Much Ado About Magic

by Mariadoria

To Hermione, Loki held the secrets to uncovering the universe. To Loki, Hermione was his only true friend. Their friendship was forged in fire, but not everything is as sunny as it seems. Smiles cover splinters, laughter covers lies. And deep down, something lurks, threatening to ruin everything that has been built over so many years. That is, if it can catch them.

1. Chapter 1

1989

Dappled sunlight filtered through the autumn leaves of an oak tree, streaming through the large windows of the local library and onto a small girl with frizzy brown hair.

This girl, Hermione Granger, took absolutely no notice of the spectacular light show, instead deciding to focus intently on the lined book she was frantically writing in. Despite the speed of her writing, the letters and words on the page were impossibly neat, all evenly spaced and sized. Whatever she was writing was often a topic of interest for the local librarians.

Currently, she was working on a school project on Norse mythology. At least ten books were opened around her, crowding the table that was usually meant for four people. Pictures of eight-legged horses and a golden-haired man with a hammer stared up her, along with the minute text that accompanied them. These pictures happened to be obscenely large. If publishing houses were going to put pictures in books, the least they could do was size them down, so they didn't take up so much space on the page. Then, more information could fill up the now vacant space.

Hermione was a studious girl, believing in authority and facts. Everything came back to facts and rules, no matter how outlandish that subject matter. There was always a grain of truth to something. Except for maybe Norse mythology. These books, these insufferable books (and it took so, so much to make her call books insufferable), each presented different sides to the story. These myths, these legends, were clearly so flexible that the authors saw fit to only put down the facts they thought were correct.

One of her ways of working was to cross-reference her material, the outcome of which was a well-rounded story.

Not in this case. This time, the details of specific myths fluctuated so much, were so mangled by the passage of time, that it was impossible to create a consistent narrative. To say that she was frustrated was a gross understatement. A bubbling, spitting, hissing volcano was active under her skin, hot and infuriated. The assignment wasn't feasible. Sure, to others it may be. To others, it may be acceptable to turn in a project that was half-finished, turn in a project that would receive half the mark it could have received. To her, that was a scenario that haunted her worst dreams.

So, instead of writing her assignment, she was penning a serious note to her teacher, about considering redoing the parameters of the assignment. She may only be nine years old, but that didn't mean she was going to hold back her displeasure at the muddiness of it. This just wasn't acceptable.

Angrily, she signed her name at the bottom of the page. Her signature was simple, precise and easily legible. It didn't need to be anything more. With jerky movements, she folded the letter, making sure the folds were sharp, before placing it into an envelope. There. If that didn't change the teacher's mind, she didn't know what would.

Now, all she needed to do was put the books back on the shelf and begin work on one of her other projects. A maths one. The thought maths cheered her up immensely. Maths was reliable. Numbers didn't jump all over the place and have different meanings for everything. All the equations stayed the same, all the time. There was no need to guess what the actual story was, and that was why a smile began to spread over her face.

Just as she gently closed the last book (no matter how much the subject frustrated her, she wasn't going to resort to slamming books shut) a man sat down opposite her. Hermione glanced up, eyes narrowing. She was obviously in a huff, she didn't need to talk to anyone. Not right now.

The man didn't seem to care, not if his languid, relaxed body language was anything to go by. Add to that the arrogant tilt of his chin, and he looked like he owned the library. Hermione knew that he didn't, but it was easy to get that impression. It was probably what happened wherever he went.

That didn't matter. There were plenty of other tables for him to sit at. She was in a huff. People stayed away from her when she was in a huff, so this was no different.

"What do you want?" She asked, stacking the books into a teetering pile. "Can't you see I'm busy?" She peered around the books, noticing that his eyes were alight with a vivid flame. Could it be the same type of cruel mischief she saw in those immature boys at school? No, this flame was lighter, more mirthful.

"All the other tables are full. And as you're the only one here, I figured that I would take a seat." His hair, if it were not slicked back with copious amounts of grease, would have fallen just beneath his ears. Hermione also took note of how his clothes were...strange, to say in the least. She didn't know anyone who would go out wearing a green and gold leather costume. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, though she stoppered it before it burst out.

"No, many tables are available. So please go and sit at one of them. I'm busy." She stood, using her chin to stabilise the books. It made her feel remarkably like Gus from Cinderella when he was squirrelling away the chicken feed.

As she made her way over to the non-fiction shelves, back to where she retrieved the books from in the first place, her eyes glanced around and, to her surprise, all the tables were full. The man, curious expression on his face, stood and followed her. "Could you just leave me alone?"

The words came out as a garbled mess. The man raised an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

Hermione didn't say anything, just glared at him. Once she reached the shelf, she awkwardly placed down the books and began sliding them back onto their levels. The man bent down and began helping her. Not before he flipped open the book to a page with a large picture of Thor on it. His hammer was held to the sky, lightening ricocheting off of it. A smirk covered his face as he muttered something she couldn't hear.

"These books are extremely inaccurate, you know," he said, slightly louder. "Thor is more of a grown-up child than a great leader. The authors of these books need a good talking to, I think."

"That's exactly what I was thinking! There is such a disparity between the books that I am beginning to question Norse mythology altogether." She frowned slightly, halting her tirade. "What do you care? And who says that your knowledge is better than what is in the books? You'll just be adding another facet of information for me to get frustrated at."

"Someone's in a bad mood." The man chuckled. "Trust me, my information is true. There is probably no one better to help you with your...assignment." He seemed to be testing the words on his tongue like they were completely and utterly foreign to him. His body language also betrayed an unfamiliar discomfort. He didn't feel like the type of person to help a nine-year-old girl with her assignment. So why was he helping her?

The questions ran rampant through Hermione's head. She was considering every side of the situation. True, it would be another source of information, which is the last thing she wanted right now. But, if the man (she really needed to ask him for his name) was telling the truth, then her assignment could be the things of dreams. Just the thought of getting the best mark possible on her project made her salivate. So, in the end, she gave in, deciding to listen to what the man had to say.

"Yes, I may be in a bad mood, but at least I know I am. And yes, I'll listen to you talk. You'll have to be quick, though. My parents are coming to pick me up in half an hour."

"I assure you, that is an adequate amount of time."

"Well, chop-chop! Get to it!" She flapped her hands at him, scooting past and sliding back into her chair. Incredibly quickly, she pulled her notebook out, along with a pencil. The man hadn't moved. His eyes were wide, mouth opened slightly. Obviously, he wasn't used to being bossed around by a nine-year-old. Unfortunately for him, Hermione thought, he was going to have to get used to it. There was no time to lose. "Hurry up, I'm waiting here."

"You've got the bossing people around thing down, haven't you?" The man smirked.

Again.

Hermione could already see that it was his trademark expression, just like her own was crinkling her nose in distaste. Or so she was told.

"Yes, I have, and I'm quite proud of it." She twiddled the pencil in her hand, waiting impatiently for him to sit down. Once he did, taking his black coat off with an impossible amount of grace, she began her questioning. "Right, before we start, I need to know your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'the man,' that's just rude. Then, we'll get onto your credentials and you sharing what you deign to be the best information that is relevant to my assignment."

"My name is Loki."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. My name is Loki Odinson. Both of my parents, you could say, are major Norse mythology enthusiasts. As is my brother," he grimaced, "Thor. I grew up surrounded by legends and myths. Honestly, at times, it is completely exhausting, you wouldn't know how exhausting Thor can be. He certainly lives up to his namesake. If he were an animal, he would be a rooster. All loud and obnoxious."

"As much as I would like to hear about your family troubles, can we please get onto my assignment? Time is ticking." She mimed a watch, tapping her wrist and scowling at Loki. The name was so ridiculous that she was unsure if she believed him. Right now, there was no time to worry about the authenticity of his name, for there was a chance that she could turn in an assignment that would get her top marks.

Top marks were always worth it.

"By all means."

"Okay, first things first. The assignment is meant to focus on the Odinson family tree. I personally think that this particular brief is extremely boring, there is barely anything you can do with it past making a colourful chart. In my opinion, charts are meant for presenting statistics, not flashy, half baked class assignments. I, instead, am writing a comprehensive essay, given that the teacher didn't specify how we were to present it. I always prefer to present information in a logical fashion.

"Now, the questions I want to ask you, given that those books each provided a different opinion, which is utterly useless to me at this time. For the assignment, I want to do a detailed profile of each member's personality. I feel that this will give my assignment an edge above the others. Of course, I am also going to be doing a diagram, to demonstrate the family tree. The essay portion is where I will be going into personalities and history."

"Quite the ambitious little thing, aren't you?"

"And you better believe it. I'm not going to get anywhere without ambition and motivation. I've seen what lacking it can do to people, and it isn't pleasant. My uncle is in a place that I am not going to get into. Now, information." She clicked her fingers, pencil poised to put down perfect prose. "I think we should start with Odin."

Loki's face hardened slightly. Suspicion began whispering in the back of her mind, reminding her terribly of whenever she thought a teacher was letting a student off without just reason. "Odin is a formidable man. He is older than old, older than dirt in fact, and always puts the needs of Asgard above the needs of his own family. He doesn't hesitate to take action when he deems it necessary, never taking advice from anyone else…."

And so, for the next half hour, the unlikely pair continued talking. As the rest of the library began to empty, Hermione and Loki stayed sequestered away in their little nook, talking at a volume acceptable for the library. Hermione's hand never stopped writing, moving at incredible speeds. Ten minutes into the task it began cramping, but she didn't let that stop her. This information was priceless.

They finished just as Hermione's mother arrived to pick her up. She thanked Loki profusely, clutching the many pages of notes to her chest. As she turned to leave, Loki smiled at her retreating form, stepping behind a bookshelf.

---

The girl was sweet, he would give her that. She did grate on his nerves a little bit, which was a given for anyone as bossy and...sniffy as her. Still, the opportunity to vent about his family was freeing, even if Hermione Granger just thought that they were legends.

To add to his curiosity about the small girl, he had sensed the energy around her, remarkably similar to his own. It was that which drew him there in the first place. He'd been walking past the library, calming down from a particularly vicious spat with his idiotic brother. This one was so large that realms were needed to separate seas of simmering anger.

The day had turned out rather cathartic. Perhaps one day he would find the bossy little girl again and learn more about her. For now, he needed to get back to Asgard before his absence became noticed.

Without a thought, he disappeared in a flash of green light. The poor librarian would forever wonder what the mysterious flash was, carrying it with her for the rest of her days.

---

"Miss Granger, could I see you for a minute?"

Hermione anxiously gathered up her books, depositing them in her backpack. She rushed to the front of the classroom, knee jigging up and down, ignoring the intrigued whispers of her classmates as they filed out of the classroom. 'Oh, is Hermione in trouble?' Yeah, that was what they all wished for, wasn't it? For the indomitable Hermione Granger to make a mistake. For her to become fallible. Wouldn't that just spur the rumour mill onwards?

She sincerely hoped not. It would certainly be a first.

"Yes, Miss Mitterand?"

The newly named Miss Mitterand handed Hermione back a piece of paper. "I just wanted to tell you that your assignment on Norse mythology is exceptional. I especially loved how you wrote it like the information was coming from the perspective of a family member. It made it more personal, which is something fresh. Lord knows that I needed something new to grade." She ran her fingers through long, brown hair. "Anyway, that's your grade. Thank you for putting so much effort into this. Not that you don't put effort into your other ones." She spoke very quickly once she saw Hermione begin to frown.

"Thank you." The feeling of utter elation that came with a job well done began rushing through her, starting as a bit of warmth in her stomach, then becoming something bigger.

As she walked away, she considered Miss Mitterand's words. The perspective of a family member. That was strange, wasn't it? Loki had talked like an exasperated family member.

A devious grin stretched over her face. One day, she was going to find this 'Loki' and ask him some very select questions. She would wrangle him down like a cowboy did cattle if it was necessary.

She didn't notice the very psyched out teacher edging his way into the wall as a creepily smiling girl bounced down the hallway.

---

1993

Hermione didn't usually use crude, foul language, but this was one time where she was willing to make an exception.

Her existence at the moment, quite frankly, was complete and utter shit.

For nine days, she had been trapped in her own immobile body, her rigid, frozen flesh imprisoning her mind within its confines. She couldn't move an inch, a centimetre, a millimetre. All of her attempts to even make a sound were utterly futile. Each of her thoughts were met with that same hopeless longing, longing for even the smallest amount of autonomy, for the smallest sound to seep its way through the impenetrable barrier of her lips. Her glazed eyes, glassy like a doll's, stared up at the white ceiling, the most boring thing possible to look at. Her hand that was raised in the air, clutching a piece of paper about the basilisk, fringed the edges of her vision.

Riding right next to the longing, there was terror, like the two feelings were siblings who were incredibly close. Every time she let her thoughts lull from frantic distraction to a calm lake, the evil yellow eyes of the basilisk flashed in front of her, clouding her vision. There was nothing else she could see, nothing else she could feel except the nauseating panic that the image of the snake brought forth. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, nothing she would ever experience again.

One thing she was incredibly thankful for was the fact she was merely petrified, not dead. In a month and three weeks, approximately, she would be cured by the mandrakes that were currently growing in greenhouse three. Counting down the days became the only thing that lifted the oppressive weight crushing down on her chest, each day alleviating a sliver of the pressure that consumed her whole being. Slowly, it was becoming day.

The light at the end of the tunnel was coming nearer.

In between the panic and the basilisk that lurked at the edges of her vision, Hermione realised that there were many strange ways to stave off the boredom that was present when you were trapped within your own body for extended periods of time. One of the methods was reading her textbooks to herself. Knowing them off by heart was very handy in any situation. Now, she was so incredibly glad to have memorised them. Going through the details, the passages, the paragraphs, was a fairly entertaining pastime. Unfortunately, because she read so fast, she had soon read through all of her textbooks. Well, remembered her way through the textbooks.

She soon began to theorise about spell creation. This particular subject nabbed her interest halfway through her first year at Hogwarts. It hadn't let her go since. Just the tantalising thought of being able to create a spell for any purpose, anything at all, was enough to keep her enthralled.

The spell she'd spent most of her time thinking about worked similarly to a compass, as in it would point you where you needed to go. It seemed very handy. Unfortunately, due to being unable to move, she couldn't write ideas down. This unfortunate occurrence meant that many great ideas filtered out of her mind, never to be found again. As she considered herself to have an exemplary memory this was particularly frustrating.

Just as a new idea began forming in her mind, a simple incantation that would be very easy to remember, she saw something shift at the edge of her vision. She was practically deaf, as for some reason the petrification stopped her ears from working. That would be something interesting to study afterwards. There was no time to think about that, though.

The shadow was flitting around the outside of the room, staying just out of her vision. To say she was frustrated would be an understatement. There was obviously someone there. The shadow knew how to hide from her. If only she could call out.

A strange prickling began working its way up her back. If Hermione could have gulped, she would have. Slowly, it spread out, like a virus in her bloodstream, until the tingling covered every inch of her body. It intensified, until it became almost painful, needles pricking her skin from the inside out. The only thing stifling her cry was her sealed lips.

And then, all of a sudden, she was catapulted out of her body. The force of it flung her through the ceiling, flying upwards through the roof of the hospital wing, before coming to a swishy stop midair. She looked down, saw that she was floating at least twenty metres above the shingled roof of the hospital wing, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. This was only intensified when she looked down at her hands and saw straight through them. If she thought she was panicking before, this was terror multiplied by ten and stuck in a blender.

"Help!" She shrieked the words out, so loud that even her own ears began to hurt. "Someone help me!"

"They can't hear you." A vaguely familiar voice sounded behind her. She tried to turn around but found herself unable to swivel. Instead, she ended up flailing her arms in an extremely undignified manner. "And you're completely safe. No harm can come to you here." There was a slight breeze behind her and suddenly Loki, the strange man from the library, appeared in front of her. He was a spectre, just like her. She could see the castle through him. This time, he wore a strange ensemble of green and gold, leather and metal melding into an outfit that ought to belong in the fantasy games her cousin played. How strange...

"Have I died? Am I a ghost now?" The words blurted from her mouth before she was able to stop them. Stupid. Stupid, stupid! Why didn't she look at other possibilities before saying a half baked hypothesis? That was what surprise did to you, she supposed. She took stock of the situation. "And how are you here? Did you die as well?"

The rate this conversation was going, Hermione wished she would actually die.

Loki smiled slightly. "I can assure you, I am not dead. That isn't going to happen for a long, long time." Hermione's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No, I am merely here to help your plight. I couldn't imagine anything worse than being trapped in my own body."

"I don't need to imagine it. Trust me, it's awful." She shook her head. "What am I doing up here? What did you do to me?" She finally managed to turn around, shaking her body like the barrel of a washing machine. Loki genuinely chuckled at her ineptitude. The surprisingly warm sound made her feel slightly less panicked, made the ground metres below her feet not feel so...looming. How something could loom when it was so far below her? It seemed like she was stuck in a perpetual dolly zoom, the ground a gaping maw and she, the feeble prey.

"You're up here because your brand of magic reacted adversely to mine. What I was trying to do was make you float gently out of your body. Instead, you had to catapult yourself through the feeling. As to why you're up here, I wanted to give you an out from your prison."

"So you killed me?" Again! There she went with the death theory. Why was it the only thing that could creep into her whirlwind of a mind? It was frustrating.

"No, nothing so serious. I merely helped you access the Astral Plane, something I have known about for a long time but don't often use. I came across you in your petrified state and, for some odd reason, felt sorry for you." He looked genuinely puzzled, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. "I want to teach you how to use it, seeing as you are a mortal magic-user."

At his use of the word 'mortal' Hermione's suspicions from years ago returned full force. Here he was, a man called Loki, dressed in weird, old fashioned clothing, using a form of magic she knew nothing about. He used words like 'mortal' and spoke with an accent that sounded like it came out of Shakespearean times. Everything about him oozed casual grace, effortless elegance, careless arrogance. The kind of demeanour that came from being raised in a high standing position. Could it be that he was actually Loki? The Loki? The facts were stacking up in favour of it. If he was...Hermione had her new study for the foreseeable future, and far beyond that.

"Well, I won't pass up an opportunity to learn," she said, putting on an air of faux calm. She wasn't going to let her theory about him being the actual Loki show. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass herself in front of someone she had admired for a lengthy period of time. His help at the library inspired her, leading to her often asking professionals for help with her schoolwork. If there was one thing she was good at now, it was seeking out professionals.

"Good. Now―"

"The first thing I want to learn about is the Astral Plane. You said you wanted to teach me how to use it, so let's begin." She crossed her arms. They phased right through each other. Hermione shivered at the distinctly uncomfortable feeling. It felt like someone was trickling ice water down her spine.

"You're very forward, aren't you?"

"I remember you asking me that question a few years ago. And yes, I am. Now, please teach me how to control myself in this state, as I am slightly scared of heights and being this high up is uncomfortable for me." She determinedly didn't look at the ground, instead deciding to focus on Loki's face. "Hurry up now."

Loki seemed rather miffed. "Alright. Moving around in the Astral Plane is mainly a matter of will, to begin with. Once you get more skilled at that, you'll begin to be able to walk and move around normally, as you would when you're in your normal body. You'll also be able to take objects from the normal world into the Astral Plane. If you follow me, I'll show you."

He slowly began drifting towards the roof of the hospital wing, descending in lazy circles. Hermione concentrated on trying to move down, remembering what Loki had said about 'will.'

Nothing happened.

She began wheeling her arms around, rather like a windmill. All that succeeded in doing was making her look like a total idiot. Scowling, she closed her eyes and concentrated extra hard on descending gently into the hospital wing.

Suddenly, she was falling through the sky, down, down, down, through the hospital wing, through her own body, into the classrooms beneath, until she was lodged securely in very solid rock.

She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The panic that overwhelmed her mind was as potent as a bad body spray. It was everywhere and everything. Never before had she felt such loss, such confusion, such frantic thoughts that circulated around and around, delivering hopelessness like a mail driver delivered packages.

"You alright there?" Loki appeared in front of her face, grinning like a maniac. How could he move? How could he speak? "You can move, you know. Calm down and you will be able to feel some semblance of sense again." He paused for a moment, the silence extremely devious. "If you ever had much sense, to begin with."

"I have plenty of sense, thank you very much," Hermione exclaimed. "If anyone doesn't have any sense...oh." She slowly moved her arms up and down. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and even though she couldn't feel them, Hermione knew that her face must be flushed a bright scarlet. Or silver. She wasn't sure how spirits blushed. That would be another thing to look at once she managed to gain control over this strange new form of magic.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" The phrase, which would have normally been comforting, was sarcastic, smug, almost a little bit degrading. "Now, will yourself to go up into the hospital wing. Concentrate very specifically on the place you want to go. Otherwise, you'll end up careening through the sky for the third time and embarrass yourself further than you already have."

"I'm new to this, you know. There's no need to go all bossy on me."

"Strange of you to say that when you are usually the one doing the bossing."

"Fair enough." Loki began drifting upwards. "Wait, stay here. If I can't move, I'm going to need your help." He kept on ascending. "Well, aren't you the most friendly person I've ever met?" The last part was muttered to herself, as she turned her mind to willing herself upwards.

Just as Loki has said before, she began willing herself forwards. Upwards. Sideways. Anything. Any movement at this time was progress. The sooner she could get out of this claustrophobic rock, the better. Panicking would get her nowhere, so she concentrated all she could on transporting herself. It didn't take her long to notice that what Loki was describing sounded remarkably similar to Disapparation. Maybe if she applied some of the processes on how that was done to moving now…

With a great whoosh, Hermione shot upwards, springing out of the hospital wing floor. She came to a stop next to Loki, who was looking at her in mild surprise. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

"You weren't expecting me to grasp it that fast, were you?" She crossed her arms. "Well, I did. Don't underestimate me."

"No, it's not that."

"What is it then?"

"You somehow managed to combine teleportation with moving around on your second go. That doesn't come until much later."

Hermione considered his words for a second. "Well, sometimes you have to run before you walk."

"I don't consider that very good advice. It doesn't seem very characteristic of you, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, please. You aren't one of my teachers. It sounds weird. And, if you were wondering, when I do something weird or far more advanced than I should be able to, without realising it, I become a little bit excitable."

"I can see that."

Hermione didn't reply. She was slowly wafting over to her hospital bed, being very careful not to lose control of herself again. The last thing she wanted was to end up clinging to the top of the Astronomy Tower, or hovering in Professor Dumbledore's office. She still didn't know if people outside of the Astral Plane could see her and Loki. Considering they were apparently on another plane, it would be improbable if they could. Hermione was never one to rule out possibilities until she had concrete proof, though, so she was going to be cautious until she had an answer.

Her eyes roamed over her own frozen form, taking in every detail. It was...disconcerting seeing herself without looking in a mirror or some reflective surface. Like someone had made a lifesize, incredibly realistic dummy. So realistic it would look out of place in Madame Tussauds.

"How do I get back in?"

"Once again, it is a matter of willpower. I'm quite sure that you don't want to go in right now, though. Am I correct in my assumption?"

"Yeah, you are." She pursed her lips. "Can people see you when you're on the Astral Plane?"

"Only if you choose so. One of the main benefits of using the Astral Plane is the astounding amount of control you have over everything. Most of the activities you undertake here don't have any impact on your physical self. You do remember everything that you do here."

Hermione's eyes gained a hungry gleam. "So, if I learned how to control myself here, I could bring books in and read while I'm asleep?"

"Potentially, yes. You would have to practice a lot more to gain control of it to bring physical objects into the Astral Plane. It is possible. I have done it myself, before."

"Well, tell me the steps I need to make to do it."

And so, for the next few days, Hermione and Loki talked and talked and talked. Hermione absorbed the knowledge like a sponge, always eager for more. Loki found it nice that there was someone so eager to listen to his teachings. On Asgard, being more academically inclined was frowned upon. In the presence of Hermione, though, it made him feel like a true god. Watching her master the smallest steps made him inordinately proud. When she finally managed to bring a physical object into the Astral Plane (a book of course, what else would it be?), he shared her triumph, chuckling as she cheered, smiling slightly as she relished the see-through pages in her fingers, delicately turning them like they were all made of the most precious material in the world. He supposed that, to her, books were the most precious things in the world. It was fascinating how much they meant to her.

When Hermione finally managed to gather the courage to return to her frozen body, it took her a while to actually get back in. The deal of willpower was, quite frankly, exhausting. For the first time, drowsiness overtook her body. Sleepiness. Just the overwhelming urge to lay her head down on a soft pillow, drift off to sleep, leave the rest of the worries to the world for a bit.

Slowly, without even realising, she sunk down into her body, her mind descending into slumber, even though her eyes remained wide open, glassy, staring blankly at the ceiling above.

For the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of peace.

---

Loki was enthralled with what this strange little girl was capable of. Her mind ran at speeds superior to most adults on Midgard (not Asgard. Even the thought of it was utterly ludicrous). The way she applied herself to tasks, with a fervour not too dissimilar to his brother on a hunting trip, was disconcerting and fascinating at the same time.

Add in the fact that Odin and Heimdall somehow didn't know that mortal magic users existed, given the fact that they had somehow, impossibly, managed to hide, and he had something to hold over their heads. Something that could possibly help him gain favour in his father's eyes. Over his brother.

Right now, he would keep Hermione a secret, just like he would keep the rest of the Wizarding World a secret. When he gathered enough information, he would reveal his findings to his father, to his brother, to Heimdall.

At that moment, he began thinking of Hermione as less of a friend and more of a project.

And that would prove to be the point that the rift in their relationship began.

---

1995

"I'm going down for dinner. Do you want to come?" Ginny paused, leaning on the doorframe. "I think it's roast. Mum always does the best roast."

Hermione smiled gently, slipping a bookmark into her novel and shutting it. Ginny had been trying to get her to come down to dinner for the last week. Of course, she wasn't successful, seeing as the person she was trying to persuade was Hermione Granger. She was often known as the most stubborn girl in Gryffindor Tower. The change, after being un-petrified in the second year, was quite a surprise to those around her. They soon became used to it, embracing the new facet of her personality with almost jarring enthusiasm.

"No, sorry, Ginny. I'm going to stay up here. I've got a lot of work to do."

"What work?"

Hermione gestured to the mess of papers spread around her, on the bed, on the desk that was supposed to be shared (Ginny didn't mind that Hermione commandeered it. At least that was what she thought). They were all charmed so that only Hermione could read them. This led to a lot of frustration coming from Ginny's end. "This work. Can't you see it? Should you go and get an eye check?"

"You finished all of your homework over a month ago." Ginny's flaming hair fell into her eyes. In her frustration, she didn't even bother to move it. Huh. That was rather unusual.

"That is true."

"So what are you working on? You've been so secretive about it. It's driving me insane."

"That is also true."

"Are you trying to wind me up? If so, you're doing a damn good job at it."

While picking up another book, Hermione serenely said, "Of course I'm trying to wind you up. You annoy far too easily." She frowned, eyebrows knitting together faster than her grandmother could knit a sweater. "I'm sorry, that didn't turn out quite how I imagined it would."

"Okay…" Ginny was glancing at Hermione like she was a particularly dangerous housecat. Or a finch. Both worked, though perhaps a cat was a more fitting analogy, given how both had the propensity to be frizzy and manic. Yes, a cat worked far better than a finch. "Well, since you're set on being in here, I'm off."

"Could you bring me up some dinner?"

"No. Dinner is for people who leave their rooms." Ginny waggled her finger, before dashing out of the room as Hermione lobbed a pillow at her. "I resent that!" The last part was muffled by the door that Ginny slammed behind her. Her footsteps faded until Hermione was left in comfortable, warm silence.

She swivelled around, only to get her foot caught in a fold of the duvet. She toppled down to the floor with a squeak, pain blossoming up her arm faster than a race car. A groan slipped past her lips. Merlin, she was lucky no one was there to see her ungainly tumble. Just as she began hauling herself to her feet, someone spoke.

"Well, that is one way to do things."

Hermione whipped around, not even bothering to untangle her leg from the duvet. She knew exactly who was behind her, leaning casually against the closed door, a sardonic eyebrow raised, arms crossed in an amusing fashion. It had been years since she'd seen him, years since he'd stood in front of her and raised his eyebrows like that.

"Yes, it isn't the ideal way." She yanked the duvet off her foot and stood. "And hello, by the way. That's usually how you greet people."

"I am aware of your customary human greetings. It is actually quite similar back home."

Hermione's eyes widened, realising that this was the perfect opportunity to ask the question she had been building evidence about for years. All the books around her contained information on Norse mythology, no matter how scant it was. Her obsession (not that she would ever call it that) didn't go unnoticed by Harry and Ron, who actually were nice to her about it, buying her more books on the subject for Christmas and her birthday. Right now, she was finally going to ask the question that had been burning, sizzling, cracking and spitting, at the back of her mind for six agonising years.

Small talk could wait until she was done with her questioning.

She sat down on her bed, moving the books aside. "And where would home be, exactly?"

"Nowhere you would know."

"I think I do know," she said, grinning maniacally. Loki's face twisted into an expression of slight nervousness. It was almost comical. Hermione didn't recall ever seeing him look like that. Well, there was a first time for everything, she supposed. "I think I know exactly where you're from, who your brother is and who your parents are. I think I know a lot more about you than you think I do."

"Oh?" Loki's face slipped back into a placid expression, the unease easily hidden under a well-practised mask. "And where do you think I might be from? Who do you think my family is?" He walked over to Ginny's bed, sitting and fixing Hermione with an impressively curious stare. "Go on, tell me. Spell it all out."

She knew he was goading her, trying to put her in a state of mind where words blurted out of her mouth before she managed to dredge up a single coherent thought. Luckily, she had a lot of practice with avoiding this. The girls in her dorm room had made it a sort of sport to try and make Hermione embarrass herself. At first, it had made her miserable. Soon, though, she used it as practice for staying calm in the face of adversity. And, she wasn't going to lie, to see those girls become a group of screeching monkeys because she didn't react to their taunts was very, very rewarding.

Right now, she was going to 'spell it out for him,' as he so eloquently said. He would probably be expecting her to go on for ages, presenting every single little piece of evidence she had in her repertoire. No, not today.

"You're the real Loki, your brother is Thor and your parents are Odin and Frigga. You live on Asgard and are the God of Lies and Mischief."

There.

That was all it took. One speedy glance over at Loki's face was enough to prove she'd caught him off guard. One look was all it took to confirm her suspicions. She was right. The mysterious man who came into her life every few years, ever so often, leaving only the intoxicating feeling of curiosity welling up in Hermione, was the actual Loki. From the myths and legends. If he wasn't here, Hermione would be tempted to slap herself silly, to make sure she was really here. At this moment, this moment where years of research paid off!

"Finally."

It was nothing more than a whisper that slipped past her lips. A whisper of triumph. It was a different type of triumph, private, swirling within her like the gentle swells of the incoming tide.

"Yes, finally. For you. I have to say, this is not how I expected this meeting to go."

She ignored his clipped tone. "I'm right, aren't I."

He gave a mighty sigh. "Yes, you're right. I am Loki of Asgard."

She punched her fist in the air. "Yes!"

"Yes, indeed. Your intellect never ceases to astound me." Hermione made a noise that wouldn't have been out of place coming from a mouse. "When I came to see you today, I was expecting that I would tell you who I actually am. Not the other way round. It is...odd, to have my plans debunked in such a spectacularly strange fashion. I must admit, while I knew you were researching Norse mythology, I didn't realise you'd come so far along."

Hermione knew she was vibrating. She knew it wasn't the way she should behave in front of a literal god (or something close to that, she supposed), but her muscles and brain conspired to break through what was commonly considered decent. She honestly couldn't bring herself to care.

"Okay…" Her words fizzled out when she realised her mind was completely blank. No. That couldn't be. Was she so starstruck by the man in front of her that her brains completely emptied of all coherent and rational thought?

Luckily, Loki seemed to cotton onto her dilemma. Something changed in his face, the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth. "I suppose that you want to know more about Asgard."

"Yes...everything! I want to know everything!" She snapped to life, desperately fishing around her book covered bed for a notebook and pencil. As much as she loved using quills, pencils were more practical. If there was one thing that she was determined to avoid it was ink stains on her bed.

And so, for the next half hour, they talked. Hermione asked about everything, from what material the palace was made of (she was astounded to find it was made of solid gold) to what the main breed of horse used was. Her questioning was extensive. Some would argue it didn't need to be as specific as it was. Hermione would refute those claims, saying that all the information she gathered was important, from the biggest idea down to the smallest detail.

Loki was happy to answer the questions, revelling in the feeling that was being the centre of attention. As it usually went to Thor, he didn't know how it felt. How it fizzed in his veins, speeding up and down, sending down an invisible beam of golden light for him to bask in. Usually, he would have shied away from it, knowing that at any second Thor was going to barge in and snatch it away from him. Here, though, there was no chance of that. No one except him knew about the wizarding world. Everyone on Asgard thought they were long extinct since the witch burnings of medieval times made them die out. Now, from talking to Hermione and doing a lot of research into their history, he realised that the theory was entirely defunct. Of course, he figured this out the second he met Hermione.

On Asgard, everyone, including the All-Father and Heimdall, believed that the wizarding world went kaput hundreds of years ago. That they died out at the hands of vengeful non-magicians who believed that witches were a sign of impending doom, that their wonderful magical abilities were gifted to them by Satan. With nothing better to do, they went into hiding, erecting monstrously large wards that pulsed with power, pushing all those who wanted to prosecute them away. The wards were powerful enough to dispel even Heimdall and Odin, leading to their belief of mortal magic users being extinct.

Loki was going to prove them wrong, though. For years, he'd hidden away, gathering information. Theorising on how exactly he was going to tell the All-Father that he had found something first. He knew now how he was going to do it; that was the entire purpose of his visit. Of all the wizards and witches that he'd visited, Hermione was the most hungry for knowledge, the most polite, and the one who liked him the best. Having someone who liked him would heighten the chances that they would accept his offer, which was disguised as a learning experience.

Their conversation was cut off by the clomping of several sets of footsteps making their way up the stairs. Hermione snapped her notebook shut, stowing it under her pillow along with the pencil. She didn't worry about the rest of the books, due to the charm she placed upon them.

"Thank you so much, this has been amazing." Her voice was hushed. The last thing she wanted was for the Weasleys to find out about Loki. They would ask question after question, and not the good kind. The kind that didn't stop being asked until she gave an exasperated answer that barely sated their curiosity. That really wasn't something she wanted to deal with right now. She really did love the Weasleys as family, but all family gets annoying at times.

"It has been just as informative for me. Your wizarding world, as you call it, is fascinating."

"I didn't answer any questions…"

"You didn't need to."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You have to come back sometime tomorrow and tell me how you do that."

"Only as long as I get to ask you some questions."

"That's fair, considering how much I grilled you today." She quickly corrected herself, seeing how Loki's brow wrinkled in confusion. "It means I asked you a lot of questions."

"I see. I'll be going now, those footsteps are getting worryingly close."

"Okay. See you tomorrow. And don't you dare be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Silently, with a flash of green light, Loki teleported, leaving Hermione with her jaw gaping wide. She shut it just as Ginny practically fell into the room, her face stormy for some odd reason.

"Fred and George played a 'prank'," she spat the word out like it was the most disgusting thing in the world, "that turned the roast into rubber. Who does that?"

"Them, I guess."

"I know that Hermione, don't be a smartass." Ginny flopped onto her bed, hair splayed out over the pillow. Hermione would never say it, but it made her look rather like an aggressive fireplace.

"I'm not being a smartass."

Ginny threw a pillow her way. Hermione was unable to dodge in time. It landed straight on her face, before falling down to the ground, leaving a very ticked off bookworm in its wake.

---

That night, as soon as Ginny went to sleep, Hermione jumped out of her body and into the Astral Plane. Ever since Loki had taught her that trick, she'd used it most nights to help her jump ahead in her schoolwork. If she'd had an edge before, now she was miles ahead of everyone else. It was especially helpful during her third year at Hogwarts, what with all of her time travelling shenanigans.

At the moment, she was using it to categorize her notes from Loki. They were a chaotic mess of scribbles and diagrams that gave her a headache every single time she laid eyes on it. She found it almost impossible to believe that these notes were written by her hand. So, she took this time to organize them into something sensible, something easily legible and also easily hidden. The last thing she wanted was someone opening her notebook and getting a glimpse.

"And that one goes there," she muttered, neatly rewriting the words into another blank notebook. A flash of green caught her eye. A very familiar flash of green. What was Loki doing back so soon?

"Hello again," Loki said, rushing the words. He seemed rather thrilled with himself, an expression she was very familiar with, from when Ron finished a large meal.

"Yes, hello. You're back rather soon." She placed the book down on the nightstand.

"And with an offer."

Hermione's ears perked up. "What may this offer be?"

"Because you're so keen on Asgard, I figured that I might bring you there. I have procured permission from my father. We leave in five minutes."

Hermione gave an odd noise, before fainting, falling straight back down into her body. She then woke up and said:

"YES!"

---

"How long can we spend there? I have to be back by the morning, so it can't be that long. Ginny is also asleep, and might wake up at any time, so we're going to need a decoy." Hermione gabbled, running her hands through her hair. "And that's not even mentioning the wards on this place. Professor Dumbledore will know the second I leave―hang on, why are you laughing?"

Loki was indeed laughing, chuckling away to himself at Hermione's obvious panic. "I know about the wards. I've already made my way past them several times undetected. Did you really think I would have a problem with getting us both out?" He did look a mite affronted.

Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly. "No, but am I not entitled to my worry? This is a completely new experience. I'm going to learn so much, Merlin, this is going to be amazing. You're going to have to take me more than once, you know. It is going to take more than one visit for me to find out all the information I want. Oh, oh, I'm going to have to compare it to my notes as well, to see what I got right." She continued to become more and more excited with every passing second. It seemed that she'd taken a page out of a squawking chicken's book, given how much she currently resembled a panicked bird.

Loki took a step back, slightly alarmed at Hermione's thirst for knowledge. He knew the girl was like a sponge, but this exceeded anything he'd imagined at all. It wasn't annoying, though. There was a strange charm to it. He did need to stop her before she began spinning around like a top, though. He wouldn't put it past her to accidentally destroy some furniture in her current state. Thank the Norns for the silencing spell he'd had the foresight to cast upon her, so only he could hear her.

"Just grab a notebook and we need to be off. You can compare your research and the real thing when you return home early tomorrow morning." Hermione stopped her rapid flapping. "And before you ask, here is a substitute that will fool anyone who comes to see you."

He waved his hand with a flourish. A green light flashed, a copy of Hermione popping into existence. Real Hermione crept towards it, eyes wide in wonder.

"It's identical to me!"

"Of course. Would you expect anything less?"

"I've learned not to." She gave him a cheeky grin, before grabbing the blank notebook she was scribbling in before, watching in fascination as her clone clambered beneath the duvet covers and started snoring softly. She was too fascinated to even be irritated. "This should be enough for this time. Oh, my wand, of course." With the wand clasped in her hand, she turned expectantly to Loki. "So, how do we get to Asgard? How does the Bifrost work?" Before she could go off on another spiel, she zipped her lips. She still looked ready to burst at the seams, though.

"As you mentioned, we get to Asgard via the Bifrost. You will enjoy the experience. We do have to go outside, though. And even before we do that, you need a change of clothes. As practical as your jeans are, you would make a far better impression if you were dressed in the traditional Asgardian regalia." Hermione's eyes lit up. "It would be prudent if you remained calm when we are on Asgard. Being an overexcited dodo is perfectly fine here, but it will not go over well there."

"First of all, I am not a dodo. Second of all, I get to wear traditional Asgardian clothes? This is a dream come true." Indeed, Hermione looked like she'd just won the lottery. If the lottery was gaining inordinate amounts of knowledge that no one else in the Wizarding World even knew existed.

"Please stand still, this will only take a moment." Loki swished his hand and a green glow encapsulated Hermione. For a second, nothing happened. Then her clothes began morphing. Her jeans extended outwards, blooming into a blue embroidered skirt, lightweight and flowy. The top half followed, her shirt transforming into a stunning bodice, while the jacket turned into a shimmering cape that swept the floor. To top it off, the hair clip that was pinning back her fringe became a silver circlet.

Hermione quickly turned to the wall and muttered, "Speculo magnum," a handy spell that she learned from Lavender Brown the night of the Yule Ball. A full-length mirror appeared on the wall, letting her see her reflection.

"Opinions? I modelled it off of a dress in the history books, with a few tweaks to update it to current times." Loki knew that he didn't need to ask. From the astonished look on her face, it was clear she had fallen in love with the transfigured garment. No, the garment wasn't the right set of words. The masterpiece. Yes, that was far more fitting.

"I―it's beautiful. Thank you." She ran her fingers over the material, marvelling at the smoothness of it. "What is this made of? I've never felt something this smooth…" She trailed off as she realised every second she spent here on Earth obsessing over the fabric of the dress was a second lost to be investigating the mysteries and wonders of Asgard.

Snatching a bag off of the bedside table to stow her notebook, pen, two back up pens and her wand, Hermione turned to Loki. She gave him a resolute nod, trying her best not to explode in excitement. Maybe that drama class her mother made her take when she was seven was worth it.

"Take my arm."

"Where are we going?"

"Just to the outside terrace, so Heimdall can open the Bifrost."

"Why do we have to be outside?"

"Would you like to be the one to explain why there is a hole in the roof of your bedroom?"

"Ah Right." Hermione grasped onto his wrist, tight. From what she'd read about side along apparition, you needed to keep an iron grip on the other person's arm, or wherever you were holding on. She was sure that Loki's version would be a lot different, given that he could get past the wards around Grimmauld place undetected.

A sudden thought occurred to her. Loki was in the Astral Plane. How in Merlin's name was she gripping onto his arm? She was just about to ask but was stopped by what felt like cold wind whooshing over her. For a second, all she saw was a green light, impossibly bright but someone dull at the same time. The cold wind wasn't uncomfortable. What was uncomfortable was how she felt like she was falling with nothing to catch her.

As soon as she opened her mouth to scream, it stopped. The green light faded, giving way to the parched grass and grubby street in front of Grimmauld Place. Huh. So that was what it felt like when Loki teleported. It certainly wasn't Disapparition. In no way had it felt like she was being compressed into the smallest tube and spat out the other end. Nausea wasn't taking over her head, nor did she feel the need to collapse onto the pavement, legs turned to jelly.

Catching her breath, Hermione turned to look at Loki. "So, now do we use the Bifrost?"

"Of course." He gave a small smirk, before calling, "Heimdall, open the Bifrost."

Nothing happened for a second.

Then a bright light, rainbow light, shot down from the sky. Hermione didn't even have time to open her mouth in awe before it enveloped the two of them.

Upwards.

A strong force was pulling them upwards. The boring street-front gave way to whirling, racing, blinding lights. Hermione could catch the occasional glimpse of deep space, stars twinkling merrily as if greeting her. She let out a joyous cry. This was what she was here for. The payoff of years of research. Discovering something no one else believed. With the wind whipping through her hair, her stomach forced to the bottom of her body like she was on a rollercoaster, eyes gleaming with manic glee, Hermione spread out her arms and spun around, revelling in the feeling of pure magic around her.

Next to her, it seemed that Loki was smiling slightly. While she was spinning wildly, he travelled straight, arms relaxed, legs moving as if in the light flow of a stream. Why would he have that expression? Unless something was about to happen. Hermione wouldn't put it past him to gain amusement out of her situation, seeing as she was going to be a total fish out of water. He was, after all, the God of Mischief and Lies. If that name didn't clue her inㄧ

Her thoughts were halted as she found herself being catapulted out of the Bifrost stream and into a golden sphere. She flew through the air, crashing hard into a central column. A dull ache began to sneak into her bones as she groaned in pain. That was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.

The annoyance was soon swept away by wonder as she took in the room around her. Completely made of gold, the sphere was large, airy, with a massive, circular hole in the wall overlooking space. There was nothing beyond it. The walls were adorned with decorative circles, reminding her of the spokes in a bicycle wheel, only one-hundred times more elegant.

In the centre, where Hermione was hauling herself to the ground, was a podium with the hilt of a sword sticking out of it. Holding that sword was a dark-skinned man with intense yellow eyes. He had to be Heimdall. The armour he wore, pure gold, matched the Bifrost chamber perfectly.

What shocked her the most was the feeling of magic in the air. It was thick, strong...intoxicating. Even at Hogwarts, there was nothing like this, and the magic at Hogwarts was considered to be the most concentrated in Wizarding England. This was on a whole nother level. Just the feeling of it rushing through Hermione was enough to make her feel high. Light. Floating through the sky. She pulled herself back, though, not wanting to get lost in the wonder of it. That wouldn't be good.

Now standing, Hermione turned to Loki, who was standing by the hole, totally unbothered. Compared to what she must look like, he was remarkably unruffled. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, the only sign that he found her ungainly clumsiness amusing. Otherwise, he was the perfect picture of princely composure.

"Is this who you spoke of, my prince?" Heimdall spoke, voice deep and booming. Hermione took a step back so she could see both of them. "For if she is, you seem to have deceived us. She is a mortal, though with far more to offer than you put forward."

"I would never have procured permission to bring her to Asgard had I had told the truth, Heimdall. You know how my father is with Midgardians. There is something different about her. Look and you will see."

Heimdall turned his piercing eyes on Hermione. It was as if she was being x-rayed. The feeling wasn't uncomfortable, though, more of a tickle at the back of her neck. It reminded her distinctly of Professor Dumbledore. Heimdall raised his head in a slight nod.

"Indeed, there is. I suggest you seek an audience with Odin." Hermione let out a small squeak (Loki chuckled). "He will be interested in your discovery." He raised his head at Hermione. "Enjoy your time on Asgard, Miss Granger. I dare say you will have several full notebooks by the time your visit has elapsed." Her cheeks flushed a slight red. He really could see everything, including the several notebooks stuffed into her dress, deep in the pockets that were so large they may as well be another dimension.

"I will enjoy my time here. How could I not? This is amazing, and this is only the start…" She trailed off as, for the first time, she laid eyes on Asgard. The golden towers of the palace, shining above the rest, resided over the city, which on its own was stunning. Columns, statues, all impossibly elegant. A bright sapphire sky above and the stars behind.

The most beautiful thing Hermione had ever seen.

"This...this is your home?" she breathed, barely able to speak through her wonder. "It's...amazing." She fell quiet, still gazing upon the majesty that was Asgard. With how stunning it was she found it was quite impossible to tear her eyes away from it. If given the opportunity she would happily stay here forever, gazing upon the realm. "How can you ever bear to leave?"

"After 1200 years, you find that a change of scenery is a welcome respite. I visit other realms a lot, though I do always return here. You could say there is a certain charm to it. Besides, it's my home. I'll always return."

"Of course. It's beautiful." The words were still whispered.

"Are you just going to stay here or are we going to go further into Asgard? Your questions aren't going to be answered here. No, you can ask Heimdall your questions when we leave." Hermione's hand dropped. She could be satisfied with that answer. Just the fact that she was here, on another world, most likely the first 'Midgardian' to step foot on Asgard, was enough.

"We can go. Merlin's beard, we can go. We need to go." She pointed at Heimdall, a pen suddenly appearing in her hand. "I will be back to question you, understand me?" Her eyes widened, realising what she'd just said. "Oh, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"No offence taken," chuckled Heimdall. "There are horses waiting outside for you, my prince. Be mindful that Miss Granger doesn't fall off."

"Of course. You think I would?"

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"Oh, hardyharhaar, very funny."

"I've ridden a horse before, Loki," said Hermione, cutting in before the banter could reach a critical level. She'd seen this behaviour before in Harry and Ron. Even if they were literal gods, it seemed that the result would be the same. "My aunt owned a farm and had a few horses. Not that I ever rode in a dress."

"I see," Loki said. "Let's go, shall we? We will be back before nightfall, as Hermione here needs to return to Midgard before dawn. She has very nosy friends." He ignored her 'harrumph' of protest.

"I look forward to your return." Heimdall turned away from them, gazing out over the vast vacuum of space.

"Why can't we just walk?" asked Hermione. "It doesn't look that far."

"Trust me, the Rainbow Bridge is far further than it looks. To walk down it at your mortal speed would take at least half an hour. We don't have that time to waste, hence the horses."

Waiting placidly outside were two horses, a stallion and a mare. Loki immediately mounted the black stallion, sitting regally on top. He really did look the textbook image of a prince. Hermione turned to the dappled mare meant for her. Apart from the horse being slightly larger than a horse on Earth Hermione couldn't see any other differences. There were definitely more. Luckily, it seemed the horse was placid and relaxed in nature. All it did as she mounted it was nicker slightly and shift to accommodate her weight.

"Onwards, shall we?" said Hermione in a faux deep voice, nose towards the sky, finger pointing towards the towers of the palace. "The bounty awaits."

"There is no bounty, Hermione." Loki wore an expression of utter bemusement.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. The knowledge that can be gained here…"

And so they began to ride along the Rainbow Bridge. Every pounding hoofbeat sent glimmering fractals splashing outwards. Below them, waves crashed, above them, the sun shined, in front of them, Asgard waited. Hermione couldn't contain her excitement any longer. The entire time, she squawked on about how excited she was to be there, asking questions about everything. Loki answered every question genuinely. For him, it just felt good to have someone who trusted him as much as Hermione did. The name 'Loki' wasn't exactly synonymous with trust.

At last, they reached the entrance to the palace. Great golden gates reached towards the sky, great golden guards (called the Einherjar, Hermione learned) standing sentinel. As they saw Loki approaching they stepped forward. One of them helped Hermione dismount her horse. She thanked him. He nodded back, leading the mare away. The other did the same with Loki's horse. The gates in front of them opened wide, the entrance to the palace now right within their grasp.

Loki began striding forward. Hermione snapped herself out of her reverie and began following. There was a particular burning question that she wanted to ask, though wasn't sure how. Maybe it would be best to bite the bullet. Just say it outright. Surely it couldn't do much harm. She still needed to be careful, though. The last thing she wanted to do was offend Loki.

Wringing her hands, Hermione asked, "Why didn't you tell Heimdall I could use magic? Is it a bad thing for me to be able to do magic here?"

Loki chuckled. "Quite the opposite. I merely want to keep it a surprise for my father. Heimdall already knows. It would be impossible for him not to. For centuries, Asgardians have thought the mortal magic-users of Midgard to be extinct. Odin will be very pleased to see that your kind are, to use a Midgardian term, alive and kicking."

Hermione frowned slightly. She supposed that keeping it as a surprise made a modicum of sense, even if it did rub her the wrong way slightly. Knowing Loki's history with Odin, how he was often cast aside for Thor, bringing a surprise like this to the forefront would be an extremely good thing for him.

"As long as you don't treat me like a trophy, then we're good." She gently rubbed the leather of the horse's reins. "I assume you'll want me to demonstrate my magic to the Allfather?"

"Yes, that is correct," Loki replied, slightly affronted. "What would make you think after all these years that I would treat you like a trophy? We're friends, are we not? I simply think that you're the best candidate to bring Midgardian magic back into the light. Besides, you're on Asgard. Why don't you enjoy it, rather than worrying about trivial things that aren't even true?"

Her cheeks dusted pink at the praise. "I suppose."

"You seem rather meek all of a sudden."

Hermione chuckled. "I assure you, it's nothing bad. It's just all sinking in for me. I'll be back to my normal self in no time. It's just...this is incredible. I know that I've said it before, but thank you. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"It's my pleasure, Hermione."

With the horses handed to stablehands, who bowed at Loki and curtseyed at Hermione (much to her shock), they headed into the main bowels of the opulent palace. There were many Asgardians occupying the halls, all gazing at Loki with respect. Tapestries hung on the wall, detailing the history of Asgard is gorgeously saturated colours and shimmering threads. She recognised several of the figures, excitedly pointing them out to Loki. He nodded along with her, pointing out even more small details that she didn't take in at first glance.

She followed Loki around a corner, the nerves ricocheting through her growing stronger by the second. It felt like bugs were scurrying around under her skin, butterflies fluttering recklessly in her stomach. Never before could she recall feeling such anxiety, such a thrill. So engrossed in her own thoughts was she that she nearly bumped into someone. If it wasn't for Loki gently tugging her aside, she would surely have gracelessly tumbled to the ground.

"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. So much for making a good impression. "It was my mistake." Hermione glanced up, eyes growing wide as she recognised just who was standing in front of her. Flowing brown hair, warriors garb and a sword on her back. Sif. "Oh, Merlin."

"It's alright, it was a mistake anyone could make. I haven't seen you around here before. I'm Lady Sif of the Warrior's Three, and you may be?" Somehow her voice was kind and commanding at the same time, ringing through Hermione's head.

"Hermione Granger," she managed to squeak out. "Thank you for understanding. Again, I'm so sorry. It's an honour to meet you." The urge to wring her hands was almost overpowering. Standing in the presence of someone so powerful, who she looked up to through literature, was terrifying. Hermione desperately tamped down on that fear.

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about. Stop apologising to me. Now, what are you doing with Loki?" Said person sharply glanced up, apprehension written all over his face. "Is he taking you on a tour of the palace?"

"We're on our way to an audience with the Allfather," Loki said tensely.

"Is that so? There are many people who are already waiting, you'll be there for a while." She turned to Hermione. "Why don't you come and wait with me? Loki can come back to get you when the Allfather is ready to see you. I'm sure that you'll have a better time with us."

Her opinion of Sif was suddenly soured.

"I'm actually fine waiting with Loki, thank you very much. Thank you for the offer, though. It was very generous of you." Loki wasn't lying when he said that Sif was dismissive of him quite often. To see it first hand was infuriating. "If you don't mind, we'll be on our way."

Sif's eyes widened slightly. "Your choice. Very nice to meet you, Hermione Granger. Hopefully, I'll see you around." Sif smiled at her, sent a slight glare Loki's way, and continued on her way, armour clinking with every purposeful step.

Hermione began striding down the hallway. Her dress swished around her feet, fingers worrying the cuffs. The awe of being here was beginning to tarnish slightly. If that was how the other Asgardians treated Loki, with barely concealed disdain and dismissiveness, what were they really like? To treat a prince like that...Hermione understood that not everyone would like him, but to see it from Sif was different from hearing it from Loki's lips.

Looking back, she could see the same expression on the faces of almost everyone they passed. Up ahead, it was the same. Her blood boiled. She knew that he lived in Thor's shadow; her source was the closest one could get. The other sides of the story lived in her head, not wanting to have one biased point of view. This, though...it reminded her of how people glared at her during her first year at Hogwarts.

She calmed her thoughts as Loki caught up to her, sending him a comforting glance. He stayed silent, looking ahead, still guiding her through the maze-like palace.

"If I may ask, why did you elect to stay with me? You would usually jump at the chance to learn more. It wouldn't have been a hassle for me to send someone to fetch you when it was our turn."

"Knowledge can come later," she huffed. "I am not comfortable with the way she treated you. It reminded me of my first year at Hogwarts." A sigh, then, "As important as knowledge is to me, my friends always come first. Even if you don't consider me that, I do consider you one of my friends. One of my stranger ones, but a friend nonetheless. And I stick by my friends. It's what others have done for me."

Loki was silent for a minute, before saying, "Thank you. Not many people have said that to me."

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to make up for a thousand years of it, aren't I? Starting right, now."

"I guess so," Loki contemplated.

"Good. Now, let us wait for the Allfather, and then you can surprise him, eh."

As she walked slightly ahead of him, Hermione didn't see the slight frown playing on his lips, how his forehead creased from guilt.

---

After a surprisingly short wait, Hermione and Loki were invited into the grand throne room. Murals decorated the ceiling, grand pillars framing the walk up to a gilded, golden throne where a formidable bearded man sat. In his hand a staff (Gungnir, she told herself) was held, an eyepatch covering his right eye.

Odin.

The air of power radiating around the throne room was heavy, unlike anything she'd ever felt. The Bifrost was now an ant next to an elephant. As she drew closer the eyes of the guards followed her every move. Assessing her as a threat, she told herself.

She fell into a deep curtsey as Loki instructed her to do. Knees wobbling, Hermione stayed down until Odin's booming voice told her to rise. As elegantly as possible, she did, trying desperately to disguise the tremors wracking her limbs. All she could focus on was the man in front of her, thousands of years old and with the battle scars to prove it.

"Loki, my son. Who is this young lady you have brought before me? I don't recognise her as a citizen of Asgard." He was...curious? Hermione couldn't tell through her nerves. "Is she hailing from another realm?"

"Indeed she is, Father." The title was said with incredible amounts of respect.

"And which realm is that?"

There was a slight pause before Loki uttered, "Midgard."

A frosty silence filled the throne room. Hermione immediately looked to the floor, hiding her sweating palms in the folds of her dress. The legends of Odin's fury were nothing compared to the actual thing, even if this was barely anything. She could feel his eyes on Loki, on her, hear the slight creak as his grip tightened on Gungnir.

"And why, may I ask, is she here? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't wipe her memory and send her back to Midgard this instant. You know the rules surrounding bringing mortals to Midgard, Loki."

Hermione trembled. Having her memory erased was something she hadn't even considered. Losing all she knew about this wondrous place, little as it was, horrified her.

"There is something special about her, Father." A gentle hand fell on her arm. "Hermione, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating?" Loki's face was reassuring, calming a small part of the storm inside. Her wand fell into her hand, mentally preparing.

She raised her wand, pointing it at Loki. They discussed this while they were waiting. He would be the 'test subject' as he so aptly put it, for once willing to have magic performed on him. Tongue leaden and dry, she struggled to get the words out, the two words that would change her life.

"Wingardium Leviosa." It surged forwards, invisible tendrils lifting Loki off of the ground. She silently thanked her practice at lifting heavier objects. Otherwise, this would have been impossible.

Loki hung in the air for a few seconds before she let him down. Wordlessly, she tucked her wand away again, not daring to look back at Odin. The Allfather, she reminded herself. One of the most powerful beings in the universe and she was standing right in front of him.

"I see," was all Odin said.

"The mortal magic users of Midgard are still alive, Father. They're thriving, have communities and enclaves all over their realm. They have their own governments, schools, everything you could imagine. All these years―"

"Loki, stop." Odin held up a hand. Loki stopped talking. "I must admit, this is a surprise. How they managed to hide for so many years is indeed a mystery that I now intend to investigate. How long have you known?"

"For six years, Father."

"And how long has this young woman known of us?" Hermione started at being mentioned.

"She figured it all out herself."

"I see. What is your name?"

"Hermione Granger, your majesty." Speaking only when spoken to. All the books she read when she was younger, going through her 'royalty phase' were finally coming in handy, mixing with Loki's advice.

"What do you think of Asgard?"

Hermione swallowed. She mustn't ramble. "It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I've never encountered such beauty, your majesty. Being here is an honour. I respectfully understand if it is required to wipe my memories." Of course, she desperately hoped it wouldn't be needed.

"No such thing will be needed today." Hermione, on the inside, fist-pumped the air. "You have brought us a gift, the gift of the knowledge of your people. Later, I will ask you about them." She curtseyed again, nodding slightly. He turned back to Loki. "Now, Loki. Why did you think it was appropriate to withhold your knowledge for such an extended period of time?"

"I was gathering knowledge of their people. Hermione here proved to be a wonderful source of firsthand knowledge that I couldn't find in books and by observing their people. She is fascinating." He started talking faster, enthusiasm oozing. "She's been an invaluable resource in helping me gain a better understanding of magic on Midgard. The way her magic works is like nothing I've ever seen before. Studying her has been incredible, gaining knowledge of her people through her has been my most exciting project for centuries!"

Hermione froze. An invaluable resource? A resource. Was that...no, he was still speaking. That couldn't be true.

"Of course, there was only so much I could learn from her, Father."

"I see. And you waited this long to present a solid case to me? If so, if all you needed was your words, why did you bring her to Asgard?"

"As evidence of magic, of course."

Evidence.

Not a mention of their friendship. Surely, the Allfather would know of it already, from their interactions and her using magic on him. Mentioning it wouldn't be too hard. It was three words, 'we are friends.' Was that all he thought of her? A tool to be thrown away? Evidence.

"Is that all you think of me? An invaluable resource? Evidence?" She looked him dead in the eyes, brown against green, glaring daggers. "You said that you studied me. How long have you been watching me, not making an appearance? Is this what you think of me? A resource?" She took several steps closer. "I thought we were friends."

"We are. Where are these ideas coming from?"

"From what you just said, Odinson. You spoke of me as if I am nothing more than a thing. A thing for you to use to further your life, to help you gain more." Tears began pricking at her eyes, voice rising in pitch. "You know my history with friends!"

"Hermione, calm down."

Evidence.

"No!" she spat. "Don't tell me to calm down when you waltz in here and speak of me as if I am a science project! You don't talk about your friends like that. You never speak of anyone like that. Tell me," she growled, "is our friendship even genuine? How long has it been since you started seeing me as a project?"

"It's genuine, don't twist my wo―"

"Don't lie to me, Odinson." Loki flinched back at the venom in her tone. "Don't treat me like I know nothing. I figured out who you were, didn't I? I'm not stupid. Now, tell me the truth."

Odin stayed silent, observing the argument with mild interest.

"Just let me talk for a minute!" Loki shouted. "You're taking my words out of my mouth and twisting them into something else. Of course, we are friends. Would a friend have left you behind in the dreary old house? Would a friend have taught you new forms of magic?"

"A friend doesn't talk about someone else like that. Don't lie to me." Tears were now freely streaming down her face. "Please, tell me the truth. You may be called Liesmith but I have been lied to enough to know when someone isn't telling the truth. You don't go through years of being told that students like you, that the teachers are fond of you, that people actually want to know you, without learning a few hard lessons. They all wanted something, just like you.

"You may not see it as wrong, but I do. You used me. I would have been happy to help you, in fact, I did. I helped you, I thought I trusted you. But then you come in here and talk like that...How could you?"

Loki didn't say anything.

"I'm leaving." Without looking at Loki, she curtseyed once more. "Thank you for your hospitality, your majesty. I apologise for my outburst."

She turned tail and strode away from the pair. Her hands trembled, heart-ripping in two.

Trust.

Ha.

What was that worth, when Loki shattered it in seconds with words sharper than knives? The days of being used were long behind her, she used to think. Used to dream. That couldn't be further from the truth.

Evidence.

As soon as the doors shut behind her, she was sprinting through the halls. The entrance had to be somewhere, if she just looked for long enough, surely she would find it. Get out. She had to get out of this place. No longer did she want to be here, no longer did she want to gaze in awe at the golden palace. All it held was a bitter taste in her mouth and betrayal in her heart. If she could never come back, it would be too soon.

"Hey, are you alright?" A deep rumbling voice cut through her despair. Strong hands came down on her shoulder, gentle but firm. Through her tears, Hermione could see a red cape and golden hair. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Hermione hiccupped, frantically wiping her eyes. "Please, can you just show me to the Bifrost? I want to go home."

"Of course. Where may home be?" Now that she could see, vision no longer blurred, she took in the face of an impossibly tall man. Blue cornflower eyes, shining hair and a hammer hanging at his waist...oh.

"I'm sorry, your majesty. I didn't recognise you."

"Seeing as you're from another realm, that can be forgiven. Which realm, if I may ask again?"

"Oh." She hiccupped, cursing her roiling emotions. "Earth. Midgard. Whatever you call it."

"That's certainly not what I was expecting. Of course, I can show you to the Bifrost. I assume my father knows?"

"Yes, he is aware of me leaving."

"Without an escort?"

"I don't want to see him."

"Here, follow me. I'll take you with my friends and you'll be home in no time. Who upset you so?"

Hermione faltered, not expecting such kindness after what happened. Right now, everything was miserable, every one an adder waiting to strike, waiting to use her for their own gain with poisoned words and inviting eyes.

"I'd rather not talk about it if that's alright with you."

"No matter." Thor started walking, guiding you through the halls. "Would you like me to talk about something else?"

"Please."

Thor was...nice. He had an ego on him so tall she couldn't see the peak, but he was nice to her. He regaled her with grand tales of his battles, omitting the particularly gruesome details after she shuddered at him ripping a dragon's throat out. She knew he was arrogant and brash. It didn't matter right now. It wasn't like she was going to be coming back anytime soon.

Somewhere along the way, Sif and Fandral joined them. The chatter was mindless and before Hermione knew it, she was standing inside the Bifrost, preparing to travel home. It would place her just outside Grimmauld Place. Close enough.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Hermione," Thor said. "I hope that we meet again."

"Thank you for your help."

"It was the least I could do for a maiden as lovely as yourself."

She waved farewell to them, left alone with Heimdall. He offered her a small smile. "If you ever come back, I should look forward to meeting you again, Miss Granger."

The rainbow lights surrounded her, now filled with despair. She was hollow, landing outside Grimmauld place in a pile of fabric and tears.

And if anyone asked where she was or why her eyes were red and puffy, she offered them a watery smile and disappeared to her room.

It would take a long time for her to trust again.

---

Loki pushed his food around the plate. The day was a disaster. Hermione stormed off irrationally, now Thor was late for dinner, and his mother was sending him disapproving glances. His chance of impressing his father was marred by Hermione collapsing into a pathetic pile of tears. He thought she was better than that, could actually sustain rational thought, rather than being consumed by rage.

Thor finally entered the room, stormy. Nothing new, then. Just another dinner.

"Loki." He looked up, sneering at Thor. He didn't have time for pleasantries. "What's this with that lovely maiden Hermione? What did you do?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he said bitterly.

Of course. It all came back to Thor. His golden brother who could do no wrong.

Typical.

---

1997

Cold air viciously bit at Hermione. She pulled the ratty blanket closer around her body, recasting the warming charm. It wasn't working particularly well for some reason, so she was left with the blanket, occasional chills running through her. Snow settled delicately in her hair, great branches of the canopy above creaking with the weight of it. The Forest of Dean, frigid as it was, was remote enough that nobody would think to look. Combined with the wards, it was a perfect hiding place.

With her back against a thick tree, tucked up inside the roots, she was in the perfect place to spot intruders. Harry was slumbering in the tent behind her, catching up on precious sleep. He worked himself to the bone. She was the same. Both of them were exhausted. Sleeping for eternity was an inviting prospect, one that Hermione wasn't sure she could refuse if offered. Though, there was something...calming about being the only one around for miles in a forest. The ambient noises were like something out of a children's storybook, only the light of her torch (really a wand) to guide her.

Sighing, Hermione turned the next page of her book, ignoring the way her fingers shook through her gloves. Damn the cold, damn the warming charm not working. Of all the times, it had to be now. It wasn't like magic to just stop working. Especially not with small spells like this. She practised this one over and over, had been using it actively since her second year. Perhaps there was something wrong with her, or the charm related to exhaustion? There were theories floating around…

A flash of green caught her eyes. With a sharp intake of breath, Hermione snapped her book shut and sat upright, wand clutched tight. Her fingers traced the intricate vine carvings, heart picking up pace. She knew that flash of green. The forest replied to her silent questions with the same creaking, rustling melody. Not a word escaped her lips. Only one being, one person, was associated with a light of that sort.

Loki.

Evidence.

She gritted her teeth, all the old hurt and betrayal flooding straight back in. After nearly three years, it wasn't as strong and it used to be. It was still there, lurking at the back of her mind no matter how hard she worked to banish it. True, looking back, her storming out was rash, barely letting Loki speak. The agony of the moment caused her to act without thinking, rather than using her words. It still didn't excuse how Loki treated her, nor how she felt afterwards, but perhaps if she had stayed…

No. Those traitorous thoughts were years old. There was no use dwelling on them now. What was done was done, no changing it. No time turners, they were all smashed. No way to get to Asgard without announcing her presence. Going back there wouldn't be too bad, so long as she could avoid Loki.

Hermione bit her lip. These warring perspectives weren't anything new.

She was interrupted from her brooding (not that she would ever, ever call it that. It was deep thinking, never brooding) by feather-light footsteps. Without looking up, she knew who it was. He was back, approaching her like she was a skittish cat. Of course, he would treat her like that….no, no, bad thoughts. Let him explain himself first, it had been a long time. A long, long time.

Surprisingly, he sat down on a knobby root near her. His long limbs folded awkwardly over each other. He clearly wasn't used to sitting down on roots in the middle of a freezing forest. Sure, Hermione was new to it as well, but her small size lent well to tucking into nooks.

He said, "I've already taken care of the silencing ward, there's no need to worry about your friend waking up," as Hermione raised her wand to cast one. She couldn't ignore the slight waver in his voice at the word friend. Huh. Wasn't like him to let his true emotions show, she thought ruefully. Supposedly he was the 'Silver-tongued Loki of Asgard' "I'll also stop interfering with your warming charm if you would like it."

"Asshole!" Hermione hissed as a wave of warmth finally enveloped her. She drew the blanket tighter around her, though, as if it was a shield. "What's the point of doing that? I swear, if this was another test, I will turn you into a beatle and keep you in a jar. I've done it before and won't hesitate to do it a second time."

If looks could kill, Loki would be dead. He wisely stayed silent, letting Hermione continue to glare daggers.

All the past years of frustration, despair and betrayal were leaking out, finally coming back to the forefront. Not talking to anyone about it was incredibly hard. Crookshanks, as excellent as the cat was at listening, didn't talk back. No one was likely to believe her if she told them, anyway. Their brief dismissal would be hiding whispers of, 'Has she finally gone mad, after all these years?'

There were brief moments where she considered telling Harry and Ron but decided against it. Harry, because the amount of pressure resting on his shoulders was astronomical and Ron, because of his tendency to place blame without hearing the entire story. If he knew she hid something from her all these years...it would be Crookshanks and Scabbers a million times over.

Despite the lack of talking, Loki still met Hermione's eyes head-on. Occasionally they flickered up and down, taking in her warring face and hunched body posture. She knew he was reading her, deducing things, knowing what she would think before he even thought it. The master manipulator, and here she was allowing him to sit opposite her, not firing every gruesome spell off at him with reckless abandon.

The stalemate continued for what seemed like forever. Hermione, with her narrow eyes and white-knuckled grip on her wand, and Loki with his languid posture and infuriating examination.

Then, it all changed. Loki opened his mouth and began to speak, words spilling out as if they'd been building up for years. Spun sweet as sugar, saccharine, drenched in falsehoods meant for those who couldn't see through his lies.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm truly sorry. I saw you as a means to an end, forgetting that you were a person in my fervour to impress my father, to discover something before my brother. In my quest for approval, I let my desire for attention override common sense and decency, which lead to you believing that I didn't consider you as a friend. I know you're going to find this hard to believe, and I don't blame you a bit if you don't, but I consider you a friend. You're actually my only friend." He laughed bitterly. "On Asgard, I wasn't considered the type to associate with for normal revelry.

"I realise now that what I did was wholly wrong and all I can do is ask for your forgiveness." He took a fortifying breath. "I understand if you don't want to see me again."

Hermione had been staring at him with growing incredulity and anger, the barking laugh that bubbled up having nothing to do with mirth. "You think that an apology is going to get me to forgive you?" Evidence. "After all these years, you waltz back and think some fancy words will undo hurt?" She shook her head. "I hate to break it to you, but it won't work." Let him explain himself, Hermione. "You're going to have to do something more than that." Give him a chance, at least.

"I know that how I treated you wasn't optimal―"

"Oh, stop it! Stop with the speeches," she hissed. "Tell me how you really feel, dammit. Be honest for once! Stop your posturing and talk to me!

He fixed her with that damned smile, so false and yet so genuine. Could she even tell which was which anymore? "Hermione―"

Once again, she viciously shot him down. The urge to strike him was overwhelming, growing with every second she kept her eyes on him. "I don't have time for you to come here and waste it with practised, empty words. I'm not your mirror, goddamit."

A frosty silence fell, thick in the air. For a moment, he sat there. Did nothing, said nothing. If there was a war going on inside his head, she couldn't tell. His face gave nothing away, nothing at all. What she wouldn't give to see what was going on inside. No longer could she tell if things were real or not. Was he being genuine?

She waited.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, another one of those damned smiles creeping up, before she snarled out, "Don't."

The smile slid away. "I'm the God of Lies, not truth." The words sounded choked, forced, unfamiliar.

"Then you should leave."

"I...I don't think I want to." In that moment he sounded so small she thought it must have been true.

For a long while, he sat with his head bowed and hands clasped. When he looked up, the shadows under his eyes had never been deeper. "What else do you want me to say? I've apologised, I don't...I don't know what else to give you.

"Should I retell how my father favours Thor? Or how my mother is my only confidant? That she is the one who bade I come back here to confront you? Trust me, this isn't where I wish to be." He was silent for a moment that seemed to drag on for hours. "I must admit to myself, though, that at the end of the day I do miss how our friendship used to be."

He looked away, utterly uncomfortable.

Hermione bit her lip. He suddenly looked like a completely different person. A real vulnerability swirled around him, not the false fragility of a trickster god.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him. At first, she just wanted him to hurt. To feel the same pain she felt, to feel anything at all. She'd wanted to make a god bleed, and would have laughed at the crimson coating her hand. Wanted it so badly she never noticed he already was.

"Same," she whispered just as scared to admit it to herself as he was. Scared that if she let him back in the whole process would repeat itself. And maybe, just maybe, that's what he was scared of too.

"Do you...do you want to...talk about it, perhaps?" Loki's voice was so awkward, so unsure that Hermione's lips began to twitch at the corners.

"Maybe that could help?" To her surprise, her own voice mirrored his. Uncomfortable, stilted, in the middle of not knowing what to say.

"Well, go ahead, then. I'll listen to whatever you have to say."

She opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out. She could hear crickets in her mind, see Loki waiting for her response. In the end, she sighed and said:

"Look, things won't be the same as they were before. They can't be. We'll have to take it slow." She took a deep breath, burying that ugly monster rearing its head. "But, I would be willing to start anew if you would like. So, nice to meet you, Loki Odinson."

She stuck out her hand. Loki took it in a firm grip. Neither of them shook. Their hands remained locked, a fierce gesture, a gateway to many promises, many threats. The motion to restart their relationship and lead them into the future.

"Nice to meet you too, Hermione Granger."

And so they talked, awkward as can be, until the sun began peeking over the horizon. The sounds of a disgruntled waking Harry could be heard through the silencing ward. Loki offered a hasty goodbye, whisking himself off into the distance in the blink of an eye and a promise to return the following night.

As she returned to the tent, she couldn't help a small smile.

The first step to fixing everything, the first stitch in the gaping wound, was complete. It would take a long time, but maybe things could go back to being better. The weeks after would prove this and she couldn't help but feel a small warmth in her chest rekindling with every conversation they had.

---

"I'm going to have to leave for an extended period of time. Perhaps three years. My father has been catching onto my frequent visits here, even when I use pathways that aren't the Bifrost. The last thing I want to do is lead him back to you." Loki stood in front of her, months later, as if he was delivering news of a death in the family.

Hermione barely reacted. Typical. Just as they were beginning to seriously reconnect, something like this came up. But, after all she had told him these last months, she understood. With how often he'd been coming to visit, it was a miracle this hadn't happened sooner.

"That's okay. I understand how things can be. Not your exact circumstances," she hurriedly said, "but those things can be hard." She took a step back. "I'll see you again one day, Loki Odinson. But understand this. If you ever betray me again, I will turn you into a beatle, understood? The threat still stands."

Loki chuckled. "Touche, little witch. Touche."

He disappeared in a flash of green light and Hermione smiled.

To the future.

---

I'm finally biting the bullet and posting my story. I've been working on this for so long, and am so excited to share it. I dearly hope you enjoyed this chapter, even though I know the story type isn't for everyone.

I will update on the first of every month. The next chapter will release on January 1st, and so on from there. Chapter are...big, to say in the least.

Anyway, until next time :D