KNOWHERE, MIDGARD

Knowhere was a creepy place full of creepy people and had been since the first time Thor had stumbled upon it with Loki and the Warriors Three. The hollowed-out skull of a dead celestial was bad enough, but then to have it mined for precious black market supplies by outlaws made it one of those places where Thor wore his hood low, so as not to be recognized as an Asgardian Royal.

He was here for two reasons: first, if Loki needed somewhere to set himself up nicely and stay under the radar, this was the place, and second, if Loki was at some new, morally dubious place, these patrons would know of it.

His destination was a casino full of rambunctious and intoxicated patrons engaging all manner of dishonorable debauchery. He was ashamed to admit that there had definitely been a time where he would have participated eagerly. Today he sat out of the way observing the patrons in hope of finding either Loki or someone who could potentially help him find his brother.

Heavy music blared, dark lighting made it hard to make out shapes, and the smoke in the air made for a murky scene that hindered even his enhanced senses. He allowed his gaze to wander around the room, hand gripping a drink in an effort to look nonchalant, taking in the patrons themselves.

They were of all shapes, sizes, and colors. He'd bet good money they were all wanted criminals somewhere. He recognized the beat-up uniform of a Kree defector, a small gang of Sakaarans, some blue Centaurians, two bright orange Lems snogging in a corner (their facial fins must make that very uncomfortable), a grayish Kronan that looked rather like a talking pile of rocks, and so on. All squeezed together in the small space, screaming at each other and the Orblani race they were betting on.

The whole atmosphere was dubious, but there was nobody who seemed particularly out of place. Not like Loki would be, anyway. He watched as a rather monstrous-looking male approached a thin, purple-skinned woman with swaying hips...He looked away.

The back wall was lined with booths, most filled with boisterous groups drunkenly arguing or laughing (or both). Occasionally, there was an empty booth to split the groups, but there was only one with a single form slumped over a glass of ale. It was too dark to tell much about this-man-probably, and he had his cloak pulled over his head anyway.

Thor immediately turned his attention to this man. He was tall, that much he knew right away. Strong too, and he gave off a distinct...aura almost.

He could've sworn he recognized it from somewhere…

It wasn't Loki. The figure was too broad to be his brother and his posture was too relaxed, too open. The person was of Yggdrasil. Divine.

Yes. That's what he recognized. What was a god doing here? Who was it? He made a beeline for the table, not caring they may not want to be disturbed nor once stopping to consider that they may be powerful enough to enforce that wish, even on him.

"Uhm-ugh," he muttered as he shim-mead into the seat across from the cloaked god. "Hello there," he said with a smile.

"...Thor?" A surprisingly jubilant voice exclaimed in surprise.

"Hercules!" Thor said brightly, recognizing his friend's voice anywhere.

They both yanked down their hoods at the same time. Thor's wide smile, maybe the widest since Loki had fallen off the bridge, was mirrored by Hercules's expression as his curly blonde hair fell back around his ears, having been ruffled by his cloak.

"What are you doing here, my friend?" Thor asked.

"I'm on a quest," said Hercules, "why are you here?"

"A mission from my mother," said Thor. "What is your quest?"

Hercules seemed to hesitate. "I must banish a celestial to the outer reaches of the galaxy."

"A celestial?" Thor repeated, "who would ask such a ridiculous feat of you? Surely no one who can compel you to do so would ask…?"

"You would've thought," Hercules grumbled. He ran a shaking hand through his blonde locks.

Thor paused suspiciously, "You and Lady Hera have been getting along of late, I thought."

Hercules chuckled deeply, "we have. She is not at fault for this particular quest."

"Oh," said Thor. In his defense, Hera's hatred of illegitimate children was, quite literally, legendary. Especially illegitimate children of her husband who were turned into gods.

He thanked the powers that be (his father) every day that his family had no such issues.

"I have been tasked by Galactus," said Hercules.

"Galactus?" He repeated, dumbstruck, leaning forward to gauge whether his friend was having him on. "What quarrel does Galactus have with the Celestials?"

"I do not know all of the details," Hercules admitted, "only that this particular one, Ego, his name is, is getting in his way."

"And Galactus cannot simply destroy Ego himself?"

"He says that forces at work greater than he have forbidden it," said Hercules. "So I'm banishing him instead."

"I won't ask how he got you to agree," said Thor, uncharacteristically shrewd. "You will need assistance."

Hercules inhaled deeply, "truly, my friend. But I shall carry on, nevertheless."

"Nonsense," said Thor, "I will assist you."

"What about your quest?"

Thor, whose mind was already abuzz at the prospect of heading on yet another adventure (which was just what he needed to get out of his Loki-induced depression), sucked in a deep breath. "I can continue that at another time," he said.

This would help him, now that he thought about it. He needed a proper cover for his father and this would certainly do. Not to mention, it would curry much goodwill for Asgard and it would allow him to look for Loki while still helping his friend. Yes, this was just what he needed.

Hercules lit up, "my deepest gratitude, my friend."

EARTH, MIDGARD

Fred and George asked mercifully few questions when he returned but Hermione, upon finding out through the rumor mill that he'd snuck out, refused to speak with him. That suited him just fine, in this case, as he'd finally managed to put something together. Something so obvious he wanted to smack himself. The diary was part of the Chamber of Secrets mystery. The diary was in the girls' bathroom. The Chamber of Secrets, he was willing to bet, was in the girls' bathroom. He was such a moron. It made so much sense he was certain it was true. The only real question was what was in the chamber? A snake, obviously. One who probably didn't like chickens and that made spiders act strange. The library had answered that readily enough. The question then became how come it was so obvious? It seemed as though all the clues had lined up perfectly, just like the previous year.

That is how he found himself standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heartbeat increased as he wondered where the monster was. He was here for one reason, and one reason only, he'd answered his own question. Dumbledore wanted him to play the hero for a plan yet to be discovered.

He wanted to know what the mortal wanted and he figured there would be no harm if he went along for a bit. This meant going to confront the oh-so-scary monster lurking under the school, whatever (basilisk) it may be. It was sort of amusing, in a way.

The pushes he'd received towards this confrontation would, admittedly, have been much less obviously manipulated had he not grown up with Loki. And Hela. And dad. Did Dumbledore think he needed hero training wheels?

In all fairness, he might've needed them had he been a normal, average, mortal wizard. He wasn't though. It hadn't been hard to locate the chamber entrance in the bathroom nor guess the password (Open? Really?). The slide had been epic and he was thinking about lobbying to have one put in the palace on Asgard. Minus the slime.

He pulled out his sword and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to charge at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

He went right up to it and touched it. He was immediately inundated with everything about the secret door to the basilisk's chamber. He decided Thor's approach would be most appropriate in this situation.

He immediately punched the stone door and shattered it with a few strikes making a huge black hole. Something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder — he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. The basilisk was moving toward Harry; he could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. Steeling himself, Harry squared his shoulders and faced the beast head-on, eyes wide open and posture as regal as possible. He concentrated and said in perfect parseltongue, "halt snake and tell me your name."

The snake seemed to recoil in surprise and stopped moving forward instantly.

"You speak?"

"I do," said Harry, confidence growing by the second. "What is your name?"

"Nessa," said the massive basilisk. She must have been 20 meters (65 ft) long and probably 3 meters thick. Her fangs were as tall as he was and her pink tongue was ginormous in its own right. She was quite an impressive beast.

"Who do you answer to, Nessa?"

He and the basilisk made eye contact and it was only the fact that he was an Aesir that saved him from instant death.

"You are not like the others," she observed.

"I am Haraldr, Prince of Asgard."

"You don't look like a prince," said Nessa. She did not sound like she meant it as an insult and Harry supposed that she had a point as he was not wearing his full armor, only the padding and metal plates over his pajamas. No need for the cape, the helmet, or Asgardian signets.

"But I have the bearings of one," he said smoothly, "now," he crossed his arms, "who do you answer to?"

"The heir of my first master, your highness," said Nessa.

This had to be one of the strangest conversations he'd had in his whole life. "And who might that be?"

"Whomever comes down here and can speak my language," said Nessa.

"Including me?"

"You are no heir of my master," she hissed, "I can smell it."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"No," said Nessa, "not as long as my master says it is fine."

"And who is your master now?"

"A young girl with red hair and red eyes," said Nessa.

"Red eyes?" He repeated. That sounded like how someone would describe a horrible demon, not a young girl that was presumably a student.

"Do you know what house she was in?"

"Slytherin, I would assume," said the snake.

Harry noted that she carefully didn't say definitively. "Okay," he said, "I cannot allow you to attack students anymore."

"You cannot stop me from doing anything," said Nessa.

"Is that a challenge?" He retorted mentally preparing himself for a fight, "because it looks to me like your number one weapon doesn't work on me. Do you want to bet that any of your others work?"

The snake reared back and Harry, in that split second, took the biggest gamble he'd ever taken. He didn't draw his sword, he folded them patiently behind him. His adrenaline surged and his gut constricted in a nearly familiar manner. The world took on a tint as molten iron rushed through his veins.

The basilisk charged forward to meet his stare, stopping inches from his nose. Its breath was like a wisp of warm air, barely detectable except in his heightened alertness. The world stopped for a moment as they watched each other.

Harry used every ounce of stubbornness he had to make himself unflinching as he glared.

Nessa backed down first.

Harry relaxed marginally.

They eyed each other with uncertainty, not aggression, this time.

"You cannot stay here," said Harry.

"Why not?"

Harry stared at her with incredulity, "you keep attacking students!"

"Pardon?"

"You cannot simply attack mortal children," said Harry.

"I must do as my master commands," said Nessa, "and I was unaware they were babies." She sounded defensive.

"Well they are," said Harry, "it's not right for you to kill them. What binds you to your master?"

Even as he asked, he knew it was an enchantment. He'd become aware of it the moment his powers had spiked but also realized he'd sensed it the whole time he'd been at the school but couldn't really decipher it from all the other enchantments in Hogwarts until then. They all sort of blurred.

It stuck out like a sore thumb now, though.

"I must obey my first master and all his heirs—"

"You cannot smell who the heirs are," Harry observed, "that doesn't even make sense. You are enchanted so that's how you know who to obey, the enchantment tells you."

"Impossible!" The snake immediately reared back up, fangs barred and pride wounded. "How dare you!"

That probably hadn't been the best thing to say aloud, Harry conceded as he threw himself to the side to avoid the massive head swinging at him viciously. It collided with the stone with a loud crash but, rather than being knocked out, Nessa reared up again and charged him again.

He wondered how much of this was pride and how much was the enchantment—which was semi-sentient—feeling threatened. Harry continued to dodge advances as he concentrated on the enchantment. If he could just get a hold of it—like so—and unravel it…

He found his back pinned to a wall and immediately, as the snake went for a possibly lethal blow, dove into a roll under Nessa's neck and came up facing her from the other side.

This was going to be painful for Nessa, he realized as he discovered the extent to which the enchantment was intertwined with her magic. Screw it, he scolded himself as he darted to his left again, superhuman speed and engrained battle reflexes being the only thing saving him at the moment. His father had said there was no such thing as a cheap shot in battle.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the enchantment. Grabbing it with his magic—it was hard to describe exactly what he was doing—he yanked. Hard. Nessa let out a loud wail as she crashed to the ground in front of him.

"What to do with you now?" He muttered to himself.

ASGARD

She'd decided a day trip was warranted to deal with the diary. The fewer witnesses, the better, that much was clear the moment she'd sensed the cursed thing. In truth, the moment she touched it she knew there was something deeply wrong with this book. Against life and death themselves.

As death's (step) mother, she took that personally.

Hela, who was something like the daughter she never truly had before she'd had any children, would be of help in sorting this book out. First, however, she wished to examine its enchantments herself.

That was how she found herself enjoying the steady rocking of her carriage through the Asgardian countryside. It was beautiful, the farmlands, with rolling green hills, dirt roads made to be soft on hooves, scattered villages and barns, and a whisper of wind. The liveliness of the area was different, more natural, with livestock grazing in the occasional pasture and farming enchantments saturating the ground. Life was much simpler out here.

They farmed, they practiced fighting, and they read or played games or exchanged village gossip. Then they ate dinner, fed the animals, and went to sleep. The kids went to school during the day and played with friends over the weekend. During festivals, they learned Asgard's myths, participated in her traditions, and dreamt of one-day becoming legends in their own right. They grew up to take their parents' places as the life bread of the realm eternal.

Surprisingly few pantheon gods came from these parts nowadays. Long past was the heyday of the humbly oriented powers in Asgard, replaced by youths like her own children. Powers of magic, engineering, thunder. Violently inclined. Not that she had much room to talk. Maybe it was the Vanir in her.

The farmlands were much like her home realm. She remembered Vanaheim with nostalgia. When had she been there last? Not that long ago. When had she last visited properly? Never.

Odin didn't like when she got too familiar during their visits to Vanaheim. She was the Queen of Asgard, he'd tell her, not Vanaheim. He didn't like to be reminded that she had married him as a surrender offering. A hostage trade. She had volunteered to her father, yes, but she hadn't felt she had a choice.

Odin knew that. He hadn't exactly been in a position of power either. Freshly crowned king of the gods with a teenage daughter? Though his first wife had died many years before, he hadn't moved on. Not yet honed enough in skill or having built up the political acumen to survive a coup, he had to take the deal. Winning the Aesir-Vanir War hadn't been all it was cracked up to be for the young King after all.

He'd been an absolute gentleman after the deal was struck. He'd been there to tell her personally of the new arrangement. He'd tried to court her properly while they remained on Vanaheim to tie up the loose ends. Then he'd taken her back to Asgard.

It had worked out for the best. Their children were wonderful, she wouldn't trade them for anything. She and Odin had fallen for each other, in the end. She enjoyed her life until her beloved middle son had shown the depth of his pain. The depth of her failure as a mother.

That was neither here nor now. That was then and later. There, far away from the Asgardian countryside, she was in. Eventually, they arrived at her destination, one of the far-flung, rarely visited royal estates.

It was a sprawling country estate with the primary royal stables where most of the royal mounts were born, reared, and trained before they were sent off to their various locations. The home was less of a palace and more of a very large house, which, of course, was why it was rarely visited.

Gardens abounded the areas directly surrounding the main structure, but she didn't stop to look at them today. Instead, she swept through the entrance and straight towards a private reception room where she could do her little experiment without interference.

She laid the diary on a table and stood next to it. It was not hard to force the soul shard out of the book and in front of her. She was surprised, however, by how young the boy who stood, stunned, looked.

"Tom Riddle?" She asked softly.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"Nobody important," she said dismissively.

"How did you come by my diary?" He tried, hostility and fear evident despite his rather juvenile attempt to hide it.

"My son gave it to me," she said. "How did your soul get lodged in here? Surely you weren't stupid enough to do it to yourself?"

"I am a memory," he said, "preserved in this diary for 50 years. The answer to the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"The sewer under the young ladies' bathroom?" She repeated, "your diary is the key to the plumbing?"

"How dare you!" He hissed, "this diary has ensured my immortality, enshrined my place amongst the gods in legend and power!"

"Well," she hummed, "you aren't completely wrong."

That wrong-footed him. She almost wanted to smile. He was a tall, black-haired boy, rather like Loki in that way, but with brown eyes. He was not nearly as clever as Loki.

He smirked arrogantly, apparently having recovered, "so you have heard of Lord Voldemort then?"

She laughed lightly, "I am Frigga," she said. "Queen of Asgard. In a manner of speaking, this diary has helped you find the home of the gods. I'm afraid your visit will be rather short, however. Once I send your distinctly mortal soul to Helheim, this portion, and you will be quite dead. It is necessary though. My stepdaughter will need to study you in order to track down your counterpart or whatever is left."

"Impossible!" He cried, storming towards her as if to threaten her.

She waved her hands and forced him back into the black book. "Goodbye, Tom Riddle. Thank you for sharing your secrets with me."

Immortality by cutting your soul into pieces? That was certainly one of the more out there attempts to attain godhood she'd seen. She was sure Hela was going to enjoy tormenting the human who had tried to murder her infant brother.

A/N:: I'm sorry this is so late, but I really struggled to find the right words.