Title: Magic and Myth
Song: Myspace Girl by The Afters
Rating: T for language and future chapters
Genre: Humor, Angst, Romance
Fandom: Thor and Harry Potter
Inspiration: 'By My Side' by Blinded-Kit
Warnings: Pre-Thor, teenager!Loki, reference to Loki as a puppy, frying pans of doom, crazy old women, messing with the weather, magic outside of school, ungodly large libraries, rude wake up calls, invasions of privacy, close proximities, mild swearing, Macbeth reference, Sassy Gay Friend reference and clueless parents
"Any clue just as to who, I've fallen for
Cause you got me and I've got time."
-"Myspace Girl" by The Afters
Hermione cannot for the life of her pin-point exactly how he had flawlessly wormed his way into her life and daily routines. All that seemed to matter since that one cloudy summer day is that he was there and—she didn't care what he said it was outright stalking—always right behind a corner with his endowment for mischief and a scheme of some sort in tow. And she went along with it. Not that she enjoyed it, but someone had to keep an eye on him.
It was the summer before her fourth year, a little ways out of the lingering regiments of May and crawling slowly further into the warmer months ahead when he had, quite literally, fallen into her life.
Hermione Granger had a love-hate relationship with summers. Before her Hogwarts, and primitive schooling, days they'd been short months for her to sit outside and read whatever she found interesting, having picnics with her mum and dad in the park, staying up late and watch video documentaries about faraway places with a bowl of popcorn much larger than herself. Though after she'd gone to Hogwarts, and had become a little older, they were long months that separated her from her time turner and the huge libraries of the castle, time away from knowledge she could be wrapping around her finger, time she could use her magic, time away from her friends.
The summer before second year, she and Ron had written religiously for months to their friend Harry, only to get no response—later they'd found it to be the house elf, Dobby's fault for stealing his mail, but still it hurt that he didn't reply to any of them thereafter, she had put a lot of work into those letters.
Now, after third year, she'd finally realized that she'd just been lonely, and refused to let it get to her. Besides, she felt that she deserved a metal for this year with the unnerving dreams of the notoriously Bellatrix Lestrange, who was rumored to be at large, still crept up on her every now again, helping a known 'fugitive' escape Askaban and she had finished dealing with the sore spot on her fist where Draco Malfoy had bruised it with his nose some months earlier.
This summer, she swore, would be different. This summer the awkward pre-teen years had all but left her and she swore that no matter what she'd find something fun to do in her small hometown. Her friends had promised her they'd all find a way to all get together, and she promised to do more than read. Besides she'd have the house mainly to herself due to the new candy store in town that was consequently rotting the teeth of the children nearby.
It was a match made in heaven summer. She could do anything she wanted.
However, tripping over a man fallen straight from legend never crossed her mind.
Loki had spent the last half hour staring at the television and she'd spent the last half hour staring at him.
No, it wasn't because he was any more fascinating a subject than the current toothpaste commercial on the telly, but for the simple fact that a man who claimed to be a Norse god was here, with her, sitting on her couch, eating her food, and watching her television.
No, Hermione wasn't all that possessive of these things, but it was that fact that he kept claiming to be a god from Norse Mythology.
Two weeks ago, during her frantic run to get home before a nasty thunder storm set in, this idiot had fallen out of the sky—or off a broomstick that was still to be decided—and landed in the shrubs outside her neighbor's house.
Now, Hermione wasn't the type to just take fallen Quidditch players in, or anyone unknown entity in general, but she could practically feel the magic waving off of him, and it was a night her parents weren't home. Also, she highly doubted she could explain to Mrs. Dubose why a strange man was unconscious in her shrubs—that woman blamed her for everything, especially since the tea accident when she was eleven—and her perfect summer did not include being spied on by an eighty-plus year old woman.
So she'd dragged him out of the bushes and forced him to half-walk to her house and under the awning where the rain couldn't touch them. Once he'd relaxed back into her porch swing, she'd let the avalanche of questions fall from her mouth in an attempt to make sense out of his sudden appearance while he was still conscious.
His unearthly green eyes fixed on her and she nearly recoiled.
He looked at her oddly and asked where he was and if she was a sorceress.
Hermione's nose had crinkled. Sorceress?
She'd only ever heard that one from her dad when he joked with her about school. "Are you a wizard?" She'd asked. Curious to know if he was a Hogwarts student or not, he did look to be around her age, if not a little older.
"You could say that, I suppose. Albeit master of magic is a more suiting title." He rubbed his temples in smooth circles. "Is that what they call magic wielders on Midgard? Wizards? What do they call you then?" Hermione cocked a brow at him.
"I'm a witch."
"That's lovely." His voice was dripping sarcasm. "What's your name, witch?"
She realized his hint then and winced. "Hermione Granger," she said slowly like he had brain damage. "What's yours?"
"I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief."
That statement alone let her know she should have left him in the rain in brave Mrs. Dubose's frying pan of doom.
It may be the immense amounts of coffee and migraine pills talking, but Hermione decided if she had to refer to Loki as an animal, he'd be a puppy.
Yes, an irate and scrutinizing, yet fluffy little puppy with a constant need of attention and a hankering for biting at her heels and leaving messes in his wake for her to clean up.
And true to the nature of a puppy, Loki had taken a shine to following her around, much to her annoyance. She spent a few hours at her local library flipping through mythology books to find this God of Mischief and Lies he claimed to be.
It wasn't uncommon for parents to name their children after characters in mythology or otherwise thinking themselves so clever—her own parents, even without magic, had named her after the daughter of Helen of Troy—and she distinctly recalled and girl named Lavender at her school and Draco was a far from normal name. His parents could have simply named him after a Norse god and he'd taken it a step too far. Or he could be lying. Or brain damage was still a pliable option.
Either accusation worked.
When she did, however, find the chapter on Loki she had smiled, turned the book about face toward him and pointed to the colorful context with a "Ha!" of triumph.
To which he grandly replied, looking rather bored in the midst of his Greek Mythology book with his chin tucked onto one fist. "Who drew that god awful picture of me? It should be burned."
To which she replied with her head against the wooden table.
Loki's tendency of showing up at her house wasn't much better. Though he had the ridiculous habit to stay at her house when her parents were running late with work and stay in her living room late into the night, sitting in her father's favorite reading chair watching old movies, while she'd always fall asleep on the couch with her book. He always 'returned' to the house, waking her up with the sound of him knocking on the door and greeting her mum at seven o' clock every morning.
She'd had to bite her tongue on more than one occasion to keep from growling at him in front of her mother.
Her mum had sat her down one evening after Loki 'left' and asked her outright if they needed to have 'the talk' again. Loki had spent the rest of the night rolling on the floor—well, only because she'd shoved him off her bed—laughing until she forced herself to get some sleep.
Could this summer get any worse? She doubted it.
In an inane attempt to prove to her that he was a god, Loki had spirited her away for the afternoon into the heart of London. More particularly, to a library. In which Hermione made a mental note to look up more forms of travel without floo powder. However, now she just felt like enjoying herself and used the list in the back of her mind to search for books she wanted to bring home for further reference to her self-inflicted summer projects. "What are you doing?" Loki asked as Hermione began her climb of the great wooden ladder to the upper selves.
"What does it look like? I'm climbing up to get to that book." Hermione said determination setting in she climbed higher.
"Why do you waste your time when you can use magic?" He asked and, with a snap of his fingers, the very book she'd been after slid from its place and levitated down to him, teasingly just out of her reach. Hermione glowered down at him.
It was a question he'd often asked and she often answered.
"I can't do that outside of school." She said stiffly. "You know that." He had to know that.
"Oh, I'm sure." Loki laughed, it was a carefree sound that Hermione was sure would send a librarian whirling around the corner to shush him, but none did. Of course, she thought and, still glaring, began her decent to the ladder and stopped before the second step so she was at eye-level with the claimed-to-be god. "What is it, Lady Granger?" He asked, a Cheshire smile curling at his lips.
"Nothing, just thinking," she quipped and snatched the book from his hands, making her way towards the check-out desks out of the labyrinths of books. Loki, with longer legs than hers, matched her stride in three easy steps, carrying a pile of books she's left behind on purpose for him.
"You could just be a pesky seventh year playing a prank on me," she said almost to herself as she set her books on the librarian's desk and turned to him, almost jumping back when she realized how closely he'd been following her. His emerald eyes shone brightly.
"You keep saying 'seventh year' and 'fourth year'. What does that mean?" He asked as he set down her other books.
Hermione opened her mouth to retort.
"May I see your card, please?" The elderly librarian held out her hand and Hermione realized she didn't have a card to this library. She could almost smack herself, being so excited to be here, taking all this time to check out a book when she didn't even have a card to check it out with! When had she gotten so dim-witted?!
"Here," Loki pulled a card out of his pocket and slid it across the granite desk towards the woman. She scanned it and handed it back to Hermione with a receipt and the books.
Hermione was about to pass Loki back his card, but then caught the name on it.
She glanced up at Loki and then back to the card questioningly.
"I do enjoy pranks, but this isn't a particularly good venue, now is it?" He gave his infectious smile and Hermione flushed, handing him back the card and grabbing the books off the desk.
"You could have just called beforehand to have one made." And then she turned to leave.
Loki, however crazy, rude and subsequently stubborn, wasn't half bad company to be in. He was intelligent, maybe even more so than her, and could carry a conversation on any topic not including muggle-made items fairly well, he was well-read on anything revolving around Norse legends and Vikings, and quite talented with effortless magic.
For him, as he explained, magic came from within and was somewhat scientifically logical. Her magic, and the usage of her wand, was a fascinating discovery for him. She'd spent a little while explaining to him the exact function, procedure, and spells for her wand before stopping herself and growling at him for pretending like he didn't know.
He'd spent an hour waving around her wand, but received no results to Hermione's surprise.
He had the look of someone who uses magic, she realized. He looked oddly out of place in any modern setting.
For example, here, at an urban coffee shop in downtown London, Hermione was reading a fiction novelwhile Loki stirred his white mocha latte in a ceramic green mug and he looked so natural yet odd that she had to keep glancing at him to insure that he was there.
Peeking out from behind her book, Hermione stared over at him.
Loki was good-looking; there was no doubt about that. He was tall and lean, but not by any means physically weak. He was pale too, contrasting smoothly with his slicked back dark hair. He had aristocratic features and a sovereign nose that to he looked down at people from with his icy emerald eyes. From that alone she was sure he'd be a Slytherin like Draco Malfoy.
And, aside from the unusual armor he was wearing when they met, he knew how to dress himself. Today he'd conjured an outfit from one of her mother's catalog magazines: soft dark jeans that were so blue they looked black and a green shirt that rivaled his eyes with a suit jacket to go over it. A bit dressy, yet casual.
Her eyes narrowed. Very Slytherin.
The silence was comfortable between them; they didn't really need to talk while in each other's presence. With the background noise of some Indie band and the quiet chatter of a few other patrons, she felt . . . at ease? At peace? No . . . content with a touch of curiosity.
"See something of interest, Lady Granger?" A deliberately slow smile spread across his face and he looked up at her like a proud dog that had just cornered a cat.
Oh, my God. Hermione snapped her book shut and shoved—carefully tucked—her book away into her bag, eyes never leaving his.
Loki's eyes narrowed playfully and his mouth made a small o of surprise. "Ooh, something witchy this way comes." He cackled at his own joke and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Oh, shut up Lord McDeath, I'm getting tired of this."
"Tired of what?" Loki asked still smiling and daintily stirring the piping hot coffee in his mug.
"This," she hissed stabbing a finger at him to make her point. "This Asgardian prince, God of Mischief, Loki and other magical crap. You're driving me insane. You speak like you escaped from the pages of a Shakespearian play and you dress like a movie star incognito. You refer to muggles as mortals, and though they aren't a far stretch form concept, it's still rude. Then you go off claiming to come from a 'Rainbow Bridge' and Asgard and being the brother of Thor. You have a British accent! I can't even . . . I mean—damnit!—I told you to call me Hermione!" The childish rambling of her frustration left her before she could stop it.
Loki stared at her for a long moment.
"Oh, Hermione," his slight accent dripping like honey from the syllables of her name, making her flush red at the cheeks and her heart skitter and hop a few steps. "You are entertaining."
His smiles made her blush harder, the bright gleam of his evergreen eyes. Nothing could match that uniquely icy color.
She waited for his little fit to calm down, staring at him with mild fascination and horror as he looked like he might start slapping his hand on the table or stomping his feet. People had already turned their heads to stare, but quickly diverted their gazes and whispered behind their hands.
Her flushed cheeks and bushy hair paired with his insane laughter and flying hands. They were a sight to seeindeed.
Although travel through the 'backdoor of the realms' Loki had used to take them to London would have been the faster way of getting home, Hermione had demanded they take the tube for the simple fact that traveling Loki's way included her clutching on to him for dear life while she screamed her head off and he held her too securely to be proper.
And it was fun watching how Loki teetered and tottered on the ride with a death grip of his own on the leather strap on the ceiling of the subway car; though it was not funny when his free hand was constantly brushing against hers and causing her heart to pound into her chest.
She decided to switch hands after a while, which Loki took interest in.
"Is your arm getting tired?"
"No." All the blood is rushing out of it. It wasn't a complete lie.
Looking around the train cart of mostly sitting passengers Loki turned to her again. "Shouldn't we sit down, Lady Hermione? The journey by this beast is an estimate of an hour."
Hermione shrugged, trying to stay blasé to the fact that he kept saying her name every other sentence just to annoy her.
"You can, if you want to."
Loki sighed heavily and released the tether from his grasp just as the train turned a particularly hard corner and he when sprawling back, grabbing onto her shoulder for support, and resulting in them going plunging backward onto the subway benches. Her, a little or less, sitting on his lap. Flushing madly at this fact, she nearly had a heart attack when Loki's hands touched her waist and slid her over into the chair beside his, choosing to be a gentleman rather than a creeper.
Hands linger over hers a little longer than necessary.
"Thanks a lot." She grumbled and he only smiled.
"It was my pleasure, Hermione."
Hermione had been able to hail a taxi and force her two cents in for paying the cab driver instead of Loki with his seemingly endless deep pockets—for all she knew it was stolen or some wizardly form of counterfeit, she wasn't sure. Besides, she was already on a roll from buying him coffee earlier and kicking his 'man pays for everything' notion in the face. Sadly, she only had enough money to get them ten blocks away from her house, and warned Loki about saying anything as they were booted out and continued the journey on foot.
Her parents were home and had left the porch light on for her instead of calling her mobile. Probably thinking she was out at the library or at her favorite café, not running around London with a strange man claiming to be a god.
As they walked down the twilight lit streets, past the familiar parks and childish memories that flourished from the well-kept gardens and the stylish Victorian lawn furniture, Hermione felt some unearthly presence in the familiarity of her street's eloquent beauty. A strange light seemed to glow from everything, bathing the world around her an ethereal gold.
Hermione looked up, finding Loki with his palm to the sky and a sly smile across his devilish mouth.
"This reminds me home," he said softly.
For a wild moment, the genuine earnestness in his voice made her stop.
"Then why don't you go back there?" she grumbled.
Loki smiled and hummed to himself a song she couldn't place. Sighing she continued up the walk to her door, inwardly warring with herself on whether to let him in or not since her parents were home and she didn't feel like answering questions she still didn't know the answers to, and by the rustling of the curtains in the far window from the living room she could tell they were watching already.
She was shocked when Loki stopped on her doormat, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking oddly more handsome with a reserved smile that didn't eat up half of his face. Still it was a secretive smile, the turn of his lips and the gleam of his eyes clashed too harshly for it to be innocent.
"Well this was fun."
The transparently innocent comment made her heart plunge into her stomach. What? She wondered. Him standing there, on her porch, smiling at her like they'd just gotten back from a date. What's next? Was he going to snog her too?
"We should venture out like this again tomorrow."
Hermione didn't answer, but Loki didn't really need it. He did whatever he wanted with literally no consolation as to how it would and/or could affect her.
He took a step advancing into her personal space and Hermione's hand clenched into a fist, thinking he'd take it to kiss, like he had on many occasions for a brief recess of her company only to return with ten-fold new plans shoved up his designer sleeves.
But he surprised her again by leaning forward and delicately placing a kiss to her cheek, his long fingered hand touching the curve of her cheek to her ear. His lips were surprisingly warm against her skin, thin but not too thin.
When he pulled back, his fingers untwined themselves from a lock of her flaxen brown hair and smile in something akin to victory.
"Farwell, Lady Hermione."
And then he turned and walked down the steps of her porch, down the stone path and down the block. Her eyes widened in shock as he continued his careless stroll down past the hedges and down the street like nothing had even happened.
Had he really just done that? Seriously?
She touched her cheek, feeling the lingering warmth of his lips had faded from the burning of her skin.
I couldn't help it! T~T
Tom made me do it! Blame him for his sexy British actor appeal! Darn you Brit's and your accents too!
Anyway, most crossover stories are usually fairly well written, infinitely researched and carefully planned out or completely fly off the handle in all different directions. I think this is a happy medium because I can't write anything without my twisted sense of humor—or the fangirl mental image of young, my age, Tom Hiddleston smiling like he adores me. Oh~ . . . I need to get a grip, I've never gone on fansites before, but I have for this man. I've seen his new movie twice and bought Thor yesterday.
Yes, I snuck in Mrs. Dubose. If you know what book of classic literature she's from tell me in your review.
((Note* I'm from America (hey ya'll) and to those who aren't from America, like Britain (my English teacher is Welsh) you can start from one part of the country and head in one direct and hear at least thirteen different variations of English butchery and varying accents with touches of different languages. For example, in my hometown we're flushed with Italian, Polish and Irish immigrants and from our dialect we speak fast and low with abbreviations for everything. In Chicago I've noticed that downtown people speak more through their nose. (not as weird as it sounds). Where am I going with this? Hermione probably thinks Loki is from a different part of Britain. ))
There are a few very good videos on YouTube for this couple, to get the feel of it, I'd watch the one titled ' "Touching her neck, her soft flesh" ' by barbarellapsaro. It has audio from the audiobook The Red Necklace which Tom reads! Both could be found on YouTube.
Tell me what you want to see here,