A/N: Story was supposed to be a one-shot, but sometimes ideas have minds of their own. I give you a glimpse into their future. Enjoy.
Beta Love: Fluffpanda
Chapter Two: Interlude
Loki sprawled lazily on the bed. A cool breeze blew in from the open window as he stretched under the drape of a soft quilt. He stretched out a blue hand, gently stroking a lock of brown hair away from his companion's face. His ruby red eyes glowed softly in the gloom of the twilight hours.
His eyes focused out the window where snow fell with large white flakes, yet the cold did not bother him, nor did it seem to bother her.
Hermione.
She was a creature of magic more than flesh, yet, even her name seemed to defy common classification. Her magic sang to him in a way that his quest for power could not approach. The touch of her skin against his was like an aphrodisiac. She did not cringe from his Jötunn form. To her, it was just skin. She did not fear his power. To her, it was just magic.
She would speak of magic like it was the most common thing in the world. It was nothing to be feared any more than any tool in the hands of the "wrong" sort. He smiled to himself. Some would argue he was exactly the wrong sort to allow the wielding magic—as if anyone could truly stop him.
He shifted under the quilt, his arms seeking the warmth of her body, pulling himself against her. She stirred slightly, snuggling into his chest with a huff of air, but did not wake. She slept. It was the ultimate compliment, he knew, for he was not one to sleep if he did not believe himself safe. To trust someone else enough that sleep was possible was the highest compliment he could bestow. Who could the God of Lies trust not to try and shank him in his sleep? He didn't even trust his supposed brother for that.
Days and nights often passed in sleep. Their magic meshed them together tighter with each touch they shared, but when they coupled, the snow would fall in blizzard proportions and simultaneously feel like spring—complete with crocuses and blooming hyacinths. A few Christmases in July had proven that little factoid. It was strange, however, that when they did couple together, the aftermath was always sleep. They had a few different places they had crafted into "safe places to hibernate" as Hermione called it. The word hibernate had come to mean so much more to him than sleep.
Loki had never been the sleeping type. There was always something more to do. Some plot or another called his attention away. Some adventure his brother would drag him on would keep him from whatever cathartic relief sleep was supposed to bring. He never understood the appeal of sleep until recently.
They slept like immortals, which was to say they slept like All Father in his Odinsleep, only, they did it together, and they slept sometimes weeks, months, or years at a time. When they woke, it was sometimes discombobulating to realise such long periods just passed by them so quickly, but Loki and Hermione both confessed that they had never felt so strangely content. Loki always had the pleasure of waking first, and he made no mistake that it was anything but pleasure to feel the tug to remain entwined with her. The simple feel of her with him as he woke was enough to inspire him to forgive his adoptive family every transgression he had ever accused them of. He even preferred it to his normal meddling in human and Æsir affairs.
His travels with Hermione had become so distracting that the Æsir became nervous. Surely, the silence was a portent of the coming storm. Surely, they thought, Loki was playing them as fools as he always did.
Yet, Loki did not come knocking. He had other things on his mind, and a mind like his had plenty of things in which to occupy it.
Loki shrugged his shoulders, feeling his hair loosen from the ribbon which held it. It fell about his face like curtains, and he leaned in to nuzzle Hermione's neck. There were far more important things on his mind than what the Æsir thought of him anymore. He was far more interested in ideal hibernation locations, travelling worlds, solar systems, and universes beyond.
Hundreds of worlds had been their courtship. Hundreds of different skies, different soils, different languages. He had taught her the ways of the gods, the magic of alien language, of appearing like one of the people of numerous of cultures and thousands of alien life forms, and countless civilisations. She had taught him something no less vast: humility and tolerance.
Loki saw in her the ultimate cumulation of magic. She was power incarnate, yet she was more apt to sit on a beach and watch the crabs skitter along the sand and fight over pieces of food than sway civilisations to her cause. It wasn't, he knew, that she couldn't. He had been an apt teacher, but when it came down to it, Hermione was a primal force both as powerful as she was indifferent. Her transformation from a mortal, human witch into whatever it was she had truly become had made her into a paradox. She was power incarnate, but short of the casual magic she used to change her appearance, manipulate objects, and call things to her as "normal as any witch," she did not make a show of herself. She was perfectly content to be overlooked, passed over, and underestimated.
"There was a time when all I wanted was to be recognised as being a legitimate witch despite my birth family and blood status," Hermione had said to him. "Now look at me. All of those who stood in opposition to me are buried and gone, forgotten, and dismissed. Now, I am the only one that remembers their sins like it was yesterday."
"Did you not wish to have them pay for such crimes against you?" Loki had asked. "They hurt you, carved your skin like a knife to a tree, ridiculed you…"
"Molly Weasley killed the one who carved my skin," Hermione had replied wistfully. "She defended her family in righteous fury as was her right as a mother. The others, well, they all died, eventually. What good is it to dwell and let them conquer my life and haunt my thoughts?"
"But you are powerful, my Lady," he had protested.
"And if I wasn't this freakish result of a Dark Wizard's attempt to harness immortality?" she had asked. "Would you still find me interesting? Would you even care?"
Loki had paused at that. Would he have found her as interesting in time to marvel at her complexity if she had been mortal? They had slept through periods as long as one human lifetime. Their bond had grown through decades and centuries. Could he have been like his brother and loved a human and been doomed to a fleeting mortal love?
Looking back on his first decade or eight with Hermione, he realised how much she had forced him to come to terms with his own demons. A part of her knew that he, at that time, would not have been able to accept "some ordinary human female" even if that human was magical. And now, he know, he would not be able to accept anyone else, human or otherwise, because anyone else would not be her. Whatever it was she had become was what he wanted. She was what he needed. He could not accept the fleeting human and mortal version of herself because it would not have been her. What she was now was, as much as he was now the God of Lies and Misdirection, fated.
She could balance his rage and the acid of his hate, temper his mischief, and accept his faults. He had, in turn, taught her the true face of the God of Lies, how to focus even when time made everything seem trivial, the finer arts of subterfuge, as well as find humour in her remaining human quirks and idiosyncrasies. In a way, it was he that allowed to her hold on to her remaining humanity, and it was her that allowed him to hold on to the part of him that once was God of Mischief rather than the God of Lies.
He hadn't even realised how much he had come to depend on her calming presence until he had stormed off on one of his tirades against the his brother yet again, and ended up in a fight of epic proportions. The gods never did anything small, and Thor and Loki had stopped having "friendly" brawls sometime around when Loki had tried to take over the world the first or second time.
Thor had always been a bit of a trigger for him, he could admit some hundreds of years later. Whenever his brother entered the field, Loki lapsed back into his "old" manipulative ways and proceeded to try and take over the throne of power, either literally or figuratively. It was only at this height of one of his peaks of power that he felt the ache of something missing. The hunger gnawed at the frozen heart he held hidden from view with his rage and hate. The longing he had was for something he could not conquer, manipulate, or lie to obtain. The switch had been flipped, and Loki, the God of Lies and Misdirection, attempted to exit the playing field to find the one creature in all of Miðgarðr that could understand his plight.
It wasn't until he couldn't find her that a different sort of madness had threatened to claim him. He had looked in all the old haunts they had once visited on Earth. He had even visited the old Wizarding places. He found himself at the gravestone of Severus Snape, looking for the small and smooth ocean stones that marked her yearly visit. Despite all of his looking, there was not a trace of her. Despair had threatened to overcome his senses. A part of him had crumpled in the knowledge that he had taken too long to come to his senses. Perhaps, he had lamented, she had taken the next step into her evolution and become magic without form.
"Please don't go," Hermione pleaded, her eyes glistening with a flicker of her magic.
"How can I not?" Loki snarled.
"It will not solve anything," she replied sadly.
"It will solve much!" Loki raged, gritting his teeth. "He has been mocking me with his stupidity for centuries. He needs to be taken down a peg!"
Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head away. "I suppose nothing I say or do will stop you then," she whispered.
"This is a matter between gods," Loki hissed. "It has nothing to do with you."
Hermione's expression went blank and impassive. Her normally expressive brown eyes turned black. Her posture straightened as she pulled her robes across her chest with her folded arms. "No, I suppose not," she answered him quietly.
"You think yourself too important," he accused. "You forget you are beneath me."
Her Occluded eyes stared back at him. "You're right," she answered him. "For a time," she said with a pause. "I thought I mattered. Thank you, for reminding me of my place." Her eyes had flashed with the pure blue of her magic and there was a sharp crack of sound. She was gone.
In truth, he had felt her absence the moment she left. The calmness and the balance of his own usually chaotic energy had returned to the state he had always wrestled with for the first part of his life. It was the energy of hatred, lies, and destruction. It was the energy that fought against the Æsir with every breath he took.
At first, it was like greeting an old friend. Its familiarity was a welcome feeling. He fell back into his old habits so easily. Blaming his brother and whatever friends he had was the easiest of it all. Channelling his rage was easier still. Yet, when he stood over his brother's abused friends—those Loki himself once called friends— something happened.
"It will not solve anything," Hermione's voice came to him in the middle of his rage.
He saw something in their loyalty to each other that had been ingrained into their very cores over the decades. They never questioned. They never faltered in their convictions. They never evolved, and he was trying to be just like them.
Then, as the panicked eyes of Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun stared at the countenance of their once friend, Loki made the magical storm around Ásgarðr dissipate and then walked off the stage as the Bifrost Bridge carried him away.
He had chosen to evolve.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"Remember the woman who used to teach the children about the mythical sea creatures?" an older man said as he sat at picnic table by the beach.
"Oh, yes, I do," the woman next to him replied.
"They say she's been in a coma for years," the man said sadly. "It's a tragedy, if you ask me. She was always so good with the children, even if she wasn't so easy to understand as an adult. All the talk of sea serpents, hippocampi, selkies, and leviathans seemed like tales seemed more for children than adults.
"She was undoubtedly a teacher," the woman said. "The children loved her. Even today, they teach our grandkids the stories she once told them. They remember them so clearly."
"Can you imagine?" the man asked. "To just waste away in that hospital. It seems like such a waste."
"Do you know what happened?" the woman asked.
"The locals say they just found her on the beach," he replied sadly. "No one could wake her."
"Such a pity," the woman replied.
Behind them, only a table away, Loki's hand trembled around his iced tea glass as red had bled a cross his eyes. She hadn't abandoned him after all.
-o-o-o-o-
Loki found "Jane Doe" in a small hospital in the middle of no where. The smell of antiseptic and sickness made his nose curl in disgust. When he saw her, lying still in the hospital bed, his chest seized.
He fell into the chair by her bed, his hand covered hers, ignoring the IV tubes that ran up her arm. He touched her cheek, his thumb bumping into the nasal canula that was providing her oxygen. It was a terribly human sort of thing to do in order to keep someone alive, and Loki wasn't even sure if Hermione needed either to remain "alive" in the most traditional sense. Did magic breathe? Did it need hydration?
Suddenly, he was reminded of the All Father's Odinsleep—Odin's periods of unconsciousness when he became as frail as a mortal as his powers regenerated— and wondered if whatever had claimed her was something similar. It was similar perhaps, but he sensed that her her sleep was not for gathering of power. It was almost as if her magic had gone dormant, and her body had simply gone dormant with it.
What a fool he had been to accuse of her being beneath him. Even now, he could feel the familiar caress of her dormant magic calling to him like a moth to the flame. He longed to see her eyes open and recognise him with the gentle smile he had come to realise had been for him all along.
He had cast her aside and demeaned her. There was an equally good chance that if she did wake, her eyes would be as cold as the time he had chosen his war with his brother over her companionship. It would have been his own fault had she turned her back upon him. He would have deserved it.
Staring at her "sleeping" face, he realised he wanted to share things with her. Places, planets, universes, cultures, magic that spread beyond Miðgarðr called, and he wanted to share them with her. He wanted to share his magic with her. He wanted to share himself with her.
Never in the years that they had travelled together had they been physically intimate. Perhaps, he had never allowed himself, or perhaps he had truly thought himself that much above her that being intimate with her would have below him. Whatever his reasons, he had never allowed himself to be tender with her. They had laughed together, shared adventures, and even shared horrible motels together, but never once had he caressed her skin and confessed anything more than some growing friendship. He had botched that friendship up by telling her she was below him.
He pulled Hermione's body close to him, her thin hospital gown felt like tissue against his robes. He tucked her head under his chin, pressing his nose into her hair. "Hermione," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He caressed her hair with his hand, combing it with his fingers. "I was a fool."
He closed his eyes, cradling her against himself. His magic called to her as hers had always called to him. He counted away the mortal years, trying to remember how long it had been since his horrible snafu. He couldn't remember. Time had never meant anything to him, yet facing the future with the weight of his crime against her meant more to him than the world he had tried to subjugate on multiple occasions or the thrones he had tried to steal.
"Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "I'm sorry… sorry for being such a—"
"Dunderhead," she whispered into his chest, her exhale of breath tickling his skin.
Loki pulled away to stare down at Hermione's blue and brown eyes. The flickers of her magic danced across them.
"You better not be lying to me, Mr. Rock," she said softly. "I was having a wonderful conversation with an old friend."
Loki shuddered, pressing his forehead to hers as he closed his eyes. "I fear I am at a loss for scintillating conversation at the moment."
"Hn," Hermione said softly. "I guess I'll just go back to my wonderful conversa—"
Loki's mouth covered hers, silencing her words. His magic crackled around him, blending with hers. His hand reached over to yank the IV tubes off the machine as he pulled her to him. A storm of magic rose around them as they vanished into thin air.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked as her finger traced the markings over his skin.
Loki stared into her eyes. "You."
Her thumb brushed under his eye. "Surely, there is something more interesting to be thinking about on such a glorious blizzard-prone spring morning."
Loki's eyes flashed. "No, not really."
She stared at him dubiously. "I do not believe you," she said.
"Are you calling me a liar?" he purred back at her.
"The Master of Lies," she said.
He growled softly, latching onto her neck with his mouth, letting his teeth scrape against her skin. "I prefer… God."
"There's that great humility you've been working on—AH!" Hermione gasped as his teeth clamped on the flesh of her neck.
He murmured something in a language yet unknown to Earth.
"No," Hermione groaned. "No, no, no. We'll sleep for another week." She squirmed and pushed him off her neck.
Loki gave her a hurt expression. "You say this like it's a bad thing." His red eyes glowed as his lips formed into a pout.
"Don't give me the eyes," Hermione groaned. "Not the eyes."
Loki tilted his head, his lips quivering.
Hermione turned her head to force herself not to look at him.
He put his hands around her neck and rubbed her muscles. She murmured softly in approval. She placed a hand on his. "Besides, there is somewhere I need to be today."
Hermione stood up, summoning her robes to her with her outstretched hand. She shrugged her shoulders as the the black outer robe draped across them like a shroud. The moment the robe settled around her shoulders, she passed her hand over her face, and her features changed into that of an older woman with long silver hair pinned back with a serpent clasp and a green ribbon. For a moment, her eyes flashed with blue fire as energy crackled down her arms, but she flicked her arms as if to shake water from them. The energy shimmered and dissipated.
Loki yawned and stood, pulling his silk undergarments on before pulling his multiple layers of what might have looked like a leather trench coat to some random Muggle, but Hermione knew better. This was Loki's most formal armour. It was the accoutrement of a God that both obscured him from sight from those looking for him and shimmered with the handiwork of the Æsir. The deep green lining of the leather always brought a smile to Hermione's face. He was, in her mind, the quintessential Slytherin. He would have given Salazar Slytherin a run for his money, and turned his house upside down.
Hermione glided over to him, her hand gently touched his gauntlet, moved over his rerebrace, and moved his pauldrons across his shoulders. He stared at her as she moved over his collar and adjusted it around his throat with a smug smile. She tugged his baldric in place with a wink.
"Have I forgotten how to dress myself, my Lady?" he rumbled, a twitch of his lips turning his straight scowl into a smile.
"Just helping," she hummed, running a finger along his chin.
He growled softly. "I would much prefer you help me remove my armour than put it on."
Hermione sniffed at him. "We just woke up. Surely we can restrain ourselves for the span of one mortal day?"
Loki looked upward as if she were asking him to touch something foul. "As you wish," he said with a turn of his nose. His skin faded into the pale but human looking colour. His eyes changed into a crystal blue at reminded her of ice and the cold skies of winter.
Hermione smiled as she saw him in his formal finery. She knew that few if any would see him as anything he did not wish them to see, but to her, she saw the flare of his magic around him—primordial and chaotic. It flared around him like the arching of electricity and the fan of flames. They reached out to "taste" the air around him. She cupped her hand against his cheek and brought her lips to his, feeling the thrum of his magic weave around her in the attempt to merge. She pulled away before it could and undo the last few minutes of attempting to leave.
Loki looked at her somewhat sadly, as her doing so was a crime against so many things.
Hermione turned on her heels, reaching her hand out to call her wand to her, knowing that travelling in Wizarding places without it would call more attention to herself than a Muggle getting lost in Diagon Alley. A witch without a wand was asking for trouble. Her fingers ran across the old vinewood wand with the kind of affection only countless years of being together could do. It was both reverence and love. She tucked it in the holster up her sleeve and opened the door to their refuge to walk out into the snow.
As she walked a few feet out into the snow, a large mound of snow burst open as a giant wolf sprung out and pounced upon her, throwing her into the nearby snow drift.
Long licks and warm snuffles to her neck caused her to giggle and shove the giant wolf off her.
"Hello, Fenrisúlfr," she gasped, shoving the wolf's giant muzzle away from her. "I hope guarding our sleeping place did not bore you too much."
The World Wolf yawned toothily with a whine and thumped his tail in happy greeting.
Hermione rolled up her sleeve and placed her arm into his mouth, allowing the wolf to close his jaws gently around her skin. He released her almost instantly, licking her arm with a pant. It was a gesture of trust they did on every meeting. He was trusting her not to pull one over on him, and she was trusting him not to bite her arm off. The large wolf had an equally distrusting history amongst the Æsir as Loki, but he had found new life in guarding his sire and Hermione wherever they stayed for long periods at once place or another. It kept him from razing cities and devouring locals, so Hermione didn't disapprove of it.
Fenrisúlfr padded circles around her, sensing that they were travelling and excited at the prospect.
Hermione cast her gaze into the wolf's golden eyes. "You will not eat any witches or wizards today," she commanded, her eyes flashed with blue fire.
The wolf whined and placed his muzzle against her arm turned his eyes up in appeal.
Hermione sighed. "Unless they try to kill me. Then you may… chew upon them."
Fenrisúlfr woofed lowly, tail wagging in approval.
"You are getting soft on him, my Lady," Loki said with an upturn of his lips. He held out his arm for her to take, and she wrapped her arm around his.
Hermione placed her hand at Fenrisúlfr's nape of the neck and held it there. "I would prefer if he did not eat someone in front of me."
"Hrm," Loki purred. "Behind you then?"
Hermione scowled, lifting her chin up in defiance, causing Loki to laugh.
"Admit it," Loki said. "My son has grown on you."
Hermione stared into the golden eyes of the lupine World Eater. He looked up at her adoringly. She sighed. "Fine."
Fenrisúlfr woofed in approval, causing Loki to tilt back his head and laugh genuinely. Loki's once mate, Angrboða, had long since been buried, much as Hermione's closest friends had been. Hermione no more questioned his old relationship with the giantess sorceress than Loki questioned her yearly pilgrimage to the graves of mortal friends.
Hermione rolled her eyes and closed her eyes. There was a sharp crack as her apparate whisked them away.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione placed a smooth black water-tumbled ocean stone on the gravestone in front of her. She cleaned the moss and lichen away from the stone's writing and placed her hand upon the smooth granite.
"You were right, Severus," she whispered softly as the wind attempted to undo her hair. "I do have this disturbing attraction to dark-haired older and brooding magic wielders." She let out a dry laugh. "I'm sure you're rolling your eyes in the afterlife, my dear friend."
She pulled out a book from her robes and placed it against the headstone. "I miss you," she said with a tilt of her head. "More than I can possibly say. I miss our long patrols looking for interlopers in the halls of Hogwarts, tea in your drearily decorated Headmaster's Office, and our long conversations about the effect of armadillo bile on the acid-base balance of potion making."
Hermione traced the letters of his name on his gravestone. "Sometimes, I could really use your advice," she confessed. "Someone to tell me I'm being a stupid girl again or to call me an insufferable know-it-all. Harry and Ron were never good for knocking sense into me after you were gone. Harry had his hands full with his family. Ron, well, we all know happened with Ron. At least he and Lavender were happy, right? Surely that meant something in the end?"
Hermione sighed. "I've learned to let things go," she chuckled, pulling her robe around herself in a reflection of the old Potion Master. "It only took a few centuries of practice. I fear I missed the last few years due to… hibernation. Sometimes it's only a few days. Sometimes it's weeks, and sometimes it's years. I wake up and the world has changed and I haven't. I feel like the I am what my old self used to complain about. I evolve so slowly that one decision can last me a human lifetime. I was always so quick to condemn the old Wizarding ways as being so buried in tradition and that the Old Ways didn't catch up to the modern world. Now I'm the old stick in the mud that fights tooth and claw against change. I am actually happy that the Wizarding World is trapped in time because I can come back and feel like it hasn't changed."
Hermione smiled at the grave. "You're laughing at me. I can feel it." She tilted her head up and stared at the clouds passing over. "I wonder if our portraits in the Headmaster's Office have our conversations like we always did. Do portraits have tea together and live a shadow of the life we did? I will admit I took a few pages from your handbook on how to fake my own death when I had to leave office, as it were." Hermione paused and stared down at her feet. "I couldn't exactly live longer than Dumbledore and have everyone wonder where I was hiding my Philosopher's Stone, now could I?"
Hermione picked up a branch from the ground and clasped her hand around it. There was a flash of magic, and she placed a single white orchid on his grave. She stood up and took in a deep breath. She placed her fingers to her lips and kissed them. She pressed them to his gravestone. "Be at peace, old friend."
Loki stood under a fir tree as he waited for her. He leaned back against it looking like the gunslinger cowboy from the Muggle movies. All he needed was the hat and a blade of grass sticking out of his teeth. He stood up straight as she approached and opened his arm to her as she silently buried herself into his embrace. He silently pulled her close to him, enfolding her.
Severus had been the one person that knew her secret. Even Harry had gone to the grave unknowing of her immortality. Severus had supported her, kept her anchored, been her stalwart friend, and never failed to give her harsh doses of reality when she needed it. Now, that task fell in Loki's hands, but he knew he had big shoes to fill. Severus had been rooted in her reality and knew its intricacies. Hundreds of years later, Loki was still learning what one mortal human wizard had seemed to master in a handful of years.
"I'm going to go visit with Harry," Hermione said with a sad smile.
Loki nodded. He nudged his furry son with his boot. The startled World Eater woke from his doze and trotted along side Hermione as she walked to another part of the graveyard.
Loki walked over to the grave of Severus Snape and placed a stone upon the headstone. He knelt at the stone as he traced a rune with his fingers over the stone. His magic flickered around his fingers as the rune hung in the air and then seemed to sink into the stone itself. "I will cherish her until the day I am no more," he said softly. "Come Ragnarök, I shall fight for her until my dying breath, and if there is life beyond, I will fight tooth and nail to return to her side. I swear it."
Loki stood, closing his eyes as the breeze kicked up the scent of the spring flowers around him. Every time they visited, he repeated his Oath to Hermione's most trusted confidant and friend. Severus had been a keeper of secrets, and Loki was one who respected that trait above many others.
He shrugged his shoulders, turning. His furry son had Hermione's sleeve in his jaws and was leading her back to him. Loki smiled at the sight of the wolf's dedication to her. Of all of his children, Fenrisúlfr was the most loyal, and he had the added benefit of being able to change his size to appear less gargantuan. While Jörmungandr might be considered loyal, the world serpent had the OCD of wrapping around the world and biting his own tail and not letting go, which made socialisation a bit difficult. Hel had her own duties, and until people stopped dying, he doubted his daughter was going to be anything but busy anytime soon. Sleipnir had been brainwashed by Odin to serve him faithfully, and Loki had long since blamed Odin's use of some sort of legendary apples of loyalty to sway the eight-legged horse into his service. He had no proof, of course, other than the greatest of all horses seemed to prefer Odin to his mother, er, father… oh no wonder the horse preferred Odin. At least Odin didn't change genders on him. Confusing family genetics? Plenty, thanks.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him with a warm smile, causing every thought he had going on his head to derail completely.
"Sorry for making you wait," she apologised.
Loki shook his head. "It is nothing," he said. He reached around her head and released the serpent hair clasp that was binding her normal mane of hair. The moment her hair loosened, he pressed his lips to hers. Their magic wove together, the cords that bound them together tightened. As he stared into her face, her older guise melted away, and his eyes glowed red as a growl reverberated in his throat. He pulled her into him, looping his free hand around Fenrisúlfr's ear.
Crack.
The old graveyard caretaker shook his head as he watched the young couple disapparate with laugh and a giggle. "Kids," he muttered. "No respect for the dead." He scratched his head as he realised the area where the couple had disappeared from was covered in a light layer of snow and spring flowers.
Thousands of miles away, Fenrisúlfr yawned toothily as he settled into the snow cave he had dug himself in the polar snow, his ears flicking lazily. He lay his head across his giant paws and curled his tail around his body, settling himself in for guard duty as both his Sire and Mistress slept once more. Perhaps, when they woke again, he would get to pick the next place to romp. If he was really lucky, he might have a brother or sister to play with soon. The idea pleased him, and Fenrisúlfr settled in for the wait. He was, after all, a very patient wolf.
