1 human year = 100 Asgardian years
Warning: Not cannon
Still don't own.
Harry had to admit, being reborn was a strange experience. The body he was trapped in was small and weak. His eyes were so weak he could only see a few inches away from his face. The main thing he could see was a series of blurred shapes and colors.
The room he was lying in was a rich gold color adding to the gold and white blankets he was always swaddled in. A blurred figure came into view, leaning over his cradle. Two hands carefully picked him up before cradling him close to a soft chest. One hand rested behind his neck, supporting the weakest part of his body.
The air around him shifted sending a cold draft of air over his fragile body. Harry barely had enough time to shiver slightly before the person holding him sat down and readjusted him in their arms so he stared up at the ceiling rather than over their shoulder.
"Come Hela, sit down beside me, daughter." A female voice spoke. In a flurry of motion, a small body came to rest beside whoever held him. "That's it. Now, one hand goes under his back just like that while the other is placed right behind the neck."
Harry could do nothing but stare uselessly up at the golden blob of color that he could only guess was the ceiling as two smaller hands inched their way underneath his frail form. All at once the felt two young arms embrace him protectively.
A younger, female face hovered over him. The girl had dark black hair with green eyes. She looked like a female version of him, Harry realized.
"Greetings, little brother." The girl spoke lowly.
oooOOooo
Eventually days bled into weeks which then bled into months. Harry, or Haraldr Magnus, as he was known as now, was an incredibly cute and happy child. The young god had quickly stolen the hearts of the people of Asgard. Even at a young age, Harry managed to have the affection and love of anyone who met him.
Hela, the first-born daughter of Odin was dark and pretty, however she often was sullen and withdrawn. She was King Odin's heir that much was true, but she didn't have the peoples' love and affection like her brother.
Hela and Haraldr couldn't have been more apart in mood, however they were so close, some thought they should have been born as twins.
Ever since Hela first held Haraldr a few days after his birth, something had changed in the young princess. Before the princess only cared about her sparring lessons, now she took time to care for and talk to her little brother.
Every night, Odin or Arnora, would be forced to push Hela out of their chambers or more specifically, the corner that hosted the infant prince's cradle so the princess would rest in her own quarters. If they didn't, the young goddess would sleep on the very floor beside her brother's cradle if she was allowed to.
Even Heimdall seemed...different...after Haraldr's birth. Many days, the young gatekeeper would be found gazing off into the cosmos with a thoughtful look in his face. Still, he never revealed what affected him so much, not even to Odin.
The gatekeeper kept his vigil, golden eyes staring deep into Nornsheim, where the Spinners of Fate sat. "What a difference this will make." A strong voice whispered into an empty observatory.
oooOOooo
Years later...
Haraldr looked down at the book resting in his hands and then at the broken vase sitting on the stone floor in front of him. The Fall Feast last night had been great fun, until he knocked over his mother's favorite vase in his excitement.
He did what any eight-year-old Asgardian would do when facing corporal punishment.
Hide the evidence, or better yet, fix it so no one would notice.
His mother, Arnora, was a Valkyrie and could be frightening when she had reason to be. Needless to say, Haraldr had no wish to face the Queen's wrath, or his fathers for the loss of the vase. So, he snuck into the library to 'borrow' a book on how to magically fix broken objects.
All night, he'd worked on spell after spell, hoping to repair the vase and replace it before dawn. Sadly, he'd had no such luck. The vase remained broken, and the sun had risen half an hour ago.
"Mags?" Hela called from outside his door.
Haraldr fought down the urge to curse. Looking around, he tried to find a place where he could quickly hide the vase and his 'liberated' book before Hela opened the door to his chambers.
The young god quickly scooped up his vase and book and flipped over the covers to his bed and started to stuff them under the feather mattress and expensive cloth.
"Mags, what are hiding?"
Haraldr Magnus or Mags for short, whipped around to find his older sister looking down at him from the doorway. His large door had been swung open without his knowledge. The book he was attempting to hide could be seen out the side of the mattress and several large shards of pottery trailed across the floor, marking his path to the bed.
He was caught red handed.
The Crown Princess pulled the large door closed and gracefully walked closer. "Mother's vase?"
Hela's dark eyebrow rose to unbelievable heights, a single shard in her hand. Haraldr hadn't even seen her pick it up.
A blush spread over his cheeks and his gaze dropped to the floor, ashamed. The trial of shards ended at his feet and the ruffled blankets with all their creases revealed exactly where his crime was hidden.
Hela reached around Mags and pulled the pottery shards and spell book out from under the mattress. Turning them over in her hands, the princess could clearly see the webs of magic her younger brother had placed on the vase hoping to repair it.
Her Asgardian sight allowed her to see the miniscule spider cracks that seeped into the pottery in a never-ending pattern. Mags' spells would have repaired the vase, if it hadn't been broken so badly. It was far beyond even magical mending.
Looking down, Hela could see Mags' bottom lip was quivering and he was seconds away from turning into a puddle on the stone floor.
The Princess' warrior heart was softening at a growing clip. There was always something about Mags that turned her heart to mush. "Oh, Mags. What happened?"
Magnus sniffed. "I knocked over Mother's vase last night. It was an accident, honest!"
"Shhh, Mags." Hela carded her fingers through the young gods' raven colored hair. The boy's hiccups calmed down slightly as they usually did when she brushed his hair.
"C..Ca... can you fix it?" Magnus asked her, green eyes boring into hers.
"I'm sorry, Elskan. The vase can't be repaired." At those words Magnus resolved into wails so loud Hela was forced to throw up silencing spells. "Shhh... It's alright, brother."
It took a while before Mags' sniffles finally died out and he was calm enough for Hela to gain his attention again.
"Did you know, when I was about your age, I broke that very same vase. Mother and Father were furious with me. I was sure I would be sentenced to the dungeons until the day of my death. Alas, that did not happen. I was forced to do all sorts of chores, but they never hated me. They'll never hate you. remember that." Hela swept her fingers under his eyes collecting all the silver tears that dripped down his cheeks. "Come, brother, let us get you cleaned up and ready to break our fast. We've delayed Mother and Father long enough. It would go better for you, Mags, if you told Mother what happened to her favored vase yourself."
"Do I have to?" Magnus whimpered. His green eyes were wide and full of fear.
"Yes, dear one. We all must admit our mistakes no matter how much we fear how painful it is. Come on. The sooner you tell the truth, the sooner this can all be over." Hela gently led Magnus to the bathing pool and helped him change into clean clothes and tame his thick black hair.
oooOOooo
300 years later...
Haraldr Magnus, stood tall beside his sister as a fleet of boats gently coasted along the water towards the giant waterfall below Asgard. But mostly, his gaze was locked on a particular boat above all the rest. Tears swelled in his chest as the young boy watched the boat by lit on fire after a command from his father.
His mother, Arnora, was dead.
The Valkyrie warrior had left two months ago to quell a riot involving Frost Giants with the rest of her sisters and never returned home alive. Thirty boats holding more Valkyrie all gliding behind the Queens were also lit.
The Frost Giants had been soundly defeated by the Valkyrian forces, but that matter little to the small prince who was being forced to attend his own mother's funeral.
Hela's hand was enclosed around his, offering him comfort. Magnus wanted nothing more than to dissolve into tears but as a prince he wasn't allowed to. It was his duty to stay composed at all times, his father had informed him.
So that's what he did. He pulled back his shoulders and blinked as rapidly as he could, hoping to stop the moisture filling his eyes from falling. He was the human equivalent of 11 years old after all.
Finally, once the ceremony was over and all the boats had been burned and flew up to reside beside of stars, he was allowed to cry on his oversized bed with Hela holding him protectively.
It felt good not to be alone.
oooOOooo
It was nearly five hundred years later when a second tragedy struck Asgard's royal family.
Crown Princess Hela had become a frightening warrior since Queen Arnora's death. Odin had turned into a harsher and less forgiving king since his wife died and left him with two children to raise himself. He chose to spend his energies fighting Frost Giants and conquering the Nine Realms beside his daughter and heir rather than courting peace among his own nation and people.
Haraldr joined them for some skirmishes, but when it came to full out war, the prince was left to look after Asgard in the untimely possibility both the King and Princess fell in battle.
Heimdall had been particularly adamant that the youngest Prince not fight in battle, and while Odin was hard headed and quick to anger since Arnora's death, he knew better than to chance the death of his youngest.
The King himself couldn't stand losing a wife and a son.
But the King's greed and conquest had an even worse effect on his eldest. Hela became as heartless as her father and showed some promise in an area of magic even gods couldn't rightfully stand.
Necromancy.
Odin, in an urge of hatred, loss and greed, saw only what his daughter's undead soldiers could do to their enemies and forced his daughter to build on her connection with death.
In the end, once the dust settled and dead soldiers lay on both sides of the battlefield, Odin at last saw what his daughter had become.
A monster.
The Son and Heir of Odin upon receiving news of his sister's permanent banishment once again cried. Only this time, he did it alone.