This fic is laced with unapologetic ridiculousness. You've been warned ;)
The first 2 chapters were previously posted sometime ago, so they may feel familiar to some of you. I'm only taking the chance of reposting because the plunny came back, and I already have a few new chapters written up & waiting. For those who read the first time around and asked, there is a reason Hermione & Thorfinn don't just give Loki what he wants and send him on his merry way, which will come up.
:) Reviews welcomed & appreciated (:
Author's Notes:
1) This fic is a canon-divergent AU for both verses. Some elements from the canon storylines will still have taken place/be present, others will not. The events of Loki will have no bearing on this story, however, some minor details of his backstory or quirks evidenced in the series may come into play.
2) May contain themes such as, but not limited to, smut, violence, and possessive behavior.
3) Updates may be sporadic. Chapter lengths will vary.
4) There is no canon information about Thorfinn's past/childhood/days before he became a DE, or even his early days as a DE. The notion of Hermione & Thorfinn attending Hogwarts together is something created by Canimal. It is a hold-over from when this fic first began and she'd granted me blanket permission at the time to utilize the backstory she'd created for him. I have since changed that in most of my fics that feature Thormione in any way, wherein I typically write Thorfinn as having been one of the visiting Durmstrang students during Hermione's 4th year.
This story's premise is reliant upon my use of Chris Hemsworth as my Thorfinn Rowle fancast, and Tom Hiddleston as my Remus Lupin fancast.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Marvel Cinematic Universe, or any affiliated characters.
Chapter One
Stuff of Legend
Stepping from the portal, Loki found himself standing on a cobblestone side street. He could hear the hustle and bustle of Midgardians not far from him . . . . Well, Midgardians of this version of reality, anyway, but, to be fair, he was rather certain Midgardians in any reality all sounded quite alike. His research had turned up that the Asgardians here had long ago lost interest in Midgard, and there were certainly no Frost Giants, leaving him the only being of his kind on the entire planet. Lovely. Well, he supposed he could simply stay here and take over this Midgard and eventually this Asgard, but . . . oh, it just wouldn't be the same with none of the people who'd wronged him here to witness it.
Glancing about the shops between which he stood, he puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled and shook his head. Not that he wasn't glad to be out of his own reality, he simply hadn't entirely plotted out how he was going to go about finding the dragons he'd come for—he didn't imagine people of this realm kept them on leashes in a courtyard.
He needed to remember, he considered with a nod, this was a world where he could roam freely; the version of Asgard, and Midgard, where he was a wanted criminal were far behind him. Edging toward the end of the alleyway, he peered out into the street. He would, however, need to take note of how these Midgardians dressed, were he to not draw attention to himself.
Standing out—because, well, to be perfectly frank, Loki was completely aware what he looked like—was one thing. Drawing attention to himself because he was oddly attired when his intent here was to find this world's dragons to steal some of their blood, was probably an unwise notion, at best.
He understood some of the Midgardians here wielded magic, and though he was hardly defenseless, himself, he knew it was best to simply secure what he'd come for and return to his Asgard.
Yet, as he observed the people in the main street, with its strange little shops, their windows slanted, or full of items he could never have imagined in Midgard, he realized . . . . He would not draw attention to himself in his typical attire, at all. The robes worn by the people going about their simple, humble Midgardian shopping ranged from completely odd, to leathers, to fine silks and velvets, to woefully mundane.
Indeed, there were a few clad in what he'd come to consider common Midgardian attire, and even they did not draw undue attention from passersby. He stepped out into the main street, inhaling deep and letting it out slow. Perhaps it would be nice to simply stroll about, in the open, not needing to quietly expend small surges of power to keep himself under an illusion of looking like everyone else.
But where to start in his search for this world's dragons?
With another deep breath, Loki pursed his lips in thought as he looked about. His gaze trailed over the different shopfront signs around him. Ice cream shop? What in ten hells was ice cream? A tailor, a shop for acquiring animals? This place was odd. A wand shop? Wands in a world of magic and dragons.
A smile curved his lips. Oh, yes. This world was the stuff of legends, after all.
Then he noticed it. Simple, unassuming . . . . But certainly the place where one could acquire knowledge without making a spectacle of themselves.
A bookshop.
Yet, as he took a step in said shop's direction, he noticed a hulking blond figure disappear down a darkened alleyway. Wide eyed, Loki had to will himself not to shrink back against the nearest wall at the sight.
Certainly, the hair was shorter, the gold locks only long enough to curl at the base of the other man's neck, and he'd shaved his beard, but Loki recognized that face too well. He knew that stature and movement nearly as well as his own.
Was this a paltry attempt to blend in so his own brother would not notice he was being followed? He never imagined Thor would be so desperate to drag him back to their Asgard that he'd cut his precious hair in the sad hope of obscuring his identity.
Setting his jaw, Loki started after the other man. He'd seen his brother, but his brother had not yet seen him—probably explained why the other Asgardian was skulking about so and trying rather obviously to not be noticed. Probably trying to avoid making an undue nuisance of himself as he searched for Loki.
After all, it was hardly as though Thor was known for drawing attention to himself in everything he did. Holding in a chuckle, Loki shook his head as he walked.
He had no idea how Thor had discovered his plan, or managed to follow him here, but he was going to use the element of surprise to his advantage.
God, there was nothing Thorfinn hated more than hiding. Well, almost nothing. He hated being idle and useless more, but following the War, there was little else for him to do, unless he wanted to be pinched by an Auror and sent to Azkaban. Word was the newly-re-staffed Ministry had somehow managed to make the place even more dank and depressing to accommodate for the outlawing of Dementors.
Thorfinn was hardly of a mind to learn the truth of that rumor for himself, so he stayed hidden. Luckily, Thorfinn Rowle was well-remembered as long-haired and bearded, as depicted by his Undesirable posters, so no one paid much attention to the tall, blond, comparatively short-haired wizard with a clean shave. Ridiculous form of disguise, but when he had his head down, kept to himself, and acted as one with every right to be wherever he was, it worked as well as polyjuice potion.
He'd thought no one even remembered what he actually looked like beneath all that hair.
Until just now . . . . Until he slipped down into the now-abandoned Knockturn Alley. For the last few months since the War's end, he'd been holed up rather inconspicuously in the flat above Borgin and Burkes. No one but he had set foot here after the Dark Lord's defeat for simple fear they'd be seen as one of his supporters. He slipped out, did his shopping, and slipped back, none the wiser.
But at this moment, as he carried some bare necessities from the heart of Diagon Alley to his inconspicuous living space, he heard it. The light, measured footfalls of someone following him.
Someone had recognized him.
Scowling hard, Thorfinn took an unnecessary turn then, ducking into the nearest open doorway.
Hermione stepped from Flourish and Blotts a bit disappointed. As seemed to happen more often than not of late, she was leaving the bookshop emptyhanded. Odd. Something had told her to come here, today. She'd been hoping that they had some new volume of information on, well, anything, really, waiting.
Yet, the proprietor's list of recently acquired stock proved to hold nothing which Hermione'd not already read, or only had books that repeated things she already knew.
As the Ministry re-staffed and acclimated itself to the new order of a Wizarding world still trembling in the aftermath of Voldemort and his unsavory plans nearly succeeding in his bid to rule, Hermione, and War Heroes like her, waited. She intended to return to Hogwarts to finish out her education properly, but the lessons were unfulfilling. There was nothing the school had left to teach her after all she'd been through.
And so, she waited as the Ministry properly instituted a position that would allow her to utilize her vast and varied knowledges and her formidable magical skill, equally.
With a sigh, she glanced back at the shop door. What a waste of time, and Hermione hated to think along those lines, because time around books should never be considered a waste.
While she rarely put stock into things like intuition, hers—when she chose to listen—rarely steered her wrong, and something had given her the irresistible urge to come here today.
Then she saw him. Standing there, plain as day, near a side street between two of the smaller shops. His hair was far darker and rather long, as though he was trying to mask himself, but she recognized that face, all the same.
He looked toward the shop and smiled. Though, he didn't seem to notice her standing there.
"Remus?" she whispered, unaware the name had even left her lips.
Yet, as he moved in her direction, something else caught his attention. She could see the fear in those familiar green eyes from where she stood. Though for a moment she thought the shading was different, but from this distance, she couldn't put her finger on how.
Hermione could only watch as he gave himself a determined shake and then started off again. Only this time, he disappeared into one of the turns that branched into Knockturn Alley.
Something was deeply wrong, she thought. There was no way for Remus to be here, hiding, or otherwise . . . . But there was no unseeing that face. And he was headed into that horrible, twisted street?
This was why she had known to come here, today. She was positive of it.
Nearly before she realized she was moving, Hermione took off after him.
Loki frowned, slowing his steps. He was positive he'd seen Thor come this way! Baring his teeth in a menacing expression, he took a turn that branched right. He made visual note of where the turn was in case he needed to double back.
He ignored the sound of footfalls behind him, as they were far too light to be Thor's.
Thorfinn drew his wand while he waited. He would need to find a place to hide the body of whoever this was without alerting anyone to his hideout, but one poorly-chosen step at a time.
Hermione's mouth tugged into a frown as she came to a halt. She hated this place—she'd hated it when it had been in full-use and populated, and she hated it more now that it was desolate, the shopfronts and signs appearing in such an advanced state of disrepair one would think the place had been abandoned for years rather than a handful of months.
What the hell was he doing here? What was he up to? She'd been to his funeral for pity's sake! The sooner she could track him down and figure out what was going on, the sooner she could be away from this horrible place.
She didn't think her heart could take learning her friend had deceived them all. But, if this were someone masking themselves as Remus, she was going to make them pay.
That frown returned as she resisted the urge to draw her wand. It was this dreadful little street—it could make the most steel-willed witch jumpy, she was certain. And if that was Remus by some miraculous but warped twist of fate, she didn't want to allow that jumpiness to make her do something she'd regret.
She knew she'd seen him come this way, and now . . . . Sighing, she heard the infinitely wise words of one of her computer-game-loving cousins in the Muggle world, When in doubt, go left.
Shoulders slumping, she did just that. She started down the narrow path before her, her nerves forcing her fingers to inch toward her wand.
A massive blond man came out of nowhere—faster than someone his size ought to be able to move—and sooner than she could blink, Hermione found herself pinned to a wall. A hand around her throat, firm but not tight, and the tip of a wand pressed beneath her jaw, it took her a heart-pounding moment to get her bearings.
As she focused, she found herself staring up into a pair of blue eyes she . . . actually recognized. True, the last time she'd seen them they'd been glaring angrily at her across a tacky Muggle café as they flung spells at one another, but she's not seen his face like this in seven years.
"Rowle?"
Tipping his head to one side, those familiar eyes narrowing in confusion, he said, "Sunshine?" She'd not drawn her wand, even when she'd realized it was him.
Hermione winced at the nickname, but noted he lowered his weapon. She'd hated that title when he'd first unofficially assigned it to her. She could still remember the day he'd called her that. Alone in the library, her at one table doing her work—or, rather, secretly pouring over material she wasn't going to be assigned for at least another three or four years—and he was at another table, furiously chewing the tip of his quill as he attempted to wrap his head around a particularly tricky arithmancy equation.
He'd tried, several times, to comprehend where he was miscalculating. Indeed, Hermione could understand the issue he was having when, in his frustration, he began going over his calculations aloud. He was only off by so very little that she was certain he'd get it, given a little more time.
But he was distracting her from her studies.
Finally, she'd piped up, correcting him.
Lifting his head from his assignment, he gave her a quick once-over. Deciding to poke fun at how fiery the tiny thing sounded, he answered her help with, "Stow it, Sunshine."
Meeting his gaze for a second, she'd flicked her attention over the imposing, too-tall blond wizard crammed into one of the library seats that was designed with average-sized children in mind. "Have it your way, Viking."
Snickering, he shook his head—as though that were an insult—and dropped his attention back to his work.
After a few moments of silence, she heard him utter, in an awed whisper, "I'll be damned."
The incident led to a year of grudging, almost-friendship between the pair. Of course, Hermione had never told her friends, as she was positive they'd never understand if she'd tried to explain that she had what amounted to study dates with a seventh year Slytherin—of course, that wasn't what they were, at all, they just happened to find themselves studying alone in the quiet library at the same times. He'd puzzle over things aloud, and she'd provide the answer if she could. She'd mull in loud whispers over which book contained what she was looking for, and he'd supply the title if he knew it. Occasionally, they'd carry on simple, light discussions about school matters, so long as it didn't distract from their individual studies.
At the end of that year, when she'd thought he would simply leave without a word of recognition, he'd surprised her. The day before the last day of school—when the seventh years would complete their time at Hogwarts by the ceremony of riding the boats back across the lake—he'd found her studying in the library, as usual. Odd, since it was there was nothing more to study. Not so odd, since this was Hermione Granger. If the voracious way she devoured information was any clue, she was probably bidding the library farewell for the summer break in her own, bookworm way.
He'd swooped down, planting a kiss on her cheek. When the tiny Gryffindor witch jumped and looked up, he'd winked and granted her a smirk. "Thank you, Sunshine."
And, like that, he turned and walked away. Also, like that, as she watched him stroll out of the library, certain she'd never see him again, she discovered her first crush.
Then, in the jarring crunch of years between, with all the drama of Viktor, and Ron, and Cormac, she'd forgotten him. Until Harry mentioned a lumbering blond wizard who'd set fire to Hagrid's hut.
She'd tried to imagine it could be anyone else. She hadn't wanted the pretty, too-tall boy she remembered to be a Death Eater.
Then there he was, working side-by-side with that awful Antonin Dolohov to take them down in that café. She was sure the goal had been subdue and capture, but she'd never been sure he wouldn't have hesitated to kill her that day, if he'd felt he had to.
And, for the second time in her life, she'd been certain she'd never see him again.
It seemed like Thorfinn Rowle kept finding his way back to her. Hermione got a rein on her focus before she could start tossing around idiotic words like fate.
And, of course, ignored that she was only here today because of that inexplicable feeling that had told her to come to Diagon Alley.
Loki rounded back in time to see the blond man creep out of hiding and run at a wild-haired young woman who seemed otherwise unaware of his presence. His hand out, and a wand drawn, he clamped his fingers around her throat and pushed her back. It all happened so fast, Loki was certain the man hadn't even seen whom he held.
This was not Thor! Thor could not wield magic, nor would he ever accost an unarmed female in such a manner.
Then, confirming the mix-up, the girl said, "Rowle?"
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Loki made his way back toward the pair. At least one of them was in hiding, he could tell that much from their demeanor—why else act secretive in a place so bereft of life?
And, if they were no more supposed to be here than he, perhaps they could be persuaded to point him in the right direction.
"Would you mind letting go?" he heard the young woman say as he neared them.
"Promise you're not going to draw your wand on me?"
She offered him a most impressive scowl at that. "I haven't yet, have I?"
His expression softening, he relinquished his hold on her. "If you didn't follow me, then what are you—?"
"Pardon?" Loki said, his hands up as they both spun to face him.
The man who looked so very startlingly like Thor, aimed his wand as he moved. The young woman reached for hers.
Yet, as she met Loki's eyes, visible relief washed over her features.
"Remus?" Hermione's heart pounded in her ears, and before she could stop herself, she'd crossed to the dark-haired man. Yet, as she bounced up on her toes to throw her arms around his neck, his lanky frame stiffened.
After what seemed a reluctant moment, he slid his arms around her waist, chuckling in a way she'd never heard from her old friend.
"A much warmer greeting than I expected, to be sure."
The cadence of his words, how he held himself, even—and especially—the possessive way his hands clamped her sides . . . . There was no way this man was who she thought he was.
She pulled back, unreasonably grateful when this stranger made no attempt to hold her against her will. Drawing her wand on him, she stepped back, inadvertently moving to stand beside Thorfinn, who'd yet to lower his own wand.
"You're not Remus Lupin," she said, her voice unsteady.
So, he had heard correctly—she was one of this world's magic wielders, as well. The Asgardian smirked. "I am Loki, of Asgard, and I require your assistance."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again, just as quickly. She had no idea what to say. This man must be mad!
But then she exchanged a look with Thorfinn. Thorfinn Rowle, proud of, and versed in, his Norse heritage, lowered his wand as he swallowed hard.
Reaching across to the witch, Thorfinn wrapped his hand gently around hers and pushed her wand down.
"Thorfinn, what're you doing?" She ignored the unexpected little jolt that went through her at the warmth of his touch—certainly she'd felt nothing of the sort when he'd gripped her throat moments ago.
Loki bit his lip to contain a surprised chuckle at the coincidence of the wizard's name.
"Trust me, Sunshine," Thorfinn said in a low voice, his gaze pinning Loki, though he had yet to release Hermione's hand. "If he's who he claims, we'd probably do well not to cross him."
Hermione blinked rapidly a few times as she looked from one man to the other, and back. She wasn't certain what was worse, that this stranger who looked so much like her departed friend had just claimed to be the Loki . . . .
Or that Thorfinn Rowle believed him.
