Soulmate AU

Fandom: Marvel / Thor / Avengers

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, where I use characters from the Harry Potter world (by J.K. Rowling) and from the MCU (own by Marvel studios)

Pairing: Loki/ Harry

Warnings: Harry has another name 50% of the time, Past-memory revival,
M/M. This will be slash, as you can see in the pairings, and in the summary, if you don't like it, don't read it. And I really don't care why you don't like it so spare me the pleasure of that kind of comment, capish?. ( But if you -like me- enjoy this then by all means, continue and I would love to hear what you think of it ;) )

AND it's going to be a while for the Avengers arc to begin, so no Harry/ Loki yet in that matter. buuuuuttt there will be plenty of past Harry/Loki, smut, lemon, and fun, but also angst and Death. And I know there are mistakes because I suck on grammar and English is my second language and I write this sort of thing exactly to exercise and train that kind of thing.

Whole summary: The war is over and Voldemort is dead. Harry begins to have strange headaches and then the dreams starts. The dreams are as real as they can be to him, it is almost as they could been memories. But that would be impossible, right? Because his name is not Harald and he does not know anyone by the name of Loki. That, for the record, aparently was his soul mate and let's not forget that tiny detail that he is a prince of Asgard. Harry would have known, especially if he also was engage to said man, which he was not... right?

But could he really denied the blooming feeling of love that filled his whole body and mind as he thought about the trickster god? or the strange development of both his physic and magic. Why could his life never be easy?

Or: a love story that trancending both time and relms, long lost soulmates finly is reunited in the brink of war.

Forget Me Nots

They represents the
Immortal love we have
for those who go
before us.

A green and radiating meadow filled the view right in front of him as the dusk started to creep closer. All around him, there were wildflowers in thousands, and they all looked like they greeted him, almost like they were virtually bowing before him in a non-existence wind.

He could feel the sensation of wild energy not far from him, and then he suddenly started to hear the waterfall as he strolled closer to it. He could soon smell it in the air as a fresh, clean sensation washed over him, and he smiled. There not far from the small waterfall, was the most beautiful pound he ever had laid eyes on, the water lily was in full bloom, and the willow bedside the shore dipped its long branches in the water and created a veil around the massive trunk. Fireflies had even started to wake up and was flying sleepy close to the ground, and the whole view created an almost full vision of a fairy tale. There were many beautiful flowers in different radiant colors that adored every bare spot between the trees that surrounded the meadow, and a small rabbit was searching for roots in the sea of the flower.

The boy, maybe around ten or eleven summers old, walked along the rippling stream of crystal clear water and looked down at the stones in the river as he walked along. He was small for his age; his jet black hair had a blue-green hue in it when the last rays of the sun were illuminating him.

In honor of the day, he had decided to make his adventure a little bit further out than he usually did in the realm. He had tied his hair in a high ponytail, but despite the high prison, his hair hung stubbornly down over his shoulders in uncontrolled tassels. He was wearing a white tunic with black trousers. The dark green boots went to his knees in a protective gesture, and around his middle hung a belt with a short sword and a bag of the most necessary things he could think of using.

The small boy stiffened as his body started to feel strange, for lack of better word. He looked around as he began to follow the peculiar sensation. He was here for a reason. But why he had chosen to go this way, he didn't exactly know. It was like a gnawing feeling was feasting within him, telling him to follow this feeling, that this was something he could not reject.

It was not only that sensation that had caught the young seeker's attention. There was something in the air, something bitter and sour, and it felt wrong. It was the smell of something that was waiting for death and yet not.

He had always had it easy to feel death; maybe it was only natural for him to feel it. The realm of the dead was considering him as one of them that could represent the god of death, as one of his choose ones and heir. But he had yet taken the test, right now he was only a candidate for that title and hadn't inherited anything. It was like death waited for something or someone to start the trail, but he had no idea of who.

Whatever it was that called upon him, he was not afraid of the feeling of death. Death was one of the most natural things that could happen to them and something that no one could avoid. And he felt safe in the thought that when death would come for him, he would welcome it like a dear old friend, but perhaps not yet, he still had a long life in front of him. What he indeed was afraid of was when someone took the choice away from him, not to be able to choose for himself. He hates when someone even took a choice from him, how small it was, he decided over his own life, and what he did with it, good and bad things included.

But what if the day came when someone took the choice from him? when the only resort would be death no matter what he did.

The young boy shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts that were whispering in his ear. He felt his throat tighten, and he had a hard time getting air at the terrible idea. He took a deep breath to gather himself and closed his viridian colored eyes; he let the magic flow out of him in soft waves. He was searching for whoever required help. But where was it?

He opened his eyes again as he scanned the forest and fixed them in the direction where the feeling was most potent, and he began to jog in that direction without any more delay. He pulled his hand over his face to get rid of the long carbon black hairs that had fallen out of its prison. He stroked it behind his half-pointed ears in an attempt to get rid of it from his field of vision. Darkness began to fall around him, but he felt that whoever it was was close, and he tried to look at every direction at once.

And he had been right, It was not long before he more or less tripped over something that was lying in the way on the ground, and he fell straight down to meet the hard ground underneath him.

The young green-eyed man swore up a storm that would make his uncle proud of his vocabulary and his mother white of dread as she probably would tell him to go and wash his mouth.

He took a deep breath and felt the pain as it spread along with his now battered knees and elbows. The young boy turned around to glare at the horrible root, or whatever it had been, that trip him. But no root met his sight, no it was a pair of black leather boots. He let his eyes wander up to the brown trousers and gaped in shock when he saw that it was not a root at all. He was a young man, dirty and bloodied; his breathing was shaky and strained. It almost sounded like he had something in his throat that he was gargling. It did not take him long to realize that the feelings of death came from this young man.

Harald, as the young boy was named, quickly threw himself down beside the man and started to shake in a try to wake him up, but without any success.

The unconscious dark-haired man's head just lulled from side to side in an sluggish motion. Harald quickly began to look over the many wounds that adorned the young man's body. The clothes were torn and bloody, and the skin underneath was red and irritated in some places; how long had he been here? He could also feel the fever ravaging his body, a clear sign that the young man's life was in far great danger.

" Shit, " he muttered. "Okay, okay, I can handle this. First, we have to wash the wounds."

Then, Harald began to wash every infected wound on the body; he tore open the young man's clothes so that they would not get stuck in the new blood and started to use a from one of the more extensive wounds over the man's chest.

The smell of death was heavy, and he could now almost see the dark mist settling over the broken body in front of him. But he tried to ignore it. He could not give up now because even though the fog of death was dense around him, there was still a hue of golden dust in it as well and something purple? The strange dust particle made him stop on what he was doing.

The night had now completely fallen, and the only light he had to work in was from the moon and the small ball of light he had created. The purple dust was abnormal, was it perhaps poison? It would explain the rapid heartbeat he felt under his hand, lying steady on the man's chest.

Harald picked up the cloth again and began to clean the worst wound while he now began to work on it with his magic as well. He let his magic gently seep into the young man's wounds and skin, careful as he tested if the other men would accept his magic, and it was, without even a single reaction, the body took his magic. It was instead as if the body was sucking up to his magic like a dry sponge instead. It made him push in more and more energy as he replaced the damp cloth with a clean one.

He does not remember how long he worked, but when he started to feel how the fog of death slowly disappearing, and the wounds were no longer as infected as before, he stopped and fell on the back of his rear with heavy breaths. His whole body shook with bone-deep exhaustion as he sat down for a few minutes, just breathing and listening to the young man's now much calmer and steadier breath; the fever is still raging in his body but not as high as before.

Harald got up unsteadily, and he felt his legs tremble at every step he took, but he began to slowly get to the small stream that was a stone's throw from his body. His magic was low; he had no idea that it would take so much magic to heal someone. His mother made healing always look so simple, and he had done what she used to do when he got small wounds or even a broken bone. However, this wound had been deeply infected and filled with poison.

Same thing, the young man now had a better chance of survival. Harald squeezed out the pink pieces of cloth that had only been his sweater a few hours earlier. It was a hot summer evening, so he did not need it anyway.

Harald suddenly froze when his gaze fell on his wrist, the wrist where his soul mate's mark adorned and had ever since he had been born. All higher beings in the realms had a soul mate somewhere, but they did not know who they were. It was almost like a game to the gods to find you chosen one. The mark was often a mixture of the two souls, and in its partner's vicinity and with growling emotion, the pattern would evolve and grow. Where it was located were differs from persons and person.

But even if the position differed, the motive was the same. Harald's mark was adored with green vines and small dots of flower buds that have not yet bloomed. They had always been in a harmonious, constant green color, and sometimes he could imagine them moving. Almost as if they were lazily blowing in a wind that only they could feel, but he probably imagined things. The vines were braided towards each other was protecting a golden bandage that was barely visible under the vines. As they tried to cover it up and let no one look at it. His mother teased him that his soul mate probably was very possessive of what was his.

But what caught his attention, at this moment, was that his mark had suddenly started to grow end develop—something it had never done before. The stems had started pulled up towards his elbow, and he could see how a blue color had begun to adorn the otherwise green buds. The gold ribbon itself had not changed, but golden stripes had started to meander along the stems of the smaller flowers that still was raping itself around the golden branches.

He opened his mouth in wonder, but could not get any sounds out from his lips as he carefully stroked the flowers with gentle fingers. This could not be possible. He could not have such a stroke of luck…. Or was it bad luck? Anyway, there was no way that the hurt man was his soul mate.

Harald turned his gaze back to the unconscious young man, and he had to wrestle with his own need to tear off the man all of his clothes to search and see if he had the same mark somewhere on his body. There was nothing on his chest, so it was either on his back or legs.

But the mere thought of doing such a thing, when the man was unconscious, felt like he was as bad as the one that had hurt him.

But could it be? That this badly injured man was his soul mate? Who was he? What was he doing here? Was his life in danger? Who had tried to kill him? he had so many questions that were jumping around his head.

He cautiously went back to the young man and sat down near his head and bathed his forehead gently, in the dim glow that his ball of light gave off, he could see him much better now than before. He had sharp cheekbones, a straight nose that pointed down to full lips; he let his gaze sweep over the overall handsome face, which was now free of dirt and blood. His hair was half long and curled around his ears, and Harald could not resist the childish thought of feeling if his hair were as smooth as it looked.

With a gentle movement, he let his fingers gently touch the black hair that fell like silk between his narrow fingers, and he had to hold back a giggle sound that threatened to bubble up. The best compare he could make of the feeling was like pulling his hand through a silk textile. He stopped the motion as the young man suddenly gave off a moan, and he pulled back his hand as if he had burned himself.

" Hey, are you awake?" Harald asked in a low voice and got a soft moan in response and a dry whisper. He took his water don and gently raised the man's head so that he could place the plump next to his lips.

"Drink, you still have a fever, so drink up as much as you can" he tipped it a little so that the clear cold liquid could gently fall into the man's mouth. The first sip made the man cough, and then Harald felt his arm was pushed up, and the man drank it faster. Like he had been starving for the liquid, and perhaps he had. As the injured man slowly relishing the grip on his wrist. Harald could now feel how the man's touch burned his mark.

He laid down the now empty plunger by his side and lowered the man's head slowly back and looked over him again and meet the man dark eyes that were now half-open, but unfocused.

"Go back to sleep," Harald mumbled to him. "You need to gather your strength" he felt the grip on his ankle loosen slightly and saw how the dark eyes closed, and the young man had calmed down again and seemed to go back to sleep.

Harald tried to calm his now wildly running heart, but it felt almost impossible. His arm was tingling like a thousand needles was pinching into his skin, and it crawled up along his arm towards his elbow and over his shoulder. He could feel the burning sensation go along his spine. It was not a painful feeling, but warm enough to make him take a deep, shaky breath to try and calm his senses. There was no question about it anymore; this was his soulmate as he had never reacted like this to another person touch.

Harald did not sleep that night. He sat beside the man, watched over his fever, and switched the cloth when it became too hot. His condition had, thanks to the god, not worsened but had not improved either. So what could he do? He did not have strong enough magic to carry him home, and his home was too far away. So what could he do to help him?

It was not long after sunrise, as he heard something that did not belong in the otherwise peaceful forest, loud voices that were calling. Harald looked down at the young man and stroked his fingers along his neck until he found his pulse, stable but a little too fast still. He leaned his forehead down against the young man for a second and closed his eyes in concentration as he tried to felt his temperature. The man still had a high fever, but it was somewhat lower than yesterday.

Harald pulled away and jerked in surprise when a pair of feverish glossy green eyes looked at him. The redness spread over his cheeks and down his throat, and he opened his mouth to try and explain himself; he could now hear the voices closer and that they were shouting for someone named Loki?

Was that perhaps the young man's name? or were they the ones who had hurt his soul mate? His hand automatically closed around the short sword that hung along his side, but before he could get up, he felt a cold and damp hand around his ankle again and looked down at the owner who slowly shook his head.

"Are you Loki ?" Harald asked in a low voice and saw how the young man tried to moisten his cracked lips and form words, but nothing came out, so he settled for a small nod.

Harald felt the nervousness spread through his body when he heard how the voices were closer now. They sounded anxious and were shouting at each other to shut up, and something about enemies could come at any time.

Fear crept up his spine as he stared at the noise like a deer caught in front of a hunter. He needed to leave.

Harald attempted to get up again, but the grip around his ankle hardens, and an almost panicked expression appeared over Loki's face. He looked up in the direction of the voices, and he could now see the tip of a spear over the bushes. What if they thought it was he who hurt their friend? Would they attack him before he said anything? He could not let that happen.

"I'm sorry," he whispered low, " I have to go," and even though it was hard even to tear himself from his soul mates side, he pulled up, and the weak grip the dark-haired man had on him quickly came loose. He swallowed hard and withdrew. It hurt, he didn't want to leave, but he could not stay either.

Loki now tried to move after him and gave away a louder painful moan when his injured body objected to the motion. But that was all that was needed to alert the voices, for suddenly Harald could hear heavy running footsteps and the clatter of armor were now not far from their position.

"N...no," the hoarse voice of Loki came forth painfully as he had a hand out for him. Harald met Loki' 's panicked eyes one last time.

"I'm so sorry. I have to go," Harad ripped himself away from the painful gaze of Lokis and turning around and starting to run away. He could hear shouting behind him, and it almost felt like he was tearing out his own heart as he was getting further and further away.

He hated to leave him, but something inside him said they would meet again soon.

Harry woke up violently, and his heart was racing in his chest as if he had run a marathon. He threw off the blanket that had tangled together around his ankles and tried to stand up on his now unsteady legs. His whole body trembled as pain shoots through him, and every breath triggered pain through his entire body, especially his head, which was about to explode.

The oppressive feeling forced him to close his eyes hard, and he pressed his hands to his head in a desperate motion to push back the emotions. His body gave him only a few seconds warning before his stomach contents violently came up and emptied into the porcelain throne he had run to the second he felt it came up. He emptied his stomached rapidly, the chilled feeling of the cold floor under his knees, and the pain in his body began to subside slowly. Still, a tingling sensation lingered around his arm, pulsing and almost vibrating, making his whole arm numb in the process.

Harry rested his head against the cold seat before him, and the headache was now throbbed painfully in sync with his heartbeat, and cold tears fell down his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed that he had started to cry.

He did not know how long he lay on the cold bathroom floor, and sometime during the time, Harry must have fallen asleep because when he woke up again, the headache had subsided markedly, and he could move without the pain in his limbs. Slowly he got up, and his body protested with stiffness, but he forced himself to rinse his mouth and wash his face.

What the hell was that dream? It was so insanely real, and he still could feel the phantom pain eat as his chest. Harry sighed as he let the cold water splash his face.

When he raised his gaze to the mirror just above the sink, he blinked in surprise. For a second, he thought that he still was dreaming. Because he could even see the man he had seen in his dream in his reflection. Or something that looked like him, because what he saw not more like that small child than Harry potter, an 18 years old war veteran.

His eyes had taken on a more emerald green tone, and around the iris, he could see a clear line of gold color, which gave his gaze a new intensity that had not been there before. The color was not his mother's famous green color eyes that so many had praised.

This could not be him. Harry slowly raised his hand, and his reflection made the exact movement as he gently touched his temple and the long locks of dark hair. He then pulled his hand through the now much longer hair; how was this even possible? It now reached his ears and curled at the end. He could vaguely remember that he once, as a child, had grown back his hair as Harry had hated how Aunt Petunia had massacred his hair right before he usually starts school. But this felt different.

Harry pulled his hand through the hair and pulled on it lightly and felt the pain that came after as the hair stuck to his scalp like glue. He then removed his hand from his hair only to fingered the back of his nose, where he used to wear his glasses, which was missing and haunted him with their absence.

He could see without them, without any problems at all. His eyes widened in sheer shock. He could not panic, not yet, not now, perhaps later. Especially not now when his gaze zoomed in on something else that had caught his attention. His mouth felt dry, and he tried to swallow, but there was no saliva.

He gasped softly and stared down at his wrist, which no longer was the pale skin he usually had, but now a beautifully sprouting tendrils of vines were around it. He could see the golden-yellow ribbon at the base of his wrist and the vines that were wrapped protectively around it. The now firmer golden-yellow stems had begun to pull up even more, and the small flowers took on a green-blue hue; they were close to blooming, but not quite yet there. Harry recognized this flower without any problem; after all the years, the Dursley had forced him to clear the flower beds. It was a forget-me-not.

Alright, now he was allowing himself to panic. What the hell is going on with him? what had happened? Harry did the only thing he could think of, and he would forever deny the high tone his scream took when he called on the only person he could trust to have an answer to what suddenly happened.

"HERMIONE!"

A / N
So what do you think? Found it in the deepest part of my computer and dragged it up to the surface. I think this plot is pretty cute. I have already been viewing it all. It should be a mini-story with around ten chapters. It is going to be a fast-pace romantic story with both smut and fluff so buckle up.