Everything was serene, silent as all eyes settled upon the figure, lone in the dark. It was a young man, no more than eighteen or nineteen, now splayed across the ground in an awkward posture. His dark locks fell over his closed eyelids in a messy heap, glasses tilted in an odd direction on the bridge of his nose.
The Dark Lord hesitated, biting his lips briefly in anxiety. Was the boy finally dead? Was he gone forever? He had felt pain when the boy had been struck with his magic, a fluttering and then burning sensation entering his chest. Something had died with the boy. Not emotion. Just...a part of his very soul. It sickened him to the core to even think of it.
"Is Potter dead?" was all he asked.
A little blonde woman, looking timid and fragile, took a step forward to go check. A taller man, pale and white as snow with greasy, slicked back, raven hair moved with agile past her.
"Allow me," he said, his voice gruff with a slight hint of a faint british accent. His jade eyes flickered from the Dark Lord back to the young man, before he approached the body.
He tenderly knelt down beside him, brushing the locks nearly as dark as his own out of his face. Immediately, he received a reaction. The boy scrunched his nose, his nostrils flaring for a moment, before he slipped back into unconsciousness.
The man moved his fingers to the boy's slim neck, feeling for a pulse of any sort. It was faint, but yes, he was still very much so alive. The man licked his lips to wet them, before, as quietly as possible, murmuring some sort of spell. The pulse vanished, the boy looking evermore still than before. It was a vex, something to make him appear deceased. And thankfully, it seemed to be working.
"Well?" the Dark Lord asked, his impatience ever growing.
His work done, the Deatheater stood up, swallowing hard as he stared at the man he had called his friend for so many years, this time his gaze not faltering.
"You ungrateful son! I took you in after that bastard threw you on the streets, gave you my name, my home...you better not screw up at this new school or it'll be the last time you see daylight when I'm finished with you!"
Loki drummed his fingernails against the wooden, protruding windowsill. Odin's words rang in his ears, replaying over and over again like a ruined record player.
"Laufey's son. Leader of the Jotun Mafia."
He had been expelled from his last school. Turns out they didn't take kindly to those who love mischief as much as Loki had been. Not like he was the only one who did any of the sort...but this shenanigan was set up by not only himself but Thor. But Thor was the "golden son" of the family. Of course Odin wouldn't blame him, he was far too blind under that dingy golden eyepatch of his to ever even see Loki as his son. No, Loki was the adopted bastard of the mafia leader Laufey Jötnar, and that meant he had to be "oh so grateful" to Odin for "taking him in when no one wanted him." Of course, he had been a baby then...his mother died in childbirth and Laufey was arrested for thievery, murder, amongst other things. A criminal in the wizarding world.
Loki refused to simply be labelled "Laufey's son" now that he knew the truth. He was not the "spawn of a corrupt Mafia." No, he was merely Loki now, and he would made Odin proud of him. One day he would. Except...that's what he had been telling himself every day now for the past seventeen years of his life. That's what he told himself when he was sent to the Asgard School for Wizardry and Witchcraft. That's what he was forcing himself to think now that he was to attend this new school...Hogwarts, was it called? The name didn't matter to Loki. He had two more years to go. Only two. Then he would be away from Odin, making his own way in the small world in which he lived.
Quietly, he watched the clouds and the grasslands drift by. He found himself observing every flash of green, from the dense treetops in the distance to each little leaflet of a passing shrub. Counting what few animals they passed. He was bored. He was lonely, and...he was still hurting.
"Are you the new transfer kid?" a feminine voice interrupted. Loki glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
"Perhaps I am." he muttered.
The woman before him had long red hair, falling in waves over her shoulders, and a pair of piercing green eyes, narrowed into suspicious slits like a cat. A black leather jacket and pants told Loki immediately she was more of a tomboy, a Slytherin green-and-black scarf slung around her neck as she took a seat across from him.
"Natasha Romanoff, Slytherin 7th year. I would say 'Welcome to Hogwarts' but you don't seem like much of a warm, fuzzy, chatty type." Natasha introduced, thinning her lips and observing his every move.
He leaned back away from the window of the train, folding his arms neatly over his chest.
"Loki..." he paused. Who was he now? If he wasn't a Laufeyson, and he wasn't an Odinson, that what was he?
Natasha seemed genuinely confused for a moment, tipping her head to the side. She parted her lips to say something, but he caught up on his temporary confusion, letting out a brief sigh.
"Loki Odinson," he reluctantly responded, "I used to go to the Asgard school, but I might have broken it. I'm also Slytherin."
He indicated the small snake-shaped badge on his thick trench coat. She nodded.
She smirked for a moment, eyes brimming with thought, but said nothing. So he continued for her.
"I'm assuming you've been here since 1st year. Have you not any other friends to bother you, Miss Romanoff?" he mused.
Natasha smiled innocently, a taut, amused expression crossing her lips.
"I have one friend named Clint. He's a hufflepuff, but his train booth was full. And you looked bored, so I thought it best to attempt to cheer you up. Which clearly is not working, is it?"
"Yes and no. You amuse me, Miss Romanoff." Loki responded diligently, his own sort of smirk rising up.
The redheaded woman shrugged.
"Natasha or Nat, please, Mister Odinson," she mocked. He practically shuddered at the name.
"As for me, Loki would be fine. Pleasure to be acquainted."
He reached forward for her hand, which she immediately shook. At an instant, both of them grinned-the cat and the raven, hand in hand mischief makers.
The man stood before him, trembling, coated in cuts and blood. His eyes were wide, fearful, distant in a mass of chaos and ruin. What had once been a vivid, bright shade had been finally consumed in an electric blue. Tony took a stride towards him, but the man skittishly backed away, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks.
"No! Don't touch me, I don't want t-t-...to hurt you!" he shrieked, his hands like claws as they jaggedly wrapped around his hips. He stumbled, nearly tripping over himself. Tony could only watch, feeling like a dagger was pierced through his heart. He knew who did this to him, he knew who had tainted his lover's magic and stole his sanity.
"How long has it been in your blood? In your magic?" Tony queried. The man trembled, shaking his head.
"Too long...too long, too long..." he began rambling on, repeating it and shaking his head. Tony couldn't take it anymore. It was painful to watch him like this, tears rolling down his cheek and on the verge of going completely mad.
He gripped his shoulders, shaking them gently, though his hold was firm, trying to knock some sense into him.
"Stop! Stop, you're going to hurt yourself! Jesus..." he stopped when he realized that his lover was beginning to leak out blood again from his wounds, having gripped them so hard they had reopened.
"Damn it!" Tony roared. The man whimpered, seeming to shrink down in his skin.
Tony bit his lip hard, unsure what to do. He never had really strong magic, he wasn't certain of how well his magic would hold up and cleanse the wounds. The Tesseract would've tainted his lover's magic so much by now that foreign magic would only make it worse. No, he would have to do it the old fashioned way.
"Go lie down on the couch, take off your shirt and do NOT move! Is that clear?" Tony ordered.
The man nodded, quickly moving towards the couch. Tony turned his back, fumbling through supply cabinets to try to look for a first aid kit.
"I mean first the Tesseract, then Azkaban, then this? Don't bleed out on me, okay?"
He glanced over his shoulder, hoping the man would've made some sort of response, but he was met with silence. Not another soul in sight. Tony clenched his fists, his rage and hurt bubbling.
'He always leaves,' Tony thought, a stray tear leaving his cheek, 'he's always done this...please, don't get yourself killed. Come back. For me?'
Tony simply could not peel his eyes off of the transfer kid during detention.
The kid was tall, lanky, and...really handsome. He reminded Tony a bit like Tom, except...less sinister, and less brotherly.
"It is rude to gawk," the kid grumbled, rolling his jade eyes and continuing to write a hundred times on his respective chalk board, 'I will not explode potions during Professor Slughorn's class.'
Tony shrugged, flashing him a cocky grin before continuing to additionally write on his own board, 'I will not use Muggle technology to cheat on tests.'
"So what's your name? Tony Stark, Ravenclaw." Tony casually asked.
"Loki Odinson, Slytherin. I'm sure you as well as anyone else in this blasted school knows my brother, Thor." Loki muttered back.
The director of Detention, Nick Fury, raised his one good eye and glared at the two students talking during their punishment.
"Quiet now, and write!" he warned, before turning his back and continuing to work diligently at his desk.
Director Fury was a frightening guy. He was dark-skinned, with equally imposing dark brown eyes-well, eye, the other one was ripped out when one of the students conjured a lion during detention and it immediately attacked him-that threatened any and everyone at every glance. It didn't frighten Tony. He was here frequently. The Director was used to seeing him in detention.
"Thor's your brother?" Tony whispered over his shoulder. Loki shrugged.
"Unfortunately." Loki replied.
"Does everyone else in your family have large muscles like that guy? Like, he must work out 24/7 in order to have a six-pack that large!"
Loki raised his left eyebrow, his lips quivering into a scowl.
"Are you just here to childishly prattle or may I return to my punishment? At this rate your consistent droning is a punishment all on its own." Loki spat, his chalk screeching across the board as he finished the last "." on the 100th sentence.
He strolled past Tony, not even giving him a second glance, before retrieving his hall pass and exiting the detention room.
Tony smirked, a cheery, mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.
'Well damn. He's hot,' he thought with mirth. They still had a year together in Hogwarts...that was plenty of time to get Loki to like him. And Tony knew his ways. He always had luck with the ladies, he would use his charms and bam! Loki would be all over him in a flash!
"Stop staring at the doorway, Stark, and keep writing before I write you up for incompetence!" the Director boomed. Tony shrugged, picked up his white piece of chalk, and pressed it against the board to continue his detention.
The boy clung to him, his hazel eyes like a doused flame, the look of a kicked puppy settling on his face.
"You wish to take me to your school, you will take him too. He is my brother" was all he said firmly, gesturing to the small child.
Dumbledore raised his graying eyebrows, a confused gaze crossing his features. He knew that the two children were not at all related.
The younger boy glanced up to him, a brief sigh of relief escaping his lips, his hands loosening around his arm. The older boy smiled reassuringly, wrapping his arms around his small-framed shoulders.
'I will protect you, don't worry. I will always protect you.'
Tom was overprotective of Anthony.
That was a given. Tom didn't have the capacity to truly love in any romantic way, but he did have feelings. Especially for his "little brother".
Tony had his arms around that transfer student. It'd been six months since school session at Hogwarts continued. Tom narrowed his eyes into slits, observing as Tony pleasantly chit-chatted with this newbie along with their friends.
Tom couldn't help but lighten up briefly for a moment. Tony was certainly improving since this mysterious Norwegian kid showed around.
And they were too close for comfort. At least for Tom. He didn't like that green glint in the boy's eyes, the smiles that Anthony returned to him.
Tom strolled casually forward, standing to loom behind Anthony, raising his gaze suspiciously and halting to stand upright.
Both Clint and Thor stopped their obnoxious chatter, glancing up wide-eyed to look at Tom, lanky, tall, and dark in his black velvet robes.
"Anthony, what are you doing?" he growled.
Anthony glanced up rather innocently at first, clearly not afraid of his older brother.
"Who knotted your panties today, Tommy?" he teased, his free hand patting his brother's arm affectionately. Tom snorted.
"Do not call me that. I don't believe I've met your...friend." The last word came out a snarl.
"Oh yeah, Tom! This is Loki, my boyffffff-" Anthony stopped mid-sentence, seemingly shrinking into his skin. Loki frowned, glancing from both Tom to Anthony with albeit confusion.
Tom forced his lips not to quiver upwards in a smirk.
'Caught you, little brother.' he thought.
"What did we discuss, Anthony? You're not dating until you are out of Wizarding College." with that, he turned on his heels, beginning to walk away. Anthony rolled his eyes, muttering something to Loki before chasing after him.
"Aww c'mon Tommy! You can't control my life, you didn't even bother to meet him!" he argued, running to catch up with him. For someone so sinister looking, Tom walked obnoxiously fast.
"Anthony-my answer is still no. End this little fling now, or I shall end it for you. Nothing good comes from a useless relationship." Tom coldly snapped. With a flick of his wrists, he vanished, leaving Anthony wide-eyed and sputtering in the middle of the halls.