Chapter Two

Whims of Fate

Hermione followed along behind Thorfinn and Loki, still a bit dazed by the entire thing, and wondering why the bloody hell she was even entertaining this madness! Gods didn't exist, and even if they did, she was really to believe Thorfinn Rowle would recognize one on-sight?

Yet, there they were—her and this tall, lanky, dark-haired stranger with Remus Lupin's face—going along behind the Death Eater as he led the way through Borgin and Burkes to the flat above. It was enough she had to stop herself from halting to examine all the artifacts and dark trinkets left behind on the shop floor.

It was entirely another issue that she found she had to stop herself from watching the set of the shoulders of either man ahead of her as they walked. She genuinely had to force herself to keep moving as she gave her head a good, sobering shake.

What was that about?

Of course, she thought, as they entered the flat and Thorfinn dropped his shopping on a half-broken coffee table to start rifling through heaps of seemingly random items, perhaps it was her own fault for being too curious about the situation. She should've Apparated straight to the doorstep of the Ministry and alerted the Aurors to the whereabouts of the fugitive Dark wizard.

Instead, at his insistence that they hear out the supposed Norse god in their midst, she'd put away her wand, tossed up her hands and said, why not? Not literally, but that amounted to what had gone on.

Loki frowned thoughtfully, tapping the tips of his long, slender fingers against his chin as he looked about the place. A thing Hermione only noticed because she was watching him. Not that she could very much help it, something about him just . . . seemed to draw the eye.

She was so fascinated by the object of her scrutiny—his clothes were not simply leather robes, but were, in fact, some design she'd never seen before, and he was only a bit shorter than Thorfinn, but slender, so he did not appear nearly as physically imposing—that she didn't notice he'd shifted his attention to her, in turn, until her gaze made its way back up to his face. Those not-quite-like-Remus's-green eyes were locked on her, and a smirk curved his thin but perfect lips.

Giving a little start, and ignoring that his smirk set off a blush in her cheeks, Hermione looked away. Stomping over to Thorfinn, she knew she'd caught him by surprise, as he followed her tug a bit too easily when she gripped her fingers into the shoulder of his robes and pulled him to his feet.

"What the bloody hell, Sunshine?" the golden-haired man asked, his brow furrowing as he stared down at her.

Scowling, she tried very hard not to glance over at the stranger in the room. "What exactly are you looking for that is going to help shed light on . . . well, him?!"

"Look, when I felt the Dark Lord fall, I knew what would happen next. The Death Eaters would be pinched and sent to Azkaban, and all our properties would be turned over to the Ministry pending a scan into each and every item before returning them to our closest—trustworthy by their standards—relative." He paused in his rushed speech for a breath. "I'm the last of my line; the Ministry would've kept everything, and I couldn't let that happen. So, I'd Apparated to my estate immediately and took every heirloom I could get my hands on."

She shuffled awkwardly a moment—feeling impossibly tiny standing before him and gaping up at him like this—as she understood. She'd likely have done the same thing. Of course, given where they stood, she was surprised she hadn't already mapped out a plan to whisk every item down on that shop floor back to her house so she could examine them at her leisure.

But he knew this about her. He knew perfectly well of her thirst for knowledge, and she couldn't ignore the suspicion that he might use that to distract her.

"That has what to do with this, Viking?"

The sound of Loki snickering gained a wary glance from Thorfinn, and an eye-roll from Hermione.

With a sigh, Thorfinn tried to marshal his focus—and his temper, which the petite woman was managing to stoke rather easily with her uppity attitude. "As one of those heirlooms is a book. It's, in fact, quite old, and has information handed down through the Rowle family about the oldest tales in Viking lore. I was practically raised on the stories in it."

She stepped closer to him, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Oh, and so you think it might have something that proves he is who he says he is?"

Thorfinn didn't exactly like that he had to learn closer to hear her—not when he'd already had to see her so close he couldn't help but notice how nicely she'd matured over the years. "That's precisely what I'm telling you, yes."

Hermione nodded, exhaling sharply. She was oblivious to the way the rush of her breath against his skin caused a fine tremor to course through him. Propping her hands on her hips, she turned toward the piles through which he'd been rummaging.

"Honestly! Heirlooms of a Wizarding line, and this is how you treat them?"

Thorfinn straightened up, huffing out an aggravated sigh. Yep, he had been stupid to let a little thing like how curvy she was at nineteen—a shock, given how very scrawny a child she'd been, her face hidden by the tumbling mass of wild hair that now, instead of looking unkempt, gave her a rather naughty appeal, indeed—distract him.

"I was in a hurry, and—before you ask why I never sorted through this mess before—I didn't exactly have a burning desire to set up home here. So, I just brought everything in and dropped it where I stood." From the corner of his eye, he glanced at her. He could see the overwhelming sense of disapproval in her face at such treatment of treasured antiques.

"Well?" he asked as he knelt before the piles once more and started sifting through. "Are you going to assist or just stand there judging?"

Hermione's gaze was on his hair. The way it fell against the collar of his robes . . . it just looked so soft. She'd never seen him with short hair, before—or, at least, shortish—and she was truly in envy of it.

She didn't even realize she'd reached out to stroke the tips of her fingers along the silken strands until she was touching them. Oh . . . I must find out what he uses.

He turned his head to look up at her, catching how she snatched back her hand. "What're you doing?"

"Oh, right." She cleared her throat and hunkered down beside him to assist in his search. "Sorry."

Again, Loki snickered. This time it was as he took a seat in the dilapidated arm chair by the window—his posture regal as he crossed his long legs before him. "You two are quite amusing."

Hermione bit her lip on a snarky retort as she moved items about as gently as she could. She could sense the way Thorfinn tensed at the supposed God of Mischief's laughter. It was not his obvious wariness that concerned her, no, but the notion that if he were right? If this man with them was, in fact, a god somehow . . . ?

Well, she simply had no idea how she was going to feel about that, and that uncertainty bothered her to her core.

They searched in silence for several minutes. Yes, she definitely found herself repressing the urge to waste time by examining each, individual Rowle Family Antique she held. As they were not the focus of her search, however, she put them aside and powered on, ignoring the same sort of curiosity that had her in this ridiculous situation in the first place.

"Here it is!"

Hermione turned to see the tome in Thorfinn's hands. The leather looked new, and she understood instantly that the book had been charmed to preserve both cover and contents. Gold edging on the pages glinted in the dim illumination of the flat as he sat down, cross-legged on the floor, and eased the book open on his lap.

She was barely aware of the breath she let out in an awed rush as she settled beside him. "An illuminated manuscript? Wow."

Thorfinn replied with a slow nod as he turned the pages, skimming the text and amazingly detailed illustrations. "I haven't looked through this in so long."

Her fingers were positively itching with the desire to take the book from him and go through it herself. But she was not completely thick. Her increasingly rabid curiosity did not outweigh the need to respect the ancient book, or his connection to his ancestors.

Sitting up pin-straight, he swallowed hard and nodded. "Here." He turned the book, showing Hermione the illustration on the page.

Blinking rapidly a few times, she leaned closer, unable to believe what she was seeing. The face of the man on the page, reclining and still managing to look painfully proper, even as he lounged, was exactly the face she'd just been staring at. A face that could double for Remus.

His attire, though not the same, was similar in style and coloring—an obvious mark of personal preference—his hair, his face, the hue of his eyes was even the exact same not-quiet-Remus-y shade.

The pair on the floor turned as one to look at the dark-haired man. They glanced from the illustration to the being and back, before looking at one another.

Hermione was floored by the resemblance. "It . . . it really is . . . ." She couldn't even finish the sentence—she still had no idea how to feel about this.

Closing the tome, Thorfinn set it aside and climbed to his feet. Giving a deep bow of his head, he said, "Loki. I am Thorfinn, of the Family Rowle. How may I be of service to you?"

That smirk that had been curving Loki's mouth all the time as he'd watched them searching and bickering widened into a grin. "Now that is the sort of thing I have been hoping to hear."

"All right! No, no!" Hermione crossed the room to stand in the center, equidistance between the two men as she waved her hands. "I'm having trouble enough wrapping my head around all of this as it is. When you met us, you said you required our assistance. For what, exactly?"

Thorfinn regarded her snippiness with a wide-eyed glare. "Sunshine," he said in a hissing whisper, his tone one of warning.

"Thorfinn?" Loki sat forward, leaning an elbow on his knee and resting his chin against his fist. Perhaps this one would make a decent servant. "It's quite all right. I think I enjoy this witch's fiery disposition."

Oh? He was giving her permission to be fiery? Well, that was something he'd be sorry for!

Curling her fingers into fists as her sides, she tapped her foot as she held Loki's gaze for a silent moment. It seemed his amusement at her visible irritation only grew as time ticked past.

"I'll ask again. Why, exactly, do you need our assistance?"

The god breathed out a short, quiet laugh. "Please, both of you take a seat and I shall explain all." He extended his hand, indicating the broken-down sofa positioned near his chair.

Thorfinn approached first, but still seemed wary—as seemed a constant for this situation, Hermione thought—and seated himself as far on the sofa as he could get away from the other man. She tried very hard to keep her features schooled as she noticed, given his placement, and his sheer mass, she had to sit between the Death Eater and the God of bloody Mischief!

She could just as easily turn and walk away, she supposed. But she was too ruled by her curiosity, and just a bit in fear of what the Loki might do if she tried to leave, to do anything other than troop over to the space between them and take a seat.

This witch really was an adorable little thing, Loki considered, as he watched her make a show of trying to get comfortable on that tatty cushion. And the way she'd been so easily distracted with watching him earlier—the momentary haze that had flickered through her brown eyes had not gone unnoticed by him—certainly piqued his interest.

Dropping his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he touched his fist to his chin once more. "I am not of this plane."

Hermione's brows shot up. She was the sharpest tack she knew, but she felt like that simple sentence had stymied her ability to comprehend anything.

Blinking hard as she shook her head, she asked, "You mean planar reality? You're from a different reality?"

Again he smirked, this time at her quick grasp of his meaning. "Correct."

Her shoulders slumped as she stared at him. "So . . . I'm talking to a Norse deity who traversed realities?"

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, Loki nodded.

Okay, now Hermione knew how to react. "Oh, my God! This is . . . amazing," she all but shouted in his ear, her splayed hands pressed over her heart.

Thorfinn was a little taken aback by her response, while Loki found it endearing.

"That's a bit more like it," the dark-haired man said with a wicked grin. "I am quite enjoying your sudden enthusiasm."

Fussing to push a few locks of her wild hair behind her ears, she shook her head. "I have so many questions!"

Thorfinn cleared his throat, awkward as he tapped his finger against her knee, getting her attention. "Sunshine, we're trying to find out his reason for coming here?"

Nodding, Hermione glanced at Thorfinn. "Right, of course, you're right. Later, we're going to talk about how you're managing to take this information in stride."

The wizard shrugged. "Once you accept that you're dealing with a god, it sort of opens the flood gates to anything being possible."

"Huh," she said, her expression thoughtful. That was strangely pragmatic. "I suppose it does."

"I was led to the two of you by your wizard's resemblance to someone in my reality, in fact."

Thorfinn's brows drew upward, but Hermione only shifted uncomfortably. "He's not my wizard."

Drumming his fingers against lips and then waving his hand in her direction, Thorfinn said, "I do believe we're starting to zero in on precisely what's wrong with your priorities, Sunshine."

She uttered a scoffing sound before returning her attention to Loki—who, once more, seemed quietly amused by their interaction. "So, you were saying he looks like someone you know?"

"Ah, yes. My brother Thor."

At the sheer coincidence, the witch and wizard exchanged a glance.

"I probably should've believed my mother when she said the Fates told her what to name me," Thorfinn said in an awed tone.

"So, he looks like your brother, and I only ran into him because I was following you," Hermione said, but before she could go further, Loki stopped her with the touch of his hand against her arm.

She met his gaze, startled by the physical contact. Oh, this close and paying him her full attention, she could see how his eyes were different from Remus'. They weren't simply green, but a pale and sharp blue-green, the latter shade appearing richer and more vibrant for how his irises reflected the splashes of emerald that trimmed his clothing. Same face, different eye and hair color, yet those differences still suited the features. So bizarre.

"Yes," Loki replied with a barely perceptible nod, unaware of her observations, "you did mistake me for someone familiar to you, did you not?"

Nodding, she shifted, suddenly uncomfortable at the scrutiny. "Yes, actually. My friend Remus Lupin . . . he died a few months ago. In a War."

Thorfinn winced. She had more courage than he'd given her credit for, to sit here with him—a member of the fighting force that had taken her friend's life—and this man who had her dead friend's face.

He wasn't certain he could do that.

"You followed me as I was following him, and the two of you already knew one another?"

Hermione sighed, relieved they were not dwelling on Remus. "That would be correct."

"Then it would seem that the Fates have set you both in my path for a purpose, would it not?"

Her brow furrowing, she couldn't help but nod. She wasn't a huge believer in destiny, or fate, but it did seem a bit of a leap for the circumstances of their meeting to be sheer coincidence.

"I suppose it would seem that way." She glanced at Thorfinn, who gave a noncommittal shrug, tossing up both hands as though to say, why not? There seemed to be a lot of that going around, today.

"So," she said, unrealizing of how she was leaning closer to Loki, like two people sharing a secret, "what is it you think we can assist you with? I assume you came here to find something?"

Again he bit his lip, only watching her face for a time. Just long enough for her expression to become uncertain and the first sparks of a blush to color her cheeks.

"Sweet witch . . . I am here in search of dragons. And I believe it fate that you two assist me in that goal."

"Dragons?" She shook her head. "Are there no dragons in your world?"

The god shook his head, pouting thoughtfully. "Sadly, in my home realm, the magnificent creatures are extinct."

"Why do you need to find a dragon?"

Loki shrugged, sighing. It seemed they were rather interested in him, as such, he did not see the point in withholding the information. "For one such as I, consuming the blood of a dragon increases our power, and I have some scores to settle."

"You want their blood?"

At the sudden increase in her volume, his dark, perfectly arched brows shot up. "I have no intent to harm the creatures, sweet witch. I only need to extract blood from one."

"And you think I'm going to lead you to them, just like that?"

He seemed confused by her agitation; where was the wonderfully awestruck, inquisitive creature of mere moments ago? "You won't?"

Hermione looked to Thorfinn, who puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled and shook his head, clearly not knowing what to say. Returning her attention to Loki, she snapped, "Exactly right, I won't!"

"But you do know where to find them, do you not?"

Hermione huffed, leaning toward him and folding her arms under her breasts. "Well, of course I know where the dragons of this world are kept, but I'm certainly not about to tell you, or take you to them, Sir."

Loki pouted, again—this time a small, mildly confused jutting of his bottom lip—as he watched her turn away from him. The witch seemed so prideful of the wealth of knowledge she kept tucked in that pretty little head of hers, why would she not jump at the chance to prove she knew as much as she claimed?

"Why not?"

She whipped her head around to meet his gaze, chestnut eyes narrowed. "Because your mere presence here is not natural, Loki! You do not belong in this world, and I have no idea what letting you near a magical creature that no longer exists in your world could do." She gave him a once over, the initial excitement at the reality of him being here gone in a flash. "And, quite frankly, I don't much like the look of you."

At that, Loki smirked.

Thorfinn darted his gaze between them, sensing a jump in the tension in the room. With an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, he said, "I think I'll just head downstairs, now, and be . . . anywhere but here."

"No." Hermione flicked a glance in his direction. "You'll stay. What on earth is so funny, Loki?"

That smirk broadening into a wicked grin, Loki leaned closer to her. "It's actually that you do not trust me, sweet witch, because you and I both know that you very much do like the look of me." He dropped his voice to a gravelly murmur. "Best not to confuse the two."

Her eyes had been locked on his as he'd spoken, and she found she could not look away now. Dear God, she hoped she was only imagining the warmth she felt in her cheeks at what he'd implied—it was also wretchedly unfair that he could pitch his voice to sound like silk with so little effort.

Thorfinn once more looked from the witch to the god and back, before he nodded. He wondered if the other-worlder had felt this awkward watching the exchange when she had gotten in his face, earlier.

"I think I'm just going to head downstairs," he said again.

That gave Hermione the nudge she needed to finally tear her attention away from Loki. She turned her head, pinning the Death Eater with a furious glare.

Thorfinn was not ashamed to admit he might've jumped, just a little, at the lethal gleam in her eyes. For such a dainty thing, she was absolutely terrifying.