wasn't any better either. And...there was a distinct chill in the air, which Loki fervently hoped didn't mean it was going to rain.
Damn. It was getting darker fast.
Then, an inky streak flashed across and over the bridge, and he barely had enough to process what that meant before the bridge buckled, sending him careening to the side. He got a brief eyeful of the choppy waters beneath the bridge before he pushed himself back, hand gripping the railing tightly enough to make the metal creak. "What's - " was all he managed to get out before cracks and pops filled the air, along with the staticky feel of mortal magic. His eyes widened, and panicked shouts joined the pained groaning of the bridge the air as other pedestrians put two and two together and started running. The ground rose up...then fell out from under them.
Loki hated falling.
The water was muddy-grey, cold and uninviting-looking, and Loki would rather fall into another Dumpster than take a dive into that. He twisted at the last moment, shifting into a crow, not quickly enough to dodge the enormous shower of spray as the bridge tumbled into the river.
For a few terrifying moments, he was batting uselessly at the air. He dropped like a stone, flailing for purchase in the air, and wouldn't that just be a wonderful exit, the great Loki drowning after falling off a bridge. That thought powered his erratic flight until a gust of wind lifted him up and away from the river.
He landed on a boardwalk, behind a crowd of people gathering at the edge, gaping at the ruins of what used to be the Millennium Bridge. Several had their phones in the air, filming the destruction. Loki hoped someone at least had the presence of mind to call emergency services.
He was just about to take his chances while all eyes were fixed on the river and transform back when he felt himself grabbed and held up into the air. He squawked and struggled, but couldn't get out of the iron grip.
Ah, so the day could get worse. Good to know.
"I told you! I saw him turn into a crow!" A curly-haired head loomed into his field of vision, eyes peering closely at him.
The world blurred as Loki was swung around to face a greasy-haired, pallid man. "Hm. I cannot say I witnessed this myself," the man said in a deep voice that made Loki's feathers want to stand on end. "There are no crow animagus currently registered."
"He changed, I swear it," the first person-practically a teenager-insisted. "What should we do with him?"
The man's fingers tightened painfully for a moment, almost cutting off Loki's air. "I'll deal with him. You go check on the bridge, make sure the werewolf didn't mess anything up," he said coolly. The younger man left and the man ducked into an out-of-way corner.
One wizard in a secluded area was far easier to deal with than two on the docks. Loki seized the opportunity, twisting around to claw at anything he could reach.
Taken by surprise, the man's grip loosened. Feathers melted into clothing and skin, and droplets of river water sprayed through the air. The man had the foresight to pull out his wand, but the amount of good it'd do faced with seventy-five kilograms of angry, soaking-wet Norse god was almost laughable.
In a flash, Loki had smacked the wand to the ground. The man paled even further, if that were possible, though whether it was because his best weapon was gone, or because of Loki's hand clenched around his throat, it was hard to say.
"I like to know the names of the people I kill," Loki told him conversationally.
The man gagged until Loki let up the pressure a bit. "You're not very grateful for someone who's just got his life saved," he said, scowling.
"Oh, was that what it was? Saving my life?" Loki spat. "I always get it mixed up when it comes to magical terrorists."
The man raised his eyebrow. "It wasn't hard to notice the person changing into a crow in mid-air, you know. You were rather lucky that only I and Benswith saw you, and Benswith is now under the impression that you have been dealt with."
"And you?"
"My situation is rather...unique. Rest assured, so long as you don't tell anyone about this little meeting, your secret is safe with me. Erm...could you perhaps remove your hand from my neck?"
"No. What unique situation?"
The man scoffed. "As if I would tell any unregistered animagus on the street. I suppose we'll just be standing here all day, then."
"I'd be perfectly happy to do that, if you so wish." Sirens roared in the distance, and Loki suddenly remembered the dozens of pedestrians on that bridge. Would they have all survived the fall? He...really didn't care, in all honesty, but the premeditated sense he was getting about the entire thing bothered him. "Why did you blow up the Millennium Bridge?"
The man flashed a mirthless smile. "I would suggest reading a newspaper." He shifted slightly, and Loki glanced down just in time to see that the man had somehow managed to grab his wand. Loki moved quickly, but the man had already melted into nothing. Loki was left standing in a deserted side street holding air.
And, he realized with some annoyance, he never had gotten the man's name.
Something like that would normally send Loki on a hunt for whoever had made a fool of him, ferret him out of whatever hole he's been hiding in and put him down, but he was hesitant to do so. The way the man said "unregistered animagus" suggested some sort of government-enforced rule he had not previously considered, and something he needed to figure out first before doing anything...drastic. He didn't quite want to reveal himself just yet - who knew what kind of revenge-seeking beings (or worse, Aesir) that would attract.
It figured that humans, out of all species with the ability to do magic, would limit themselves this way.
And so, he watched with interest the exploits of the 'Boy Who Lived', and the continued attacks of the Death Eaters, and Voldemort's growing influence. When Dumbledore - an important figure in the wizarding community, it seemed - was killed, everything burst into what could only best be described as barely-restrained chaos.
He found the greasy-haired man some weeks after that, in the far corner of a brightly-lit diner. Really, it was sheer coincidence that he'd spotted him through the restaurant window, but once he'd saw him, there really wasn't any doubt about what he would do next.
The man barely looked up when Loki slid into the molded seat across from him. He forked another bite of food into his mouth, muttering something like, "And here I thought I could get some peace and quiet for a change."
Loki smiled. "I believe we still have a few things that need to be settled."
The man swallowed, and met his eyes. "Is that so?" He was wearing outlandish clothing-still dark, but in styles that seemed to have been pulled from magazines thirty years back. Loki wondered idly if this was how all wizards dressed when they wanted to lay low and blend in with the 'muggle' world.
"Yes, Mr., ah, Snape, was it?" Loki grinned, relishing in the panic in the man's expression. "I do follow the newspapers. Death Eaters and the deaths of major authority figures often make the news, especially when both happen at the same time."
To his credit, Snape recovered quickly. "Do I get the honour of knowing the name of who I am addressing, now that you know mine?"
"Oh, why of course. You can call me...Loki. Loki Lismuth."
He raised an eyebrow. "As in the Norse god of mischief? Interesting name your parents have given you."
Loki grinned. "I do get that a lot, yes. Now, tell me, did you really kill your old boss...what was his name...Dumbledore?"
"Would it make any difference in what you're going to do next?" Snape snapped. He fiddled with the handle of his fork with a stiffness that suggested he would much rather it be a knife.
Loki stretched, slouching in his seat. "Frankly, no. Didn't think you had it in you, actually. You didn't seem the type."
"And, pray tell, what is my type?"
Loki thought for a moment. "Hm, good question. You'd be the person hanging around in the back of the crowd, I'd imagine. Or a spy. I can see you as a spy." If he hadn't been watching Snape so closely, he might have missed the telltale flicker in the man's eyes.
Oh, this was interesting.
"Interesting conjectures," Snape said cooly. "Do you do this with every wizard you meet?"
"Only the interesting ones," Loki smirked. "And you, Severus Snape, interest me. I'll be watching your career carefully - and please, try not to kill any more powerful wizards before I get the chance to meet them?" There was a faint shade of green in the man's face, and he decided that it was a good look for him. It was colour, anyways.
Loki didn't wait for an answer and left the cafe before Snape could find more creative uses for the fork, grinning all the while. He'd meant...well, most of what he'd said. And wars were always so much more interesting when you could focus on a few select characters.
"You're out after curfew, boy, and in the Headmaster's Office as well. Had you fallen down the stairs on your way up, or had this just seemed like a good idea at the time?"
"Neither, actually. I'm impressed, Snape - killing your boss and taking over his position? That is cold."
The room seemed to get a few shades chillier. "Such impertinence would not go unpunished!" Snape barked. "What - " He froze in mid-sentence, brows drawing together.
Loki smiled from his position on the headmaster's desk. He kicked his feet back and forth, comfortable in his guise as a third-year student. "Haven't recognized me yet? I'm hurt, Snape. I really am."
"...Loki?"
"Did someone slip something into your dinner? You're slower than usual today." Loki shifted into his Aesir form. He had no wish to crane his neck to talk to the other wizard.
"Oh, don't start with that, Loki," Snape growled. He threw himself into a chair opposite to that of Loki; it was, Loki noted with some amusement, where students usually sat when meeting with the headmaster. "Whenever you open your mouth, you lower the intelligence of the entire room."
"Only yours, Snape, only yours. You always seem to have trouble thinking, though, so I may be wrong." Loki sat cross-legged on the desk.
Snape scowled, though he looked a bit more relaxed than when he'd first entered the room. "I thought I told you to stop following me, especially after that entire debacle over Little Whinging."
"Not my fault you missed," Loki snickered. "And in any case, it ended well. No one died...well, no one important died." He glanced up. "Not even that Harry kid you and your death-eating allies were shooting for. I'm surprised."
Snape opened his mouth to retort something, but was interrupted as the door swung open. An aging witch entered the room, the stone floor ringing with her footsteps.
"Severus, what in the world do you think you're doing?"
Snape glanced back, paused for a moment when he saw a grey tabby cat where Loki had been sitting before. The cat licked his paw and meowed at him, and he swallowed before turning back to the older professor. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said.
"Just - all of this. All of it." She spread her arms. "What do you think you're playing at, being headmaster?"
From the back, Loki could see Snape tensing before forcing himself to relax. "I'm not playing, Minerva. I've never been. I'm afraid you'll - "
She barreled on, ignoring him. "Is this what you really want, this farce of a school? Think, is this what Albus would have wanted?" She paused, then shook her head. "Of course, what am I saying. All this must seem so foreign to you, doesn't it."
"Minerva, despite our longstanding acquaintance, I can't stand for this. I must ask you to leave." Snape gritted out.
"Severus," she said, softer. "There's still a chance. You don't have to - "
"Now, Minerva."
She flashed a disappointed look before she left, and the grinding of the door seemed to echo hollowly before sliding shut. Snape stared at the door for a long moment, before slumping down with a small sigh.
Loki gave him a minute, before saying, "Not a popular headmaster, are you?"
Snape jerked, then whirled around, glaring. "You." His mouth worked, as if he wanted to say more, before he settled on, "How are you a cat?"
Loki shrugged, transforming back in one smooth moment. "I don't know. Sometimes my body acts up, decides it wants to be a cat or a whale or a toaster. A terrible affliction, you see."
"You're a Metamorphmagus, I can handle that. An unregistered crow animagus, that's possible too. But a cat. Nobody can change into more than one animal. It's just not possible."
"Well, I do; it's a talent of mine," Loki replied. "So I suggest you rewrite your definition of 'possible'. But I think we're getting a bit off-track here. After all, this is your unfortunate situation here, is it not?"
"I've asked for the position."
"Ah." Loki nodded understandingly. "Of course. Doesn't change the fact that you don't really want it, but no matter. You must be here for a reason, after all. Things are coming together so fast." He stood up and dusted off his clothing.
Snape leapt to his feet. "You're not leaving until I get some answers!" he snapped. "What are you?"
Loki laughed. "You already know. I'm Loki."
"You know that's not what I meant - "
"Oh, look at that!" Loki said, pretending to check a nonexistent watch. "Looks like our time here is up. I'm so sorry, but I'll be leaving now."
"Loki - "
"Good luck with that Potter situation you have there. Keeping him from dying must be a near-impossible task," Loki smirked.
"You..." Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It is, thank you very much. I suppose asking you not to return would be a waste of my breath, wouldn't it?"
"Yes it would. I'll be seeing you around."
And he was gone.
That was the last time he saw Snape alive.
While the Battle of Hogwarts was raging through the halls of the school, Loki had been attempting to rescue a charred tray of cookies from the oven. Talented magician he may be, baker he was not.
It was in this way he'd completely missed the news of Voldemort's defeat at Hogwarts and of the arrests of the surviving Death Eaters. He'd only found out two days later, when he revisited Hogwarts in hopes of surprising Snape again only to find a cleanup team starting to clear away debris. Here and there, bodies were stretched out on white sheets - the few that have only now been pulled from the rubble.
Something brushed against his foot, and he glanced down, seeing a newspaper. He picked it up and scanned through the article, face growing stony.
"Oi! What are you doing here? Unauthorized personnel - "
Loki glanced up, seeing a slightly pudgy man come striding towards him. "Me deepest apologies," he said without any sincerity whatsoever, and apparated away.
Sometimes, Loki regretted not taking over the world when he had the chance. Then he would be able to command some other poor person to fix the damned sink why wouldn't it work. Gritting his teeth, he scrabbled for the wrench, hoping that by tightening these nuts here, somehow the drain would stop leaking.
There was a knock at the door.
Loki sat up, cursing when his forehead met the underbelly of the sink. He thought he'd made it very clear that he wasn't taking any cases for the foreseeable future!
He hurriedly wiped down his arms and, still swearing a blue streak, nearly wrenched the door off its hinges. "What?" he growled.
The two stern-looking elderly women gazed back, unperturbed. Despite the eccentric, near-blinding colourful clothing they were wearing, Loki recognized the woman on the right as 'Minerva' from the headmaster's office.
He stared at them suspiciously. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Minerva smiled and held out her hand for him to shake. "We've a proposition for you, Loki Lismuth. A career opportunity, if you will."
She called him Loki. The only one who he'd given that name to was currently six feet under and stone, stone cold. "How do you know who I am?"
"We've heard a bit about you. From a..." She hesitated. "Mutual friend, if you will."
Oh, was that so? Loki smiled, all teeth. "I do believe that you would not be able to find whatever it is that you're looking for here."
"Please," the second witch cut in. "It would be a great service to the school, and the...mutual friend. He spoke very highly of your abilities."
He snorted. "Of course." For the first time since they'd started talking, he found himself almost curious about their proposition. He considered it for a moment, before deciding, what was the harm? He smiled. "Call me Laufreyson," he said, taking Minerva's hand and shaking it. "Loki Laufreyson."
If nothing else, Hogwarts seemed...intriguing. And he was always up for things that interested him.
("Brother? What are you doing here?"
"Wha - Thor? I - why shouldn't I be here? This is my job. I'm the professor of Transfiguration."
"Oh, how marvelous! I am a professor here as well - of the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"...Oh, kill me now.")