A/N: Hey, all. Some time ago I decided to try out the Hermione Smut exchange on Livejournal (which has many great fics, and which I will be singing praises for for a while, because I'm taking over responsibility). At about the same time, I started watching Marvel movies, and discovered Loki. I have a new pairing to play with, and I'll keep it at that.

This fic is nine chapters and totally complete. There's also a sequel in the works, one that more explores Loki's dark side. But as for this fic, you'll be getting a chapter a day until it's all posted.

Note: I watch the Marvel movies, but I have yet to really start reading the comics. This fic takes place after the movie Thor, but before the Avengers, and was completed before the new movie came out. As always, my Hermione is mostly from the books, though I borrowed a thing or two from the movies.

Warnings: It was for a smut exchange. There's all that entails in here, with some mild language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or Harry Potter. There is a long list of who does, from Disney to Scholastic and a few dozen people in between, but I'm not on that list.

Without further ado...

Exiled.

Banished.

Again.

Nothing new to see here.

Of all the times he'd been banished, this was the one he thought he deserved the most. If Thor got stripped of his power and banished for starting a war with Johtunheim, it would follow he'd be banished as well for trying to destroy the place. But with the Bifrost destroyed, Odin didn't strip him of his magic once he and Thor had pulled him back onto the ruined bridge. Had he there would be no way to banish his son, and Loki had accepted his punishment and left quickly after being asked. The last thing he needed was to be constantly checking his back, wondering if one of the Warriors Three or Sif was going to get revenge for his indiscretion. Odin could have stripped him of his power right there, but he would remain a shameful reminder of the destruction he had wrought. He could use his power to send him to Midgard himself, but this way his departure drew no attention. Maybe he and Thor were spreading the rumor he had fallen from the bridge. Or, perhaps, his adoptive father actually felt sorry for him, and felt a semi-voluntary banishment to Midgard would appear harsh, but not be as difficult as it could be. At least he wasn't a tree this time.

It seemed as though whenever someone blinked he was banished for some reason or another. And just as quickly he would be back. They needed their God of Mischief to get out of some scrape his hard-headed father or impulsive brother got them into. Or his brother would start an incident, and they'd be summoning Loki back to pull a trick to smooth things over, or assist in the fight. Often it was what he did during his return, which would send him away again.

Midgard was their favorite place to send him. They thought being around the humans would humble him. Watch how they moved through their short lives. See what they do with the few years they were given; their level of innovation, and their growth as a species.

All he saw were masses of non-identical clones, striving to make a name for themselves in their world, but unable to handle it if they did. He watched the leaders who looked to either the collective or, more often, those with most wealth for guidance.

Weak.

Spineless.

Pathetic.

Not unlike the cockroaches that plagued their cities, massing in the dark, trying desperately to reproduce and gain what they need, then scurrying when something bigger came along.

There was no power. Even those with Magic couldn't agree on much of anything other than living in hiding. He'd have them in his hand within a week if he desired. But what use would they be? A play for power would do nothing but bring his father and brother down to wrest it from him, and the humans would be no help against gods.

Though he could probably decimate the population enough it would set them back a few hundred years. His chances of going back to Asgard would be negligible if he did, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they weren't expecting him back.

As he was sent into exile, he was told there was only one way he would be allowed back. He needed a human, just a single human, to advocate for his return. It seemed simple enough. How hard could it be to find a human who would be easily manipulated into saying whatever he desired? He had remembered smirking at this, convinced he would return within hours, with someone who would say whatever he wanted them to. But then his father made it a bit more complicated.

The human had to know his past. Know his deeds and still find him worthy of salvation. Still, not difficult. Humans were quick to forgive even the worst among them if they atoned for their sins, or at least convinced someone they had.

But then this person would have to advocate for him in Asgard; while he was on Earth, being babysat by his brother, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three. And his advocate had to prove they were sincere. That part was potentially problematic. How many people would be able to with-stand questioning by gods, with no one there to support them? What kind of human had the fortitude to complete such a task without him giving them a little help? And how would they prove they were sincere? Any kind of warning would make it seem as he were coaching them. The task seemed impossible, or it would at least keep him away for years.

He had gone to a place where no one would notice a little mischief. Where he could blend into a crowd of those who thought they were noticing everyone and everything around them, but who were too blinded by the splendor of everything to actually notice what is truly around them. Las Vegas. Where thieves are rewarded with tall buildings and flashing lights, the common man could feel a king, and vices were not just encouraged, they were openly peddled with neon signs.

He had already made a pest of himself. A lesser man would have been banned from every casino along the strip out of suspicion that he had been doing something wrong, though nothing could be traced to him, and most of the time he didn't appear as himself. Any of these mortals would be happy living the life he was living: luxurious accommodations, the freedom to move without the threat of obligations hanging over his head, having his every need catered to.

Complete freedom.

And yet the challenge was maddening. So he searched, everywhere it seemed, for the type of person who would hear his past but not flee, and who had the courage to stand up for him in front of the gods. Somehow he was sure Las Vegas would not provide him such a person. But he was not ready to move on just yet.

It was during an evening wandering that he came across a rather peculiar feeling. It was a powerful magical signature, or perhaps many, drawing him into what looked to be an abandoned strip mall on the outskirts of town. As he watched, two people appeared from around the back of the building and hurried into a boarded up electronics store. Curious, he followed suit.

"Clever," he murmured with an appreciative smile as he entered, for it wasn't into a decrepit building he had stepped, but a rather lavish convention hall. A long hallway led to three different rooms, but only one seemed to be in use. As he approached, he saw a large sign, advertizing a symposium on vampire rights. Keynote speaker: Dr. Hermione Granger, Head of the House-Elf Rights Commission, Author of the Werewolf Accommodation Act, Order of Merlin First Class.

"She just started speaking," a plump witch whispered as she thrust a program into his hand. "Go on in."

"Thank you," he replied softly, tipping his head and opening the door just enough to slide in. He sat in an isolated seat in the back and listened as Dr. Hermione Granger carefully went over the shared history of magical beings and vampires, then slowly laid the case out for why wizards should let the blood-sucking death-bringers be, and even grant them the right to exist as they were. The more he listened, the wider the smile on his lips. As questions were hurled at her, and replies expertly parried back, he became more and more convinced that Dr. Hermione Granger would be just the type of woman to help him with his conundrum. The girl couldn't be more than mid to late twenties, wearing a sensible blue-colored dress, minimal makeup, a single piece of jewelry, with her hair done up in a no-fuss bun. She was attractive without trying, but she didn't want to be viewed as attractive. She wanted to be viewed for her intelligence, which he quickly found more captivating than her looks.

Two hours after he sat, the session was over, and Dr. Granger was escorted to a small table to sign copies of her autobiography. He bought a copy from a separate table and sat nearby, flipping through it. Dr. Granger was more impressive than the simple description under her picture would lead one to believe. A war heroine and a celebrity, she seemed to take up the fight for any disadvantaged, misunderstood creature that came across her path. If he carefully played his cards, perhaps she'd be willing to take up the cause of the God of Mischief.

Dr. Granger was suddenly surrounded by a small group of people who seemed to know her very well, and felt no qualms about complaining to her the moment the line slowed.

"Come on, Hermione, it's Vegas!" a tall, gangly redhead grumbled.

"I'm contracted to stay here for another ten minutes," she replied shortly, checking her watch. "And then I really should get back to my hotel room in case that vampire calls me back..."

"Let him leave a message," a raven-haired boy complained. "Come on, Hermione, you're allowed to have a little fun."

"I hardly find feeding my hard-earned money into loud machines fun."

"There's other things to do..."

"A fool and his money, Harry."

"You need to loosen up," a redheaded girl cut in. "You spend way too much time advocating all these causes. Do vampires really need your help?"

"We have units of our ministries dedicated to hunting them down and exterminating them. Yes, I think they could use someone on their side."

"Seriously? Fuck the vampires. You haven't had time for anything else since you listened to Sanguini's sob story."

"You have what you think are things worthy of your time, and I have mine. I work to protect creatures, who were having difficulties in their lives, you toss a ball through a hoop."

"You don't have to be a bitch about it," she snapped.

"I'm not. I told you guys that this was a business trip for me. I didn't come here to gamble, or go to shows, or drink until I'm pissed every night. You invited yourselves along. I do not need to provide you with companionship nor entertainment."

"You know, Hermione, you haven't done a damn thing for yourself in a long time," Ron pointed out. "When's the last time you went out for a night on the town?"

"Just because I don't enjoy going to Quidditch games or the pubs every weekend doesn't mean I don't have fun with my own pursuits."

"When's the last time you had a boyfriend? A serious one, not just a casual date or two?" the girl asked.

"I feel no need to be defined by a romantic relationship," Hermione replied hotly. "You guys should go on ahead. I'll see you later," she added insincerely.

"Whatever. Have fun with the blood-suckers," Ron grumbled. He and the girl walked off. Harry stayed a moment, but then turned and followed them.

He waited a few more minutes as some stragglers came by to get books signed and exchange a few words with Hermione, none noticing how upset she was. When she had a moment alone she conjured a handkerchief with her wand and dabbed at the corner of her eye. It was time to make his move.

"That was an enlightening talk," he said smoothly as he slid the book across the table towards her.

"Oh!" she was surprised to see someone there and hastily stashed the handkerchief. "I'm... sorry. Thank you," she stammered.

"I can honestly say I didn't give the matter much thought, but you put things so eloquently that it gave me much to ponder," he flashed her a charming smile, and saw her cheeks flushed.

"I'm glad you liked it," she smiled. "Would you like me to make this out to someone?"

"Loki," he nodded.

"Loki?" a smile flashed across her face. "Is that you or..."

"It is me, my dear."

"That's a lovely name. I'll assume you know the origin?"

"Do you?"

"Of course. The Norse God of Lies."

"And Mischief," he added, with a nod.

She eyed him for a moment before looking down to sign the book.

"Are you enjoying Las Vegas?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Honestly? It's a bit showy for me. Too loud and too many people."

"You prefer solitude?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need large crowds to enjoy myself. Do you live here?"

"Temporarily."

"How long have you been here?"

"Not too long."

"Aren't you just a fount of description?" she chuckled.

"What kind of God of Mischief would I be if I didn't leave you hungry for more information?" he smirked.

She laughed. "I would not consider a book signing the height of mischief."

"It is a somewhat quiet activity. I may have to go looking for trouble later."

"You won't have a problem with that in this town."

"Would it be too bold of me to ask you, my dear, if you would accompany me to dinner tonight? I have a proposition I'd like to present you," he said with a charming smile.

"A proposition?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Strictly business, I assure you."

She studied him for a long moment. "Yes," she said slowly.

"Shall I wait for you in the hall?"

"Oh, no, I think I'm just about done here. I am not interested in going to the reception for the organizers and listen to them pat themselves on the back."

"Then I shall whisk you away," he smirked, offering her an arm. She checked to make sure no one was around before ducking out together.

"Did you have any spot in mind?" she asked as he led her back towards the strip.

"What do you have a fancy for, my dear?"

"I'm honestly not difficult."

"Then I know just the place," he smiled.

As they walked, she took the opportunity to look him over. If she had to give a first impression, he looked like the archetypal Slytherin: long, black hair that was worn back, though no tie to keep in place. Strong features were apparent under pale skin, with piercing eyes that betrayed a haunted past. His clothes were expensive, and exquisitely tailored, in dark gray and green. He held himself with confidence, and there was an old world charm to him. If only her friends could see her, within minutes of them telling her she needed to concern herself more with her life and less with the well-being of others, she accepted a spontaneous dinner invitation from a man whose last name she didn't know.

He led her into one of the larger hotels, leading her skillfully through crowds heading to the theater and a few groups of scantily-clad women heading to the nightclub, and held the door of a dimly-lit restaurant open for her.

"Good evening, Mr. Odinson," the hostess straightened up and smiled at him. "Table for two tonight, I see." She beamed at him while looking over Hermione with an appraising eye. Hermione, however, was looking at Loki, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Yes, please, Sandra," he reached out to shake her hand, and when they pulled away Hermione noticed her stuffing some money into her pocket. "As much privacy as can be afforded, if you could?" he winked.

"I have just the table," she said, with a flirtatious smile and an unconscious shimmy of her shoulders. "Follow me."

"Ladies first." Loki bowed, motioning Hermione into the dining room first. She followed the hostess through the tables sparsely populated with late-night diners to a corner table with no one sitting within fifteen feet. Loki immediately moved to pull out the plush chair for Hermione, expertly moving it in as she sat, before taking the place across from her.

"Andrew will be your server; he should be by shortly to take your drink order. As always, our wine selection is excellent, and our sommelier will be happy to help you with pairings." Sandra smiled at Loki again as she placed the leather-bound menus in front of them, then shot Hermione a jealous look before leaving.

"Do you have a wine preference?" he asked.

"It's been a while since I've had Muggle wine," she admitted.

"Perhaps I can make a suitable selection. Do you prefer red or white?"

"Red."

"And so you'll have it," he smiled as the waiter arrived. Without even looking at the wine list, Loki ordered a bottle.

"Very good, Mr. Odinson," Andrew, the waiter, nodded before hurrying off.

"You must eat here often; the staff all seem to know you by name," Hermione observed.

"I have a room upstairs," he said with a casual shrug. "It is convenient for dinner, and the steaks are..." he paused, looking for the right word, a flash of distaste crossing his face. "Quite palatable," he finished.

She studied him, until she was unable to refrain from asking a question. "Your last name is Odinson?" she asked, curious.

"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked, a smile tugging one side of his mouth.

"It's funny in that it means 'son of Odin', and, if I remember my mythology correctly, Loki was a son of Odin. Is it some sort of stage name?"

"No," he shook his head, smiling widely. "That is my given name."

"Your parents must be big fans, then," she chuckled. "Don't tell me you have a brother named Thor."

A dark look flashed across his face, but he quickly replaced it with a good-natured smile that, in the dim light, would be hard for her to notice was forced. "As a matter of fact, I do."

"I see," her face fell, and she studied him for a moment before opening the menu to hide her stare. As she looked it over she scowled.

"Is nothing to your liking, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, no, everything looks delicious," she said quickly.

"You are put off by the prices," he stated.

"It just... seems like an awful amount of money to spend on a single meal."

"Should I request a menu without prices for you? For I am treating you, and as such, I should think that price should not concern you."

"I didn't mean to insult your hospitality..."

"You are a conservative woman, my dear. It is an admirable trait. You do not mind treating yourself on occasion, but you have your limits. I understand that, and I respect that. However, if I were the publisher for one of your books, would you question my choice in dining establishments?"

"Of course not. And since you said we were here on business, I shouldn't question your choices. And I apologize."

"Accepted," he nodded. "I do not wish you to concern yourself with price, and I do want you to enjoy your meal. Please, order whatever piques your interest."

The wine came shortly after, and they ordered. Small talk came easily over the first two courses, and it was only when the entree came that Hermione felt comfortable broaching the subject that brought them there.

"You said you had a business proposition for me," she gently prodded.

"And I do, my dear," he said, laying down his utensils. "Tell me, what are your beliefs when it comes to myths and tales of old?"

She bit her lip as she considered her answer. "I've learned, through some of my travels and adventures, to not automatically dismiss such tales," she replied carefully.

"What would you say if I were to tell you our conversation about my name was not too far off the truth?"

"What? That you're Loki? Son of Odin? God of Mischief and Lies?"

She studied his face, expecting him to laugh and announce his joke, but nothing came. "I would give you the chance to prove yourself," she replied softly.

"And if I did?"

"I would wonder what a god would want to do with a mortal such as myself."

"I need assistance that only one such as you can provide," he answered, eyes locking with hers.

"If the stories are true, I can hardly help you. Your magic would be well beyond my own, as is your intelligence, strength, and cleverness."

"It is exactly those traits, which put me in the position I am in. I have been banished. I need someone who is willing to champion for me."

"You should easily be able to manipulate any Muggle in this room to provide such testimony. Why me?"

"They expect me to manipulate, to control, whoever I find. They are taking precautions against this. The person I find must speak freely of their own accord. You, my dear, are ideal in that aspect."

"And why should I vouch for you? I hardly know you."

"I do not expect you to offer testimony for me immediately. I know it will take time. And I am willing to compensate you for the time and effort it will take for you to be comfortable enough to stake your name on me. I noticed you wrote a book about werewolf rights. I would happily commission, for a large author's fee of course, a similar book on vampire rights. Perhaps this is an agreeable number," he murmured, slipping a piece of paper she didn't notice him write on across the table to her.

She picked it up and read the number, and her mouth went slack. It was equal to nearly ten years of her salary. She wanted to write another book, but writing took time she couldn't find as she needed to work. Her goal was to become an author and lecturer, currently she did six or seven lectures a year, though another book could double or triple that number, if not more. The amount of money he was offering would mean she could easily quit her job to follow her dreams.

"If you are who you claim, how can I trust that you will follow through?" she asked softly.

He smiled. "Quite clever," he murmured. "You cannot. However, if you agree, I will accompany you to whatever financial institution you use, and deposit half the money. Even half will be enough to subsidize you for some time, will it not?"

"It would," she admitted. "What, exactly, do you expect of me?"

"If you accept, you will spend as much time with me as it takes for you to feel comfortable in your task. I will accommodate you during this time, food and lodging, whatever you need. One of the conditions of your testimony is that you must be aware of all my misdeeds from the past. I am sure they will ask you a few questions to verify I have complied with full disclosure..."

"Excuse me, but who will ask me?"

"My father and mother. I will be here, on Midgard, with Thor as my guard to make sure I am not there to guide you or manipulate you."

"I'll be questioned by gods?" she whispered.

"Have I not already asked questions of you?" he cocked an eyebrow.

She blushed. "Yes, you have. But this is Earth. And talking to you is like talking to any other man. You don't look different, unless you count that I can feel the magical energy coming off you."

"To answer your question, yes, you will be questioned by gods. And it will be in a different realm."

She closed her eyes and slowly exhaled.

"The bottom line is I need a human to advocate for me. You have a documented history of advocating for the downtrodden and disadvantaged."

"What if I spend time with you and cannot find it in myself to give my word for you?"

"Then we will part ways. You will keep what I will put in your account, and we will never speak again."

She thought about it for several minutes, wordlessly finishing her entree and allowing him to pour her more wine and order her dessert. Finally she sat up straighter, steeling her nerves.

"I'll do it," she said softly. "I make no promises as to how things will go from here, but I will give you a chance."

"To chances," he smirked, toasting her.