Notes: Letters arrive, Loki goes shopping, and eavesdroppers hear no good.

Warnings: More kid-angst.

Chapter Two

Thor didn't tell on Loki. The brothers had very little to say to each other for the rest of their holiday, but luckily nobody noticed except Bindi the house-elf, and she could be trusted not to say anything. Loki spent the rest of their fortnight in Elder Cross drawing, and reading old books that had been in the house since Dad was his age, while Thor went off with his friends. Probably their parents were so glad they weren't actively fighting they wouldn't have said anything if they had noticed something was wrong.

Loki was grateful to get back to the big terraced house in London a few days later, where it was easier to avoid his brother. After a day or two, Thor seemed to forget what Loki had done, and his silence toward Loki felt like ordinary disregard once again.

He didn't get the owl for his birthday. He was given a book by his parents, a really good one about magical creatures. Thor gave him a set of paints that changed colours according to what you were painting, so he could get the streaks of brown just right on the picture he made of his- of the- short-eared owl. He wasn't surprised, or even very disappointed about not getting the owl. He hadn't asked for her, he had just sort of... wished.

And anyway, he had been saving his spending money, so maybe he could buy the owl for himself, when he went to get his Hogwarts things. Thor had gotten an owl his first year at Hogwarts, so maybe Loki would be allowed to have one, too, if he paid for her with his own money.

If he got to go to Hogwarts at all. He tried not to think about that.

Three days after his birthday- on Wednesday, July eighteenth, at breakfast time- a big eagle owl landed on the ledge outside the dining room window and tapped on it with its beak.

"That'll be my Hogwarts letter- our letters," Thor corrected himself hastily. He excused himself past Bindi, carrying in a tray of sweet rolls, went over to the window, and lifted the bottom half. The owl stepped inside, and Thor unfastened the roll of paper attached to his leg. The owl promptly turned and flew away through the open window. Loki held his breath as Thor closed it and unrolled the message.

There were two envelopes. Loki was no longer holding his breath, he just couldn't breathe at all, not even a little. Thor looked at the top envelope, held it in his hand as he flipped the second toward Loki, casually, as though nothing wonderful or surprising was happening. It landed face-down next to Loki's plate.

There was a purple wax seal with a coat of arms on it: a lion, an eagle, a serpent and a badger, all poised around a letter H.

Loki made himself inhale a little through his nose, and then he turned over the letter. It was addressed to himself, in emerald ink. It was his, really his.

Surely Hogwarts never sent letters to anyone to tell them that they couldn't come?

Thor had ripped his letter open, was already reading a list out loud to their parents, talking about the books and other supplies he would need for this year. Loki wiped his butter knife and used it to ease open the wax seal- it cracked anyway, right across the lion- and then with clammy hands he pulled open the flap and drew out the letter.

Dear Mr. (Loki) Odinson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

Loki put the letter down on the table, and finally took a real breath.

~oOo~

On Saturday, Mum was going to take them to Diagon Alley to buy their supplies for the year. They had the Floo powder and were just about to step into the drawing-room fireplace when Mum's pocket watch let out a chime. As she pulled it out to look at it, the hands moved to stand at St. Mungo's, the name of the magical hospital where she was a senior healer, to show that she was needed there immediately.

"Oh, drat," she muttered, looking at the watch. "Boys, I'll have to- "

"Of course," Loki said quickly, to show he wasn't disappointed. Of course Mum had to go if she was needed. It was just... he had been imagining them all at Diagon Alley together, Mum and Thor and himself, walking around the shops, and choosing his things, and talking-

"I can look after him," Thor spoke up, and Loki looked at him in disbelieving pleasure. "You go ahead. We'll be fine."

Mum looked relieved. "Thank you, Thor, that would be lovely. Just ask for the things to be billed to your father and delivered here. And have a wonderful day." She had started to step into the fireplace when Loki remembered.

"Mum, can I buy an owl? Please?" He had wanted to show her his owl, so Mum could see how pretty she was, and then tell her he had the money all saved and ask if he could buy her. He couldn't buy something as important as an owl without asking permission first.

"Oh, Loki- we'll ask your father if you can have Archimedes, all right?" she replied distractedly. Archimedes was the tawny owl who still sometimes carried letters to their oldest family friends. He was older than Loki and quite shabby, had taken Loki's letter back to Hogwarts accepting his place, and then slept for two days on his return to London. He wasn't anything like as beautiful as Loki's- as the short-eared owl- but Loki swallowed his disappointment, reminding himself that he and Archimedes at least knew and liked each other already.

"St. Mungo's!" Mum said loudly, casting down a handful of Floo powder, and vanished in a flash of green.

"Come on, then," Thor urged. "Got your list and everything?"

"Yes," Loki said. It was a bit crumpled from being under his pillow the last two nights, but it was in his pocket all right. He beamed at Thor, excited at the prospect of a morning with his big brother, just the two of them.

"Okay, then. Follow me," Thor said, and stepped into the fireplace.

Loki tumbled out of the fireplace in Flourish and Blott's bookshop, right behind Thor, but his brother wasn't waiting for him. Instead, Thor was across the store talking to Fandral and Sif. They glanced up when Loki emerged, then went back to their conversation as Loki came sidling over. Loki waited for a minute or two, while his brother and his friends talked about Gryffindor's Quidditch team and whether Sif would try out this year. Finally, Loki spoke up.

"Thor? Can you help me with my books?" He hated the little bleat in his voice, but not as much as he hated the annoyed looks that crossed Sif and Fandral's faces at the sight of him.

Thor looked impatient. "You have the list. All you have to do is go pick them off the shelf and take them to the counter. You can do that by yourself, surely?"

"Okay," Loki said uncertainly. "And then after, we can go around to the other shops together- ?"

"You don't need me- you know where to get everything," Thor pointed out.

"But you told Mum- " Loki began, heart sinking.

"But you told Mum- " Fandral sing-songed.

"Oh, come on," Sif said sharply. "You're not a baby, are you?"

"No," Loki defended himself, voice shaky. He looked at Thor, suddenly realizing what was behind his brother's generous offer. "You wanted to meet them all along, didn't you?"

"What does it matter?" Thor snapped. "You want to get your stuff, right?"

"And then you can go moon over your owl," Sif snickered. Loki winced, glancing at his brother, who refused to meet his eyes. His parents hadn't paid any attention to his talk about the short-eared owl, but apparently Thor had, and he and his friends had been laughing at him.

"But we can have lunch together, right?" Loki asked, trying not to beg. "After we get all our things. At the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Sure, of course," Thor said dismissively, and turned back to his friends. Loki slunk away to the shelves to find his set textbooks.

It wasn't so bad, after he left Flourish and Blott's, once he was out of sight of Thor and his friends. He walked down the street with his list clutched in his hand, planning what to look for next and watching the shoppers passing by.

The street was incredibly crowded, even for Saturday. Of course, all the Hogwarts letters must have gone out this week, and everyone was here to find their school supplies. Loki had come along last year, when Thor bought his things for third year- Thor's first and second year he'd gone alone with first Dad and then Mum, a special day out- and he recognized the Muggle-born first years by their expressions of bewilderment and fascination, the parents as wide-eyed as the children.

He paid special attention to these thrilled-looking families, the ones who had obviously never seen Diagon Alley before, and to anyone else the right age to be first-years. He peeked at them hungrily out of the corners of his eyes, trying not to be caught staring. In a few weeks these would be his classmates. Some of them would be his housemates (in Gryffindor, he told himself stubbornly.) And surely- surely at least one or two of them would want to be his friends?

He watched with envy as a couple of boys his age- one with a mess of black curls nearly as dark as Loki's own hair, the other fair with a snub nose and glasses- went chattering past carrying packages. A tall dark-haired wizard hailed them from outside Quality Quidditch Supplies and the boys ran over to join him, looking at the newest racing broomsticks displayed in the window.

Knowing his brother and his friends were probably in that very shop- Thor had been a Beater on the Gryffindor team for the last two years, and was promised a new broomstick for his fourteenth birthday in August- Loki changed directions and went into Madam Malkin's, to be measured for his school robes.

After his robes were ordered, Loki stopped in the street to consult his list again. The cauldron was easy: pewter, standard size 2. Potage's was selling so many today the witch behind the counter just called to him, "First year, dear?" and reached down the correct item almost without looking at it.

The scales, phials, and telescope offered a little more choice: the scales had to be brass, but there were several kinds, and Loki found himself worrying that he would choose the wrong one. He was dithering, and wishing Thor was there to advise him, when a tall blond boy, fifth-year at least, probably sixth, leaned over and indicated a set.

"That's what I've got," he said. "Bought them in first year and I've never needed to replace them, they've been fine for all my work so far."

"Good thing, too," said a short dark-haired boy about the same age as the blond. "You being such a thrifty bloke."

"Tight," said the blond boy. "The word you're looking for is tight. And sentimental- why would I ever replace a nice faithful set of scales if I didn't have to?"

The short boy laughed and turned back to examine a set of silver scales. The blond smiled at Loki and went to join him. Loki picked up the scales the older boy had recommended and carried them to the counter.

Potion phials were easy, of course. You could have crystal or glass, and there was little difference between them except that crystal was fancier and more expensive. Loki had already decided he would have plain glass, so he was picking up a boxed set when he noticed a girl about his age studying the phials with the same concentration he had the scales.

"Do you think crystal is worth the extra money?" she asked, giving him a friendly look.

"Um?" Loki said, startled, and then blushed. The girl didn't seem to notice his awkwardness, and went back to concentrating on the displayed phials. Loki pretended to look at them as well, but he was paying more attention to the girl, who had dark skin and curly, nearly-black hair. She was, he thought, probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen, prettier even than Bronwyn from the Muggle school, whose pale blue eyes and thick black eyelashes reminded him of the short-eared owl. This girl had long black eyelashes, too, surrounding brown eyes nearly as dark as her hair, and she looked at Loki as if his opinion really interested her.

"The crystal ones are so beautiful," she said. "But it's probably a waste of money- "

Her voice trailed off. Loki thought she should have the crystal phials if she wanted them- it was suddenly terribly important to him, that she have exactly the ones she wanted.

"Well," he said, "they're heavier than the glass ones, aren't they?"

The girl cut a glance at him. "Yes, I guess so."

"And that means they won't break as easily," Loki went on quickly, the justification building itself in his mind as he spoke. "I'll probably have to replace these glass phials at least once- " he probably wouldn't, actually, Loki was extremely careful with his possessions- "but if you buy those you'll have them all seven years, most likely. So you really won't end up spending any more on phials than I will."

The girl smiled at him. "That's right! And anyway, if I pay the difference myself, it won't even matter, will it?"

"Yes, exactly," Loki said, smiling back and feeling even more awkward. The girl picked up a box of crystal phials.

"I'm Annie," she said matter-of-factly. "You're in first year, too?"

"Yes," Loki replied. "I'm Loki."

"Hi, Loki. Are your parents here with you?"

"No. Um. My brother- " Loki glanced around helplessly.

"I'm here with my sister," Annie said. "Our parents had to work today. She went to get Owl Treats, and then we're going to buy my wand next. Do you have yours?" Loki shook his head, and Annie said, "Why don't you come with us? I'm so excited to have my own wand, aren't you?"

"Yes," Loki replied, but it was not really the prospect of a wand that made his heart beat a little faster as he followed Annie out the door.

Annie's sister, Becky, was in fifth year and a new prefect. As such, she took a conscientious interest in Loki shopping all alone, and seemed quite happy to let him come along to Ollivander's wand shop with them.

Loki had never been inside Ollivander's before this, since the proprietor did not encourage browsing by those who were not yet candidates for a wand of their own. The spindly customer's chair in the front blinked into three as Loki and the sisters walked in, and they all sat down to wait for Mr. Ollivander to come help them.

The first wand Annie touched- pear wood and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, flexible- cast a sparkle of gold through the dusty air of the shop, and Becky let out a cheer. Loki wondered if Annie would be disappointed at not getting to try any other wands, but it was obvious from her expression that she hardly even wanted to give this wand back long enough to pay for it and have it wrapped.

"Pear responds well to the warm-hearted and generous," said Mr. Ollivander, and his eerie silver eyes were almost warm, too, as he looked at Annie. Becky cast a proud glance at her blushing little sister and then, even though their business was done, both girls waited for Loki to try his first wand.

The first attempt, a blackthorn wand with dragon heartstring, was silent in Loki's hand, as was the second, chestnut and also with dragon heartstring.

"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander murmured. He looked around among the stacked boxes, his right hand ghosting over them without touching until he found the one he sought. "Try this one: dogwood and unicorn hair, nine and a quarter inches, whippy." He opened the box and extended it to Loki.

As his fingers closed around the dogwood wand, Loki felt warmth and a sort of tingling sensation through his hand and wrist. He raised the wand and golden light sparkled through the shop. Annie let out an "ooh," and Loki gently moved the wand from side to side, watching the sparkling light. Then it went quietly out, but he could feel the wand like a living thing in his hand.

"Very good," said Mr. Ollivander, and Loki surrendered the wand to be boxed and wrapped. Then he and the sisters left the shop, Annie clutching the box with her wand in both hands, Loki feeling a little bereft at having to leave his behind, to be delivered as Mum had instructed.

Annie and her sister were finished with their shopping and ready to go home. Annie enthusiastically promised to look for Loki on the train platform, and then they hurried away. Loki remembered he had not bought his telescope yet, so he asked advice of the witch in the shop and chose a collapsible brass one that could be mounted or held in your hand. After that he drifted into Eeylops for a little while, yearning over his- the- owl.

Then he went back to the Leaky Cauldron to wait for Thor.

Twenty minutes later he was still waiting, and by now very hungry, when Tom the barman spotted him and came over.

"Are you still here?" he asked in surprise.

Loki blinked. "Yes. I'm meeting my brother. I've finished my shopping, and we're going to have lunch together."

Tom looked embarrassed. "Well, he didn't say anything about that when he spoke to me. His friend Fandral asked him for lunch. He said you'd get along home on your own, and he asked me to tell you if I saw you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you sooner."

"Oh," Loki said, feeling humiliated and stupid. "I must have got mixed up- Thank you," he said, with all the dignity he could muster past a sudden lump in his throat. "I'll just be- "

"Do you want to order something to eat?" Tom asked, all sympathy. Loki shook his head.

"Not hungry, thanks," he managed, which was suddenly true, and fled.

~oOo~

Loki tumbled out the drawing-room fireplace at home, grateful the house would be as good as empty. Mum would be at St. Mungo's for hours yet. Bindi the house-elf was probably in her own little parlour in an upstairs crawlspace, since none of the family was expected for lunch- as a free elf she was of course entitled to her own free time to spend as she wished, just like her wages.

Loki knew the story by heart, how Dad had sat her down when he inherited the house, explained that wizards taking advantage of other magical creatures was a bad thing for everyone, and offered her a proper job in the house and a pink knitted cardigan. Bindi had taken some time to get used to the idea, but thirty years later she was proud as proud to be employed, to have set work hours and her very own money- some of which she spent on her very own television license. She liked to watch Muggle sports and try to guess their rules, sometimes inviting Loki, who could fit into her crawlspace, to join her. They had quickly figured out show-jumping, which they now watched as often as possible because of the horses, but cricket still had both of them flummoxed. Every Christmas Bindi would bake a special batch of shortbread for the family, by hand like a Muggle, and the family would give her another knitted cardigan or bobble hat.

Loki loved Bindi as much as he probably loved anyone, but he did not want to see her right now.

Thor would be back in time to pretend he had spent the whole morning with his little brother, Loki thought bitterly. And Dad had probably gone to the Ministry, as he often did on Saturdays when the family was occupied. Loki would be able to get to his own room without being seen, and right now that was all he thought he could ask for.

He was on the first-floor landing when he heard his father's voice through his open study door.

"I certainly see no reason to indulge any of this pure-blood nonsense," Dad was saying, in the gruff voice that meant his patience was nearly at an end. "There's no need to pass any legislation at all to protect our interests, and plenty of reason not to."

"I agree," said a second voice, one Loki recognized as belonging to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic. Mr. Shacklebolt was a lot younger than Dad, which might have created problems for some senior wizards. Not Dad: he said now that he was getting close to retirement, it was time for more energetic witches and wizards to take their places. Always providing, of course, they met Dad's standards of good sense and competence, which Mr. Shacklebolt did.

The Minister went on, "I'll appreciate your speaking up on that point, in the session this week."

"Of course I will," Dad agreed at once. "Apparently we're cursed to go through this folly every ten years or so. At least this time there's no heir to Voldemort lurking in the wings- just the usual gang of the privileged, making the usual noises."

Loki actually grinned to himself: Dad would be the first to admit he was himself one of those privileged wizards, with his pure-blood lineage and inherited wealth. The point, he would argue, was that none of it should entitle him or his to more rights than any Muggle-born. And look at the accomplishments of those very same Muggle-borns, and half-bloods too. Look at Potter and Granger, two of the young high-flyers at the Ministry, who had taken on Voldemort when they were only schoolkids. Loki reckoned Dad would have loved to have either of them as his son or daughter, although of course if they'd been his and Mum's they'd have been pure-blood and would no longer serve as examples of the good kick the wizarding world needed. He could just see his father's chin set in that stubborn line Thor had inherited, as he spoke about "pure-blood nonsense."

Loki was about to run softly up the stairs to his room when he heard Dad's voice again:

"- as unpleasant as it is to admit, every significant instance of Dark activity in the last hundred years has come from pure-bloods, trying to snatch power they think is owed to us by accidents of birth. It's time that pernicious drivel was dragged out into the light and seen for what it is. Makes me ashamed to be pure-blood myself when I hear it, or see what they get up to.

"Like the Campbell-Hardwickes, for instance- " the name was unfamiliar to Loki, but from the way it rolled off Dad's tongue it was clear he and Mr. Shacklebolt both knew it very well. Dad's voice dropped and went unintelligible for a minute, and Loki got three steps above the landing before he heard Mr. Shacklebolt say quite clearly,

" - in Azkaban where they belong, of course, but at least you were able to adopt the boy."

Loki froze. The Minister for Magic's voice went on,

"And how is Loki- starting at Hogwarts this September, isn't he?"

"Yes," Dad said. "He'll do well, I'm sure- a very bright lad. His mother and I worry, of course- "

Loki didn't wait to hear any more, he bolted silently up the stairs and along the hall to his room, where he closed the door as softly as he could manage, then flung himself into the corner where the bed concealed him from the door.

Adopted. Not really theirs at all. Adopted.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. Lots of people were adopted. It wasn't supposed to matter, Loki knew that. Only it did, because nobody had told him. Why hadn't they told him?

They hadn't told him because his parents- his real parents- were Dark sorcerers. His real parents were evil, were locked up in Azkaban where they belonged, and he-

He had been taken in by Odin Odinson, a powerful Auror. A wizard who knew what was right and did it, whether it was freeing a house elf or standing up against pure-blood demands for more power.

Or handing over an evil young sorcerer when he finally showed his true colours.

He had called Loki a bright lad, but it took little intelligence to figure out what all this meant: his father had adopted him so that nobody else would have to, no one would have to take in a boy who could turn Dark at any moment. They couldn't put a baby in Azkaban with its parents, so his father had obviously convinced his mother to take the risk and keep him themselves, so they could watch him. Watch him and, if he showed signs of turning evil-

Loki clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle the wail trying to come out. He felt sick to his stomach, and hot and cold all over. Suppose Thor had told on him, at the holiday house? Suppose Thor had let on that Loki had made all those rocks fly at him and his friends? Dad would do what he had to, that was why he had taken Loki in the first place, to protect everyone from him if Loki went bad.

What did they do with underage wizards who showed themselves to be Dark? Did they go to Azkaban, too? Would he end up in a cell beside his evil parents, those Campbell-Hardwickes he had never heard of before?

And even though Thor hadn't told, his parents were already alert that he might go wrong. His mother and I worry, of course- Of course they did, a child born bad, living in the same house as their own son. How they could risk it-

Loki still felt sick, but in the bottom of his heart he was grateful, too. They had given him a chance. They hadn't just locked him up with his parents. And he wouldn't go bad, he wouldn't. He would-

Loki's eyes fell on the floppy rhinoceros sitting on his bookshelf, the letter from Hogwarts propped in its forelegs where he had put it. In a few weeks he would go to Hogwarts, and be Sorted.

Slytherin. He wouldn't be able to pretend anymore, when the Hat put him in Slytherin.