Marked by Fire and Thunder.
A response to Whitetigerwolf's Odinson Challenge.
- Harry is taken in and raised by Odin and Frigga as thier son
- Harry must have a good brotherly relationship with Thor and Loki
- Harry must fall in love with an Asgardian
- No M/M slash
- Harry must still face Voldemort at some point
- Harry knowing he's adopted
I would just like to add that Harry attending Hogwarts is optional. On one hand, he was raised in Asgard, so would have little need to attend Hogwarts. On the other, his birth parents attended, so he may want to go to be closer to them in some way.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter world or characters. Those belong to J K Rowling, with gratitude for letting us play with them. The basic challenge comes from Whitetigerwolf, and thanks for the idea and framework.
The universe runs in a circle, much as a serpent which eats its own tail. It is an infinite circle twisted upon itself, a cycle that courses from birth through life to death, and then to rebirth. The legends of the Old Norse set forth this saga, this Ouroboros of existence, from the crafting of the world, to the twilight of the gods. Yet this to is a cycle, for as the world is destroyed, so too is it born again, and the wheel that is the universe continues to spin...
Chapter 1: A Road Less Travelled.
The Urdwell, at the base of Yggdrasil.
Odin, son of Borr, All-father of the Aesir, was troubled. The cycle had begun anew, and his people were set once more on the path to Ragnarok. The runes he'd gained from being hanged upon Yggdrasil, pierced by his own spear, did not hold the wisdom he needed. His left eye, sacrificed at Mimir's Well, brought him the wisdom of the ages. All that he managed to glean was that something had to change, and that change had to occur soon. So he turned his steed and sought the advice of the Norns.
They numbered three, maiden, mother, crone, and each had provenance over an aspect of Fate and Time. Skuld, the youngest, an eternal teenager, governed the future, with all its potential, and the motherly Verdandi held the present in her grasp. Urd, the eldest of these beings who seemed to predate the universe itself, dominated the past, and it was their manner to weave the threads of mortals' lives, to spin, measure and sever them. They always spoke the truth, or at least, they never lied. The King of The Aesir knew well the difference between the one and the other. And yet, he had nowhere else to turn.
"Hail, Odin All-father," spoke Verdandi. "What dark design of thy wyrd brings thee to our well? As if we did not know."
"Thou seekest the answer to Ragnarok, again, dost thee not?" Urd chuckled harshly. "The struggle lies within mine purview, many cycles have come and gone, and Ragnarok with them. The solving of it has never been in my grasp."
Verdandi also laughed. "Nor lieth it within mine."
Skuld, however, scowled. "Within mine, it waits," she almost snarled, clearly not pleased with this turn of events. "Within this cycle, even. But the road is not without hardship, and the price thou must pay is steep." Turning to him, she smiled, a villainous smirk that Surt, King of Muspellheim, would have given much to master. "What price wilt thou pay, Lord Odin? What cost wouldst thou deem too high? If I impart thee the foreknowledge to turn this tide of time, the wyrd of so many, wouldst thee bind thyself to it?"
Odin listened to the voice of ancient wisdom echoing through his mind. "What price is it that I must pay, Skuld of the Norns?" he asked. "There is much I would sacrifice, but if I must destroy that which I wouldst save, what use to pay the price?"
The elder Norns deferred to their younger sister, the only one who could bespeak that yet to come, as she answered. "Thou must part with the advice of the Norns, for we canst not give advice that would turn the wheel from its path. A new road is unknown until it is travelled. Thou wouldst change the world, so thou must bind thyself from it, with but one journey of the world remaining to you. The unknown road is travelled by a new soul, with an essence unclouded by the past. Thou must free thy mind from its bonds and fears, and seek the new. A new soul holds not to old terrors."
Odin's thoughts were a twisted maze. The price seemed little enough, but there had to be a catch. The Norns never lied, but they seldom gave away good news. There had to be something, but Skuld had obviously given him all she would until he paid the price.
"By my Names and Powers, I accept thy price, and our bargain is struck," the All-father declared. Grinning like a Dwarf on a gold-heap, Skuld gave him the answer he'd asked for.
Godric's Hollow, somewhere in the West Country, England.
October 31, 1981.
The wanderer went by the name of Dino Wednesday, a one-eyed man in his early fifties to all appearances. He'd been in the area for a week, trying to find a lead on the whereabouts of his grand-daughters, missing for several months now. It was the considered opinion of one Bathilda Bagshot, village busybody, that there was something odd about him. He rode a grey motorcycle with a silver horse emblazoned on the side, and the horse had twice as many legs as it should.
Odin All-father didn't care what the mortals thought. Someone had breached the defenses of Asgard to steal his grandchildren. In the process, they'd slain the giantess Angrboda, and grievously injured Thor's wife, Sif. From what Idunn said, apples or not, the goddess of skill in battle would have no more children. Loki's other children weren't as... helpless wasn't the word, vulnerable perhaps... and had fought. Of course, Fenris and Jormungand weren't exactly human in shape. With their mother dead, their father's wife, Sigyn, took them in at once, to raise with her twin sons.
As he strode the streets of the small village, looking around, with particular attention paid to those girls close to two years or so old, the King of the Aesir could not help but remember what the Norn known as Skuld had told him.
"The first thing to be done, if thou wouldst turn the wheel from its course, is to feud not with Mischief. Should Mischief become malevolent, Ragnarok shall come, and the Shining Realm shall fall. Next, thou must embrace the children of Mischief, for should you fear them and turn away, Ragnarok shall come, and the Shining Realm shall fall. Last, should Power and Death be stolen away, they can only be returned by one marked by Fire and Thunder, for all three must become children of two worlds, or Ragnarok shall come, and the world entire shall fall."
The wanderer saw them, two men who approached an empty lot, although Odin himself could see the cottage hidden behind layers of mortal magic. The one, a fat little man with a pointed nose, whispered something to the other, a tall, dark and evil presence, and the wards and protections on the house rippled, allowing them both entry. As the Asgardian began to run down the street, sounds of arguments, shouted voices and fighting, with wanded magics no less, broke free into the night. The screams of a woman, desperate to save her child, a hideous curse, and silence. Then the cottage exploded, and with nothing left to protect, the wards and enchantments disappeared completely.
Fighting his way forward against the magical shockwave, Odin reached the cottage's front door, and found the bodies. Lying just inside the door, a man with jet-black hair stared from lifeless blue eyes, defiance still writ large upon his face. He'd died well, this man, and would no doubt have been one worthy of Valhalla. As the Norse god moved forwards, he discovered what must have been the nursery, with a tattered set of black robes lying in the doorway. Recognising the clothes of the tall man, Odin looked around, but saw no corresponding body. Instead, crumpled against the wall by the crib, lay a young woman, not more than twenty summers of age, if that, with hair red as Thor's own. She too was dead, defending, or trying to defend, the boy-child in the crib.
Odin could almost taste the Dark Magic that made up what mortals called the Killing Curse, although it would have no effect on an Aesir or Vanir. Making his way to the crib, he was aware of the cracking sounds that announced the arrival of mortal sorcerers, those who named themselves witches and wizards. The poor child. Odin reached out to see the boy's face, lifting a fringe of scruffy black hair with reddish highlights throughout.
The child was warm and breathing! From what Odin knew, no small amount of lore by any count, the boy should be dead... yet he lived. And there! On the child's left brow was a flame-shaped scar, and on his right a bolt of lightning, although the scars pulsed as a Dark Magic struggled to take hold. A few runes, hurriedly sketched on the child in his own blood, soon put paid to that, and the King of the Aesir crushed the vile soul fragment beneath his heel, where it dissipated in a soft scream and a burst of sickly green smoke.
Sirius Black was the first mortal wizard on the scene, arriving in time to see the tall, one-eyed stranger emerge from the remains of the Potter's cottage with a bundle in his arms. Wand out, he could see Hagrid hurrying down the street towards them, a sign that Dumbledore was already in motion. Confronting the stranger was easy, and then a tiny, long disused section of memory piped up, and Sirius Black recognised the figure before him. "Lord... Odin... ? What..."
"There is a wyrd upon me, to change the wheel's path. The boy will be safe where I shall take him, and in time shall return. Spend thyself not in vengeance, Grim Hound of the Blacks. Set thyself to watch for him, to keep him safe when he returns. Thou must be his shield."
With those words, Odin mounted the motorcycle that was truly his steed, Sleipnir, and roared off into the night.