The golden light of the feasting hall flickered off goblets raised in countless toasts, the air alive with laughter and the sound of mead being poured freely. At one particularly lively corner of the hall, a scene was unfolding that quickly drew attention.
Sirius Black, his sharp features alight with mischief, threw an arm around James Potter's shoulders, steering him toward a tall, dark-haired figure standing slightly apart from the main revelry. Remus Lupin followed with a knowing smirk, his boyish charm tempered by wisdom but still very much alive in his warm brown eyes.
"Loki!" Sirius called out, his voice carrying over the din. "Look who we dragged back from Valhalla!"
Loki turned, his expression a carefully measured mix of amusement and curiosity. He tilted his head, the trademark smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his sharp green eyes assessed James. "Well, well," he mused, his voice rich with sarcasm and something akin to intrigue. "James Potter. I must say, you've been quite the topic of conversation among our dear Marauders here. A pleasure to finally meet you, though I must admit, I was rather enjoying my title as the chief troublemaker of Asgard."
James grinned, extending a hand in greeting, the easy charm in his expression making it clear why Sirius and Remus had followed him into every bit of mischief back at Hogwarts. "Loki, I've heard plenty about you, too. And something tells me you're the only one who could ever out-Marauder a Marauder."
Loki's smirk deepened as he took James' offered hand in a firm shake. "Flattery will get you everywhere, James. But you should know, I do have standards."
Sirius snorted, shaking his head. "Oh, please. You love us."
Loki gave an exaggerated sigh. "It is true. I tolerate you all with something that vaguely resembles affection."
Remus chuckled, taking a sip from his goblet. "Translation: He'd be lost without us."
James laughed, the sound rich and full of life. "Merlin, I've missed this. So, tell me—what kind of trouble have you three been stirring up in my absence?"
Loki's expression was pure mischief. "Oh, nothing too scandalous. Just instructing your son and his friends in the finer points of magic… and mischief, naturally."
James arched a brow, clearly intrigued. "Mischief, you say?" He turned to Sirius and Remus, a knowing grin forming. "Tell me, does that include turning someone's robes into a living, screaming nightmare? Because we were quite good at that back in our day."
Sirius burst into laughter. "Oh, you mean like the time we cursed Snivellus's robes to belt out The Magic Flute every time he tried to insult anyone?"
Remus chuckled. "Or when we turned the Great Hall into a winter wonderland… in May?"
James groaned dramatically. "Ah, yes. The day McGonagall almost actually killed us."
Loki's smirk widened. "I like the way you lot think. But if you wish to compete with the God of Mischief, you'll need to raise the bar a bit higher." He took a leisurely sip of his mead before adding, "I once transformed Thor's entire wardrobe into elaborate ball gowns. He didn't notice until he attempted to don his battle armor."
Sirius nearly choked on his drink, while James clutched his stomach, laughing.
"That is some next-level mayhem," James admitted, still grinning. "I think I may have to take notes."
Sirius slung an arm around James's shoulders again. "Well, now that you're here, Prongs, I say we combine forces. Loki, you up for it?"
Loki feigned a dramatic sigh. "I suppose if I must align myself with you reckless mortals, I shall." He glanced toward Remus. "Although I suspect he will be the voice of reason."
Remus, ever the responsible one, raised a hand in mock surrender. "Someone has to be. Though I'd rather call it quality control."
James clapped his hands together. "Excellent. A controlled amount of chaos, then."
Loki lifted his goblet, amusement and something softer glinting in his gaze. "To the Marauders, then. And to new beginnings."
James, Sirius, and Remus raised their goblets as well, their smiles wide and genuine. "To the Marauders!" they echoed, clinking their goblets together.
Then, as the laughter settled, James turned to Loki with a sincerity that cut through the playful banter. "You know, Loki, it's good to have family around. I might not have said it enough, but you being my brother-in-law… it means a lot to me."
Loki's ever-present smirk faltered, just for a second, before something warmer replaced it. He placed a hand on James' shoulder, his voice quieter but no less firm. "And you being part of our family has meant more than you know. You bring a light to Asgard that we did not realize we were missing."
James grinned, lifting his goblet once more. "To family."
Loki's smirk returned, but there was something softer in his eyes as he nodded. "To family."
The four of them—Marauders and the God of Mischief—drank to that, their bond one forged not just in magic and mischief, but in the unshakable ties of love, loyalty, and the knowledge that, in this new world, they would never face anything alone.
—
The grand feasting hall of Asgard roared with mirth as mead sloshed in overflowing mugs, laughter bounced off the golden walls, and the scent of roasted boar filled the air. At the heart of the celebration sat two veritable titans of drinking prowess—Volstagg the Valiant and Rubeus Hagrid, both locked in an epic, good-natured contest to determine who could outdrink the other.
The massive wooden table before them groaned under the weight of emptied mugs, discarded bones, and the sheer presence of its two occupants. Each man sat wide-legged, elbows braced on the table, gripping yet another frothing tankard of Asgardian mead—legendary for its strength and ability to bring even the mightiest warriors to their knees.
Standing behind Volstagg were his children, Bjorn and Sigrun, their fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes alight with excitement. Bjorn—a broad-shouldered warrior with the solid build of a bear and the confidence of a seasoned fighter—grinned widely, clapping a hand on his sister's shoulder.
"Come now, Father," Bjorn bellowed, his deep voice cutting through the din. "I have seen you drink a frost giant under the table! Are you truly going to let a mortal best you?"
Sigrun—lithe, fierce, and sharp-eyed like a hunting falcon—grinned, her arms crossed over her chest. "Remember, Father, a Volstagg never surrenders! And certainly not to someone who keeps a pink umbrella as a weapon!"
On the other side of the table, Leif and Astrid stood with equal fervor. Leif—tall, blonde, and broad like a living mountain, his blue eyes alight with mischief—threw an arm around Hagrid's shoulder and gave him a shake so forceful that the half-giant's beard nearly dipped into his tankard.
"Hagrid, you old beast, don't let him rattle you!" Leif cheered, his booming laugh rivaling the thunder outside.
Astrid—with golden hair braided over one shoulder and green eyes shimmering with delight—clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, this is wonderful! Volstagg may be the greatest drinker in Asgard, but Hagrid has years of practice drowning his troubles at The Three Broomsticks!"
Draco Malfoy, standing just behind them, smirked as he confidently took bets from the gathered crowd. His sharp, aristocratic features—enhanced by a smirk that could sell snake oil to a Slytherin—were illuminated by the flickering torchlight. He flicked a golden coin into the air, catching it effortlessly.
"Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," Draco called out, his blond hair ruffled just enough to make it look like he wasn't trying too hard. "Will it be the great and rotund Volstagg, or the colossal and indomitable Hagrid? Odds are even, and I must say, I am rather enjoying the desperation on both sides."
Hagrid snorted at Draco's words but didn't take his eyes off his opponent. He lifted his massive mug and took a deep, throat-rumbling gulp, setting the empty mug down with a resounding thud. "Aye, Volstagg, yeh may 'ave the fancy armor, but yeh ain't got me stamina."
Volstagg barked out a laugh, slapping his great belly, which jiggled beneath his tunic. "Hah! Stamina? My dear Hagrid, I have feasted in the halls of Valhalla itself! I have drunk mead from the horns of slain beasts and challenged Thor to a contest—twice!" He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "And lost only once."
The onlookers ooh'd and chuckled.
"Another!" Volstagg bellowed, slamming his mug onto the table.
"Same fer me!" Hagrid roared, matching his opponent drink for drink.
Mug after mug disappeared down their throats, each gulp followed by cheers, jeers, and the occasional belch that shook the rafters. The room spun slightly for both warriors, but neither would yield.
Bjorn grinned, nudging his sister. "He's looking a little pink in the face."
Sigrun smirked. "So is Father."
Draco took another bet from an eager Asgardian. "The tension is unbearable. I daresay if either one of them keels over, it will cause a seismic event."
The contest stretched longer than anyone expected—so long that even Thor had leaned in to watch, amused at the spectacle. Finally, as the two men reached for their next round, both realized—
The mugs were empty.
Silence fell. The crowd leaned in.
Volstagg blinked.
Hagrid blinked.
Then, in unison, they threw back their heads and roared with laughter, the sheer volume shaking the table and rattling the cutlery.
Hagrid wiped a mead-soaked beard with the back of his massive hand. "Call it a draw?"
Volstagg, still chuckling, reached across the table and clapped Hagrid on the back so hard it sent a plate flying. "A draw it is, my friend! You are a warrior of the highest caliber, and I salute you!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, toasting the competitors as coins exchanged hands and Draco pocketed his share with a knowing smirk.
Bjorn and Sigrun rushed to their father, beaming with pride, while Astrid and Leif nearly tackled Hagrid with excitement.
Draco leaned in with a mocking grin, flipping a coin between his fingers. "Well, well, well, a stalemate. What a perfectly unsatisfying yet oddly profitable outcome."
Volstagg grinned. "Oh, hush, young Malfoy, and drink!" He shoved a fresh mug into Draco's hands, forcing the blond wizard to grimace before reluctantly taking a sip.
Hagrid chuckled, stretching his arms with a content sigh. "Yeh lot are somethin' else, I tell yeh."
Leif clapped his shoulder. "And so are you, Hagrid. Never thought I'd see the day someone matched my father!"
Astrid smiled, her green eyes dancing with mirth. "It just means we'll have to have a rematch."
Volstagg's belly shook as he laughed. "Aye, girl, but not tonight! Tonight, we feast, drink, and be merry!"
As the celebration continued, tankards clashed, songs were sung, and friendships were further cemented in the heart of Asgard, where gods, warriors, wizards, and one particularly cheeky Malfoy revelled in the glory of good company and legendary tales.
—
The grand feast roared on around them—tankards clashed, warriors sang, and laughter echoed through the golden halls of Asgard—but Haraldr and Susan found a quiet refuge in the shadowed alcove of a stone archway, where the torchlight flickered softly against the carved runes.
Seated close together on an ornately carved bench, Haraldr leaned forward slightly, his broad shoulders relaxed but his fingers interlocked in a sign of deep thought. The glow of the torches danced across his face, illuminating the storm of emotions in his emerald green eyes. He turned to Susan, his gaze filled with gratitude, relief, and a joy so profound it seemed to make the very air around them hum with warmth.
"Susan," he murmured, his deep voice laced with wonder, "I still can't believe it. My father is back. He's really back."
Susan—her auburn hair shimmering in the dim light, her piercing blue eyes reflecting the quiet strength she carried—offered him a gentle, knowing smile.
"It's a miracle," she said softly, her voice carrying that steady confidence that had always grounded him. "And you deserve it. You deserved to have him back."
Haraldr inhaled deeply, as if still struggling to accept the reality of it, and then reached out, his calloused, warrior's hand covering hers in a gesture both tender and reverent.
"And it's all thanks to you," he admitted, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand in an unconscious motion. His voice was thick with sincerity. "If you and the others hadn't opened the gates of Valhalla… I don't know if this would have ever been possible. You've given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for."
Susan blinked, feeling warmth rise to her cheeks. She wasn't used to such raw, open gratitude—not like this. She squeezed his hand back, her grip firm, reassuring, solid—because that's who she was.
"It was an honor to be part of it," she said, her voice unwavering, but soft around the edges. "Seeing you with your father again… knowing what it means to you… I would do it again in a heartbeat." She hesitated, then lowered her gaze briefly, before adding, "If I had the chance… I'd want the same. To see my parents again. Just once."
Haraldr's expression shifted, a flicker of understanding darkening his features. He had seen the steel in Susan Bones—the resilient fighter, the strategist, the woman who never wavered even when the odds were stacked against her. But now, in the golden glow of Asgard's great hall, he saw the part of her she rarely let anyone see. The girl who had lost too much, too soon.
His grip on her hand tightened, grounding her. "I know," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his own losses. "And if there were any way to bring them back… I'd tear the heavens apart for you, Susan."
She looked up sharply, startled by the absolute certainty in his voice. He meant it. He truly meant it.
Her heart squeezed painfully, but not with sadness—with something softer, deeper, warmer.
A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, though her eyes glistened slightly.
—
A Quiet Corner Amidst the Celebration
Skadi stood at the edge of the great Asgardian hall, the golden light of torches casting flickering shadows on the polished stone floor. The revelry carried on behind her—laughter, the clinking of mugs, the deep, booming voices of warriors swapping tales of glory—but her attention was elsewhere.
Across the room, Haraldr and Susan sat together, close enough that their hands nearly brushed against one another, lost in quiet conversation. The warmth in Haraldr's eyes, the softness in Susan's smile—it stirred something deep in Skadi's chest. A tangle of emotions she couldn't quite name, a yearning she wasn't sure how to voice.
She wasn't jealous, not truly. She was happy for Haraldr, beyond words. He deserved joy after everything he had been through. But… there was something else. Something unspoken. A flicker of longing that curled around her heart like a winter wind.
"Your face is doing a thing," came a dreamy voice beside her.
Skadi blinked, startled out of her thoughts as she turned to see Luna Lovegood standing there, dressed in flowing Asgardian silks, her blonde hair catching the torchlight like spun starlight. She had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, as Luna often did, her large, knowing eyes fixed on Skadi with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and quiet amusement.
Skadi let out a small, breathy laugh. "A thing?"
Luna nodded sagely, tilting her head. "Yes. That thing people do when their heart wants something, but their head is still catching up."
Skadi huffed a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "You always say things like that, and half the time I can't tell if you're being wise or just cryptic for the fun of it."
Luna's lips quirked in a mysterious smile. "Why can't it be both?"
Skadi glanced back at Haraldr and Susan. "They look happy."
"They are," Luna agreed, following Skadi's gaze. Then, after a beat, she added, "And so are you. Or at least, you will be. Soon."
Skadi's brow furrowed slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Luna sighed, as if explaining something obvious. "Oh, Skadi. You're thinking about things too… narrowly. Love isn't a path with only one direction—it's a constellation. A sky full of stars, all connected in ways we don't always see at first."
Skadi turned fully toward Luna now, crossing her arms. "Are you saying you think—?"
Luna nodded before she could even finish the question. "Yes. I see you there, with them. And others, too." She gave a slow blink, her gaze distant, as if watching something just beyond the fabric of time itself. "Love is funny that way. It doesn't take away—it grows. Expands. Like a story unfolding, where the best parts haven't been written yet."
Skadi let that sink in. She had never thought about it like that. But Luna's certainty had a way of making the impossible feel just within reach.
"Do you ever wonder how you just… know things?" Skadi asked, studying the other girl.
Luna smiled, a playful twinkle in her eye. "Oh, I don't know anything, really. I just see what others haven't quite noticed yet."
Skadi let out a quiet breath, some of the weight on her chest easing. "Thank you, Luna."
Luna grinned, reaching out to hook their arms together as she pulled Skadi toward the heart of the celebration. "Come on, we can't spend the whole night brooding in corners. There's laughter to be had, and dancing, and possibly a few strategically misplaced bets on whether Volstagg falls asleep at the table first."
Skadi laughed, letting herself be dragged back into the warmth of the festivities. And for the first time that evening, she didn't feel like she was watching from the outside looking in.
---
Across the grand Asgardian hall, where golden banners fluttered from the high-vaulted ceiling and torches bathed everything in flickering warmth, four figures sat together, their laughter cutting through the hum of conversation. Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Loki Laufeyson—an unlikely quartet bound by shared mischief, sharp wit, and an unspoken challenge to see who could be the most insufferably charming.
Sirius, reclining lazily in his chair like a rogue prince surveying his kingdom, smirked over the rim of his goblet. "You should've seen Snivellus's face when the enchanted fireworks went off in the dungeons." He gave a dramatic sigh, tilting his head toward Loki. "Pure. Gold."
James, eyes alight with mischief, laughed and leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. "Honestly, mate, we outdid ourselves that year. But you know what really made it?" His grin widened, full of boyish arrogance. "The sound he made. That high-pitched yelp? I still hear it in my dreams."
Remus, ever the responsible one, but with just enough of a glint in his eye to betray his amusement, chuckled. "Right, because giving an entire generation of Hogwarts students tinnitus was clearly a worthy cause." He took a sip of his drink, rolling his eyes affectionately.
Loki, leaning forward with his chin resting on his clasped hands, regarded them with that infuriatingly knowing smirk. "Ah, yes. The famed Marauders." He drawled the word as if tasting it. "I must say, I expected more… subtlety. I thought you lot were legends of deception, intrigue, shadowy exploits…" He flicked a hand in the air. "And yet you speak of fireworks and juvenile hexes?" His tone was mocking, but his eyes glittered with amusement.
James, never one to back down from a challenge, arched a brow. "Oh, I don't know, Loki. I hear you once turned Odin's throne into a pumpkin."
Loki's smirk grew, the very picture of unrepentant arrogance. "A masterstroke, if I do say so myself. The color was quite fetching."
Sirius let out a bark of laughter, eyes gleaming. "You're telling me the great Trickster God resorted to fruit-based pranks? You're practically one of us already."
Loki leaned back, feigning boredom. "Hardly. My work is art. Yours is…" He gestured vaguely. "Brash, loud. Like a pack of overexcited puppies who've discovered their own tails."
James smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Sirius raised his goblet. "To overexcited puppies!"
Remus sighed dramatically but clinked his goblet against Sirius's anyway. "Merlin help us all."
Loki, rolling his eyes but smiling despite himself, lifted his own goblet. "Very well. To mischief."
James leaned in, his expression turning that familiar brand of wicked. "And to the trouble we've yet to cause."
A beat of silence. Then—
Sirius grinned. "I'm in."
Remus, sighing again but with laughter in his eyes, nodded. "Fine. But let's at least try not to get banished."
Loki's smirk widened, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a thrill of excitement. "Gentlemen, I do believe this is the beginning of something glorious."
The four clinked their goblets together, sealing the inevitable chaos to come.
—
The grand hall of Asgard was alive with warmth and light, the golden glow of floating lanterns reflecting off polished floors, cascading tapestries, and goblets brimming with fine Asgardian mead. The atmosphere was electric with joy, laughter intertwining with the melodies of a string ensemble playing in the background. At the heart of it all, seated at a grand, ornately carved table, Eirlys Potter found herself surrounded by the most important women in her life—Amelia, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda.
And yet, for all the warmth and conversation around her, her emerald-green eyes kept straying across the hall. There, among the revelers, James Potter sat, engaged in an animated discussion with Sirius, Remus, Loki, and the rest of the Marauders. He was alive, laughing, his dark hair perpetually messy, his hazel eyes alight with mischief and mirth. Every now and then, as if drawn by some invisible tether, he would glance her way. And every time their eyes met, he would smile. That same heart-stopping, cocky, devastatingly tender smile that had made her fall in love with him all those years ago.
Amelia, ever observant, caught the look and smirked knowingly, her strong yet elegant features softened by affection. She nudged Eirlys gently with her elbow. "It's surreal, isn't it?" she said, her voice pitched low so only Eirlys could hear. "Having him back after all this time."
Eirlys exhaled softly, feeling the weight of all those years pressing against her chest. "More than surreal," she murmured, still looking at James as though he might disappear if she blinked too long. "I keep expecting to wake up. To find out it was just—" She hesitated, swallowing thickly. "Just wishful thinking."
From beside Amelia, Narcissa—composed, graceful, and effortlessly regal—reached across the table to clasp Eirlys' hand in a rare display of unguarded warmth. Her blue eyes, sharp as ever, softened. "He's here," she said with quiet certainty, squeezing gently. "Truly here. And you deserve this happiness, Eirlys."
Bellatrix, for once uncharacteristically subdued, swirled the golden liquid in her goblet, her striking features pensive. When she finally spoke, her voice was low but brimming with conviction. "Love can endure anything," she said, her usual intensity tempered, but no less fierce. She knew the truth of those words better than most. Her gaze flickered briefly across the hall—to Loki. The Trickster God had stolen her heart, and for once in her life, Bellatrix Black had let something be stolen without a fight.
Andromeda, ever the warmest of the Black sisters, glanced toward her own husband, Ted Tonks, who was deep in conversation with several Einherjar. A small, contented smile touched her lips. "Family and love bring us back together, no matter how far we've been separated," she mused.
Eirlys let out a slow breath. She looked at James again. He was watching her now, openly, as though he too feared that if he so much as blinked, she would vanish. Then, with that same endearing certainty he had always carried, he raised his goblet in a silent toast just for her.
She felt something inside her finally settle, finally believe.
"I just can't believe he's back," she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "After all these years… I never stopped hoping, but this—" She exhaled, shaking her head. "This is beyond anything I could have imagined."
Amelia's grip on her shoulder was steady, reassuring. "You've been through so much, Eirlys," she said, her voice carrying the quiet authority of someone who knew how to shoulder burdens and still find joy. "This is your time. Your time to be happy."
Eirlys let her eyes flicker over each of the women around her. Amelia, strong and unwavering beside her. Narcissa, who had carved out her own place in the world and found love again with Fandral. Bellatrix, who had given her heart to a god and refused to apologize for it. Andromeda, who had defied every expectation and built a life filled with love.
She lifted her goblet, the weight of everything settling into something that finally felt right. "To family," she said, her voice gaining strength. "To love. And to never giving up hope."
A beat. Then, five goblets lifted in response, each woman's voice a promise.
"To family."
The hall continued to buzz with music and laughter, the sounds of love and reunion swirling around them. But Eirlys didn't need to look across the room anymore. She already knew James was there. And this time, she would never lose him again.
—
The evening had stretched into something timeless, the golden glow of lanterns casting a warm light over the feast, the laughter, the joy. Music played softly in the background, the melodies weaving between conversations like old friends. Eirlys had barely moved from her seat, caught between conversation, stolen glances, and the overwhelming reality of the night. James was here. Alive. Laughing. Talking with Sirius, Remus, and Loki as if no time had passed at all. And yet, every time she looked up, she found his gaze already waiting for her.
And then, finally, he moved.
James excused himself from the Marauders with a casual clap on Sirius' shoulder, flashing one of those familiar half-smirks that had always made her weak in the knees. He weaved through the revelers, his movements as graceful as ever, the very air around him charged with something magnetic, something inevitable.
And then, he was there. Right in front of her.
Eirlys sucked in a breath, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The warmth of the firelight dancing in his hazel eyes, the way his dark curls fell just a little too messily across his forehead, the faint scent of cedarwood and something unmistakably James Potter.
He didn't hesitate. He never did. Not with her.
Reaching out, James took her hand in his, his touch solid, warm, real. He ran his thumb slowly over her knuckles, as if grounding himself in the moment—as if memorizing the shape of her all over again.
"It's real, Eirlys." His voice was soft but unwavering, carrying the weight of every unspoken word, every lost year, every desperate hope neither of them had dared voice. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Eirlys let out a slow breath, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. For years, she had imagined this moment—aching for it, mourning it, cursing the cruel twists of fate that had stolen him away. But now, as she stood before him, the past didn't matter. The heartbreak didn't matter. Only this moment. Only him.
She tightened her grip on his hand, her own fingers tracing over the calluses she still knew by heart. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. "I know," she whispered, her voice steadier than she expected. Stronger. "And I swear, James Potter—I am never letting you out of my sight again."
A slow, breathtaking grin spread across James' face. That grin. The one that had charmed her, frustrated her, infuriated her, and ultimately—completely and utterly ruined her for anyone else.
"Good," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his fingers tightening around hers. And then he kissed her.
The moment the world fell away.
There was no grand hall, no golden lanterns, no music, no feast. Just them. Just the way James' hand cradled the back of her neck, the way his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, as if making sure she couldn't slip away.
The kiss was soft but desperate, tender but fierce, filled with years of longing, years of lost time, years of love that had never truly died.
Around them, the hall quieted, then swelled with warmth. Conversations slowed, smiles grew, and glasses were raised in silent toasts. For they had all seen it, all felt it—the weight of a love that had defied even death itself.
But Eirlys barely noticed. Because as she pulled back just enough to look into James' eyes, she knew, without a doubt—
They had been given their second chance. And this time, nothing in the world was going to take him from her again.
—
The golden light of Asgard's twin moons cast long shadows across the Bifrost, their celestial glow illuminating the lone figure standing at its edge. Heimdall, the ever-vigilant sentinel of the Nine Realms, stood with his sword planted firmly before him, his gaze fixed upon the vast expanse of the cosmos. The revelry within the great halls of Asgard continued—laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets filled the air as warriors and gods alike celebrated a reunion that defied fate itself.
But Heimdall's mind was elsewhere.
Tonight was a night of significance. Not just for Asgard, but for Midgard. A night marked by old magic and even older tragedies. A night of remembrance. Halloween.
Heimdall's grip on his sword tightened slightly as his mind drifted back thirteen years in Midgardian time—seventeen years in Asgard. The screams, the flash of green light, the soul-wrenching stillness that followed. The night James Potter had fallen. The night Eirlys, once Lily Evans Potter, had been torn from Midgard and brought to Asgard for safety, carrying within her arms the boy whose fate was written in the stars.
Haraldr.
So much had changed since that night. Time moved differently across the realms, yet the memories remained sharp, unyielding. And now, after all these years, the cosmic balance had shifted once more. James Potter had returned. On this very night. A man thought lost had been restored to the family that had mourned him for more than a decade.
A rare thing. A rare gift.
Heimdall let out a slow breath, watching the ripples of fate dance across the shimmering surface of the Bifrost. He was not one for sentiment, but he was no stranger to the intricacies of fate. This was not coincidence. The cosmos did not deal in chance.
Behind him, the echoes of laughter drifted from the halls. James, Eirlys, and Haraldr—surrounded by friends, allies, and warriors of legend—celebrated a reunion that should have been impossible. It was a night of joy, but also of remembrance. The weight of their past was ever-present, woven into the very fabric of their souls.
But Heimdall had little time to dwell.
He turned his gaze outward, past the stars, past the veils of time and space, past the very fabric of reality. His golden eyes flared as he cast his sight beyond the heavens, seeking what Prince Loki had tasked him with.
A storm raged above the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Dark clouds churned, illuminated by flickers of distant lightning. The floating candles burned steadily, casting long, dancing shadows over the gathered students of three great magical institutions.
At the center of the hall stood Albus Dumbledore, his posture as composed as ever, yet Heimdall, with his all-seeing gaze, noted the subtle tension beneath the old wizard's calm exterior.
The Goblet of Fire flickered before him, its ethereal blue flames casting an eerie glow over the room. The tournament was a test of skill and courage, of wit and strength. But Heimdall knew this night would mark the beginning of something greater.
The flames roared, turning red.
Dumbledore's voice echoed through the vast chamber.
"The champion for Durmstrang… Viktor Krum!"
The hall erupted in applause, the Durmstrang students roaring with pride as their champion, stoic and composed, stepped forward.
The flames flared again.
"The champion for Beauxbatons… Fleur Delacour!"
A wave of excitement rippled through the Beauxbatons table. Fleur moved with the grace of a seasoned duelist, her gaze steady, her resolve unshaken.
Another flare.
"The champion for Hogwarts… Cedric Diggory!"
The Hogwarts students cheered as Cedric rose from his seat, his face a mixture of pride and determination.
Heimdall studied the scene, feeling the threads of fate weaving tighter. The pieces were falling into place. But then—
Something shifted.
The Goblet of Fire, its duty seemingly fulfilled, suddenly flared to life once more. The flames danced violently, twisting and writhing as if resisting what was to come.
This was not supposed to happen.
And yet, fate had never cared for the rules of men or gods.
A slip of parchment was ejected from the fire, fluttering down into Dumbledore's waiting hand.
Silence.
A heartbeat.
Two.
And then—
"Harry Potter."
The Great Hall froze. The weight of those two words hung thick in the air, an invisible force pressing down on everyone present.
From his place in the Bifrost, Heimdall exhaled slowly.
So it begins.
His golden eyes reflected the vastness of the cosmos, taking in the events as they unfolded. He felt the ripples of fate spread outward, shifting the balance of realms unseen. There were forces at work now—forces that neither wizards nor gods could yet comprehend.
This night, so steeped in past tragedy, was now forever bound to another tale.
Heimdall gripped his sword, standing firm against the howling winds that swept across the Bifrost. Behind him, Asgard rejoiced in the warmth of a long-awaited reunion.
And yet, far across the stars, another story had just begun.
---
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