On February 2nd, 1981, Loki made landfall on an empty field Midgard. Sunlight glinted off melting patches of snow, and the wet grass yielded beneath his feet. In the distance, a few cows looked up, then resumed grazing, unconcerned. It had been centuries since Loki had last visited this remote corner of the galaxy, but his sources on other realms had concurred. The disturbance had started here.
One of the features that had made Midgard unpalatable to other realms in the first place had been the lack of easy transportation between provinces. Vanaheim had great winged beasts to carry travelers between civilized locales; Nornheim, local dimension gates. Both Asgard and Jotunheim had a web of magic just beneath the surface, allowing practitioners of magic to jump from any one point to any other. If Loki looked closely, he could see a similar structure beneath Midgard's own skin, but it was cool and hostile to his touch. He rolled his eyes. The roads looked well-paved, at least.
The road was quiet, but for the occasional passing vehicle. The first had caught him unawares, roaring down the road like a Nidhoggr, but once he realized their purpose, he was able to board a communal one invisibly. He had disembarked at a quiet station with a series of ladder-like tracks set into the ground, where he was soon treated to a different type of vehicle, which ran faster and stopped less. This too, he rode until he reached a sprawling metropolis.
Midgard had certainly changed since his last visit, Loki noted. The city around him bore a superficial resemblance to Asgard, with impossibly tall buildings competing for dominance over the horizon. By comparison, Manhattan seemed a dull facsimile of the golden halls; grayer, hungry, begrimed. Midgarians rushed about, with so many of them pressed so closely together that Loki had the impression of ants escaping a crumbling hive.
They passed him with barely a glance. A beggar proffered his cup and Loki turned away, disgusted. They were so weak, every last one of them, and so ignorant. What power could they possibly have?
Clenching his hands into fists, he turned off the busy street, following his shadow as the short day waned. He saw hardly a glint of magic in the buildings and crowds, let alone the planet-strength force he'd envisioned.
At the edge of the city, the noise and rush subsided. A man sat on a bench by the river, looking dully tranquil.
"Mind if I join you?" Loki asked, approximating regional dialect for the river-gazer.
"Sure," the man said. He was pudgy and unshaven, with large, circular glasses. At his feet was a small pack.
"Thank you," Loki said, flashing a smile as he took his seat on the bench. "I'm not from around here, you know."
"Yeah, couldn't tell," the man said sarcastically.
Loki flashed a smile. "I actually came to investigate that disturbance last week," he said.
"Disturbance… you mean that family?" The man scratched his head. "Terrible news, but it's the same everywhere. Fires, murders… you're never really safe."
The man fell into a pensive silence as Loki absorbed this comment. Crime was endemic every realm he had visited, though Heimdell's service did tend to drive down the numbers in Asgard. Still, this told him nothing about the quality of the newfound magic here. He decided to be more direct.
"I was referring more to disturbances of the magical kind."
"Um, what?" the man said.
"Sorcery, alchemy, seidhr," Loki said.
"Very funny," the man said weakly, edging away. His face radiated a sudden nervous comprehension, mixed with pity.
Loki stood up too, snapping his fingers and conjuring a small green fire. The man froze, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.
"I am referring to this, Midgardian," he said, forcing a polite tone. "Have you seen anything of the sort— any workings, conjurations, or spells? Anything you couldn't do a week ago?"
The man shook his head slowly, entranced.
Loki gritted his teeth. Typical, that Midgard should come across one of the most powerful forces in the nine realms and have no concept of the thing. As the Midgardian watched the fire dance across the surface of his right hand, Loki palmed a dagger with his left, neatly planting it in the man's chest. The man stepped back, gasping, then buckled, the fire giving his face ghastly hues as he took great, gulping, ragged breaths. The river glinted, then faded to black as the light went out.
Loki took several swipes of the dagger on the grass, both to clean it and to get his frustration under control. How dare the man look at him with such scorn!
He vanished the body and shuffled through the man's bag, pulling out a pair of muddy shoes, which he also vanished. There was also a kind of strange machine, a small leather container with native currency enclosed, a lifelike portrait of a young woman, a small blue book, and a "British Airways" ticket, dated February third.
He turned the ticket over in his fingers, considering. He wondered how likely it was that the man's disappearance would be noticed. Perhaps it wouldn't. Hadn't the man himself said something to that effect? Fires, murders… he'd said, It's the same everywhere. At the same time, Loki was alone and friendless, with no idea of the Midgardians' crime-solving capabilities. Moreover, the residents of this city had plainly never heard of magic. Traveling to this other province might bring him wiser men. And if it just happened to entail leaving this shabby mock of a city, well, that was only a bonus.
Just over a day later, Loki walked the streets of yet another Midgardian city, disregarding the stares his black and green attire was drawing. After discovering the purpose of the passport books, he had successfully boarded the plane as the man he had killed, but he saw little reason to wear a disguise out on the streets. No one here reported to Odin, and so what if they did? He hadn't done anything too illegal yet.
This city, like Manhattan, seemed the most hopelessly confusing arrangement of mortar and flesh imaginable. Unlike Manhattan, the lack of order seemed almost by design; Loki wondered why this province hadn't utilized a grid pattern. He needed some height on the city, he decided. He heard some pedestrians cry out as he transformed into a bird and shot towards an immense and ugly tower at the city's center.
He had taken the form of a sharp-eyed hunting bird, and hadn't even landed on the rail when something bright caught his eye. Not the greater gold of a certain swath of London, or the little star-like pinpricks of the people wandering the streets, this was a distant glimmer in the sky, a temporary, bright, and malignant one. It was as if someone had raised a banner for him, albeit in the form of a rather macabre snake and skull.
Loki swooped off the building. The rest of the city could wait.
It took him half an hour to reach the grassier neighborhood, full of squat, ugly houses. A quick cycle around the banner proved the residence below to be under attack. Two individuals knelt, fear-frozen, on the ground, surrounded by a ring of Midgardians in dark cloaks and masks.
The man was enormous, his bulk almost concealing the baby in his arms. His wife, by contrast, was thin as a rail, her face soaked and red as she clutched at his beefy shoulder.
Loki dipped closer.
"—where he is!" one of the masked men snarled.
"I don't know!" the woman said frantically. "We're not close— I didn't even know she had a baby until a few months ago. Please- you have to believe me!"
"What about that baby?" one of the masked men said eagerly. "Maybe the Dark Lord will reward us if we bring it along."
Loki's ears sharpened. So there was a leader?
The couple's protestations grew even more fervent.
"No, please—"
"—Not my baby!" the woman wailed.
"Don't be a fool, Nott," a drawling voice interrupted. "The Dark Lord doesn't want a muggle."
A couple of people sniggered.
"Silence," said a haughtier, more commanding voice. Then, turning to the couple on the ground, he added, "Some pain might loosen their tongues. Crucio."
The masked men cackled as the woman collapsed to the ground, screaming.
Loki shifted from foot to foot, a little discomfited. He didn't think he'd balk at torture, if it meant achieving his goals, but that didn't make it a comfortable experience to witness.
Loud cracks sounded in the air as five or six other berobed Midgardians appeared, causing the masked group to break rank and start shooting bolts of colored light at the attackers. Though Loki was confused by their methods, he was gratified to finally confirm the presence of large-scale magic on this idiotic realm.
He flew down to the street, unnoticed, and shifted back. It was time to make his entrance.
The five newcomers were being driven back, one wounded. He walked up to their side and unfurled a particularly detailed illusion, something he rarely had the chance to do with enemies wiser to his tricks. As it was, Midgardians on both sides did a double-take to find themselves transported to the edge of the rainbow bridge. This illusion was one of Loki's best, incorporating gravity and temperature adjustments to complement the visual confusion. In a moment of inspiration, Loki had also made the bridge narrower and tilted the illusion ever so slightly for maximum disorientation. He flung out the daggers between his fingers, feeling them connect with solid thuds into the necks of several masked minions as they recovered from their bewilderment. The commander looked disheveled, long blond hair slipping past his hood. He was hissing at his allies, "It's an illusion, you fools! Shields up!"
Having been caught out, Loki let the illusion begin drifting, land and space altering confusingly on a repeated track, and set off some bright, noisy flashes, keeping his concentration on the magic while his fingers unleashed more daggers. The mens' newly erected shields successfully deflected red bolts but for the most part let the daggers pass. A green light hit him in the leg and he volleyed with another knife, frowning when it glanced off the man's shield. He switched his knives to bone. The dagger stuck and the man fell, cursing.
Five and six were down now, out of an estimated fourteen. The attackers at his side, though equally disoriented, had taken heart and were slinging crimson bolts into the crowd with increased vigor.
Loki saw the one who had protested the baby's abduction dodge one of his daggers and fall to a stray bolt. The masked men clumsily re-commenced shouting and slinging green spells at him, or now, at the place he'd left the illusion of his body.
The Asgardians had never liked that trick.
Laughing, Loki ducked invisibly amongst the group, stabbing a couple more in the back while dodging red bolts from the ones on his side. His opponents were panicking now, and one or two disappeared with a crack. The leader pressed his fingers to his forearm, awakening a thick magic that made Loki tense. But after a moment, when nothing happened, Loki resumed his assault. His opponents seemed to have caught wind of his fake double, so he vanished it and created another in the opposite direction, investing it with the focus to appear as though it was shooting daggers and dodging, at the expense of the detail of some of his larger illusion.
The masked men were down to near equal numbers with the attackers, so Loki chanced dropping the illusion to cast a rather nasty working that seared the vocal chords of anyone caught in its range. This meant dropping even his invisibility for focus, but by that time none of the group was in a fit position to retaliate.
"Wow," a female voice exclaimed a couple of meters away, out of his spell's range. "Who are you?"
Loki turned to respond, then tensed as a dark magic flared in his periphery. A moment later, a tall, pale man seemed to burst into existence before them, bearing another stick in his thin fingers.
"So you've incapacitated my death eaters?" he asked, glancing down at the masked men dispassionately. "You'll not defeat me, whoever you are."
Loki licked his lips in anticipation. So this was the group's true leader? Excellent.
He flung a dagger at his opponent just to test his reflexes, but it was lazily intercepted with a piece of summoned debris.
"Has Dumbledore finally given in to murder?" the man said in a softly mocking voice. "How far to fall for our Champion of the Light."
Loki sidestepped his green spell, returning with a blast of red fire.
"I'm afraid you have me mistaken," Loki said, smirking. "I've never met your Dumbledore."
The man shrewdly shot a couple more spells in his direction- one of which traveled far less visibly than the others, and which Loki was forced to disperse with a shield. He volleyed with a bolt of fire.
"Have we been introduced?" the dark lord said with a roguish smile. On a younger man, it would have appeared charming. On the dark lord, the stretching of his lips only made him appear more snake-like.
"Not personally, no," Loki said, pulling a glass ball from his pocket, activating it with the press of his second and fourth fingers. Accounting for distances, he threw it in an arc, waiting three seconds before the pressurized spell exploded it into sharp fragments. The dark lord should have thickened his shield as the glass penetrated, but surprisingly, he dropped it completely, instead conjuring a wind to send the fragments back towards him.
Loki did the sensible thing and shielded himself. He heard shouts of alarm behind him from the Midgardians whose side he was ostensibly on.
"I am Lord Voldemort," the man said, waving his conductor (from the magic he'd seen emanating from it at various times, Loki had to assume) and conjuring a giant snake.
"Attack him," he hissed, in a tone that seemed to strike fear into the hearts of allies and enemies alike.
Loki wondered what would happen if he instructed the apparently cognizant snake to simply stand down, but decided it wasn't worth the time.
"I'm Loki," he said, dispatching the snake with a bone knife. "The one who shall kill you."
Lord Voldemort laughed. "Avada kedavra avada kedavra avada kedavra."
Loki dodged two of the spells, but the third caught him in the arm, stinging as he felt a tiny bit of something leave his body.
He let the knife fly towards Lord Voldemort's shocked face. An enormous pulse of energy radiated from the dark lord, momentarily forcing Loki back, before the sorcerer disappeared without a sound.
Loki cursed. In the heat of the battle, he hadn't thought to track the man. Likely, 'Lord Voldemort' was recuperating somewhere and would return to fight another day.
"That was amazing!" someone shouted behind him. Loki blinked, finding his five allies standing and mostly intact. Apparently, someone had found a way to deal with the glass.
The one who had spoken walked up to him, extending a hand. "Sirius Black," he said, pumping Loki's arm up and down enthusiastically. "Where did you learn to fight like that? And all wandlessly, too?"
"Self-training," Loki said dryly, extracting his hand. Secretly, it was hard not to feel gratified, even if that had been the effect he had intended to produce.
"Well, we're very thankful," a man of about the same age said, shooting Black a stern look. "Remus Lupin," the man said, extending a hand.
Loki smiled, clasping the man's hand firmly then turning his attention to the others.
"Frank and Alice Longbottom," said the one who'd congratulated him earlier, presumably Alice. Her hazel eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "And that's Marlene McKinnon," she added, jerking a thumb in the direction of a taller, darker woman who was nursing her arm.
"Yeah, yeah, introductions," Sirius Black said impatiently. "Longbottoms, can you go deal with that lot?" he pointed to the house. At some point, the victims of the attack must have taken refuge inside.
"Memory wipe too?" Alice called back.
A pop sounded behind her.
Black nodded resolutely. "Yeah, better had," he said.
Loki raised his eyebrows. They could 'wipe' peoples' memories here?
"Excuse me, Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet," a bleach-blond woman interrupted, tucking a chain into her crocodile-skin handbag. "Is it true that you are responsible for the singlehanded defeat of fourteen death eaters and the repelling of Lord Voldemort himself?"
Black stepped back, a look of distaste marring his features.
"How did you get here so quickly?" he demanded. "The battle just ended a couple of minutes ago."
"Oh, friends in high places," Skeeter said airily. "Now, I don't believe I've ever met you," she purred.
"Skeeter's the seamiest of seamy journalists," Black said, trying to pull him away.
"Nonsense," Skeeter said, rolling her eyes. "Sirius here hasn't liked me ever since that teensy article about his family life rolled out. Now how would you feel about an interview, Mr. …"
"Loki," Loki offered, smiling pleasantly. "I have a few minutes to talk."
"Excellent!" Skeeter said, pulling a quill and pad out of her purse.
Surprisingly, Black stayed by his side, though he still looked furious. Lupin had cast a silvery spell and workers were beginning to pop in, taking care of the survivors. Not a few of them were throwing incredulous glances over their shoulders.
"So where are you from, Loki?" Skeeter asked. "The ministry? Or are you one of Dumbledore's vigilantes?"
"Oh, an independent interest," Loki said, meeting her gaze forwardly.
"Intriguing," she said, taking it down.
"The war with You-Know-Who has been raging for three years," Rita continued, sounding incongruously thrilled. "Where have you been all this time?"
"Norway," Loki lied smoothly.
"Are you Norweigan then?" Skeeter asked. "Why did you decide to come to England?"
"I thought the war stood in need of better leadership," Loki responded. "Black, I assume you'll be returning to report?"
"Er, yeah," Black said, looking surprised, though Loki didn't see why. If Black was truly the leader of his motley group, there'd be no resistance to speak of. He was no match for the dark lord.
"Excellent," Loki said. "Thank you for your interview, Lady Skeeter. I look forward to seeing it in press."
Skeeter looked a bit annoyed at being cut-off, but smiled graciously, flashing gold fillings, before she went to pester the disgruntled-looking McKinnon.
"Right," Sirius said, extending a dog-whistle to Loki. "Hold on."
Bemused, Loki grasped the whistled and then stumbled as his spine jerked forward, the world spinning crazily around him. He landed on all fours on a stone floor, retching.
"What was that?" he demanded, getting to his feet.
"Portkey," Black said. "Er, sorry. Some people have a bad reaction."
Loki shot him a dirty look and drew himself up. "I'm fine," he said. "Where are we?"
"You wanted to see Dumbledore," Black said with a shrug. "This is his school."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore is a student?" he asked disbelievingly.
"What? Of course not," Black said. "Dumbledore's the headmaster. His office is this way."
It is well-documented fact on Asgard that in the especially clever, or witty, or charmed, there can sometimes be found eyes that cannot help but reflect a little of the inside iridescence, and throw around a revealing brilliance absent in the merely average. Odin had been one such person, before the Jotun war. Albus Dumbledore was another.
"Lemon Sherbet?" Dumbledore asked, breaking the silence that had fallen since they'd locked gazes.
"No thanks," Loki said, rubbing his temples. It was a wonder anyone could concentrate with such an irregular medley of hums, tweets, and brrrrings filling the room.
"I'll take," Black said cheerily.
As Black explained what he knew, Loki regarded the castle around him. The stones were absolutely brimming with a magic that warmed him where it touched. He had not erred. There was power in this place.
"—ve done everyone an invaluable service today," Dumbledore was saying kindly. "I know you called yourself an independent interest, but I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining our defense group?"
Loki was decidedly uninterested, because joining would mean sacrificing whatever goodwill he'd gained in this realm to Dumbledore's apparently considerable influence, but he was curious about the so-called 'Champion of the Light.'
"What do you plan to do if you win?" he asked.
"Do?" Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows. "Why, return to teaching my school in peace, I presume."
Loki narrowed his eyes. He was sure there was more to it than that; no one turned down power that easily.
"I'm afraid I have to decline," he said with feigned regret. "I've set my sights rather higher than that. But you're welcome to be my ally in the Dark Lord's defeat."
The implication that he could defeat Lord Voldemort, with or without assistance, hung heavy in the air.
"That depends," Dumbledore said, his eyes suddenly looking very hard, "on what kind of leader I would be helping to install in his place."
Did he suspect? Loki's mind spun as he groped for words to soothe, to remedy.
"I don't plan to sit quietly after the war, if that's your wish," Loki said. "But I hardly think you'll want to hinder my defeat of your resident menace. As for afterward, well, I'll more favorably look upon those who've been kind to me."
"I see," Dumbledore said, his brow tightening. "In that case, I will consider your request."
Black had a wicked grin on his face. "You know, it takes some pretty special skills in defense to repel You-Know-Who himself. And we've had such a lacking of Defense professors ever since Gideon Prewett. Don't you think, Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore chuckled, and the atmosphere of the room seemed to lighten. "Despite Mr. Black's meddling approach to our current staffing crisis, his supposition is not incorrect. Would you be interested in working here as a Defense Professor for the upper years? Currently, the position is on rotation amongst the staff."
Loki considered it, but not for very long. The magic of Hogwarts called to him, and nowhere could be better for learning these Midgardian wizards' strange magic and gathering his army.
"Very well," Loki said. "We'll negotiate on the contract."
A/N: As a relatively late fanfiction writer, I stand on the shoulders of giants. Thanks to JK and the many, many amazing fanfic authors out there.