The Son of Mischief and Moonlight

Loki stood there, looking slightly dazed, as if he'd just woken up from a centuries-long nap—probably because he had. The memories of his former life as James Potter had come rushing back, filling his head with images of a different world filled with wands, spells, and a toddler named Harry. Just when he thought he could catch his breath, Frigga decided it was time to drop a few truth bombs.

"Oh, by the way, sweetheart," she started, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "your lovely wife, Lily? Yeah, she's actually Artemis, the Olympian Goddess. Zeus decided she needed a timeout for getting a little too stabby with demigods, so she was stuck living a mortal life. Fun, right?"

The room fell silent as Loki's jaw dropped. "Wait, what? So I married a goddess?"

Frigga nodded, as if revealing this kind of thing was as casual as discussing the weather. "And she died protecting your son, Harry, from Voldemort. But here's the kicker—Voldemort isn't dead. His body disintegrated, but he's still kicking. And guess what? Harry's been raised by the Huntresses of Artemis at Camp Half-Blood. They're basically raising him as their little brother."

Thor's eyebrows shot up, and he looked like a kid who just found out he was getting a puppy. "A camp for demigods? Why don't we have one for Asgardian warriors? Sif, can you imagine? We could throw a campfire or something and roast marshmallows!"

Loki shook his head, still trying to process this whirlwind of revelations. "So Harry is—"

"Yes! Your son," Frigga interrupted with a grin. "He's been training under Chiron, the legendary centaur. I even sent Brunhilde the Valkyrie to help with his training. I hope she didn't get sidetracked in Midgard again—last time I sent her, she was trying to out-drink a bunch of Vikings."

Odin, who had been quietly seething in the corner, finally exploded. "So let me get this straight. My son's child is half-Olympian? This is just fantastic," he grumbled, rubbing his temples as if trying to will away a headache. The prospect of dealing with Zeus—his eternal rival—over a child with connections to both realms made him want to scream.

Meanwhile, Thor was caught between embarrassment and pure joy. "I thought you were a traitor, brother," he admitted to Loki, clapping him on the back with enough force to send Loki stumbling. "But this? This is glorious! You found love! And I'm going to teach Harry how to throw a hammer!"

Loki felt a rush of warmth, his brother's enthusiasm a beacon of hope in a sea of chaos. But then the gravity of Odin's thunderous glare hit him like a lightning bolt. Thor placed a protective hand on Loki's shoulder. "Don't worry, brother. I'll make sure Father doesn't unleash his wrath on Harry. We can handle this."

As the tension in the room thickened like molasses, Frigga smiled knowingly. "You have much to discuss, my sons. But remember, family is what matters most."

And with that, the stage was set for a showdown—not with Frost Giants or even Voldemort, but between divine legacies, godly egos, and a little boy who had no idea just how special he was. Welcome to the family drama, Asgard-style.

—

Meanwhile, in a shadowy corner of the room, Amora fumed, her frustration bubbling like a cauldron ready to overflow. She had meticulously crafted the rumors about Loki, hoping to drive a wedge between him and Thor. But here they were, united like a duo from a buddy cop movie, and it made her want to scream into a pillow—or maybe toss a few things across the room for good measure.

Skurge, her muscle-bound henchman, stood nearby, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Um, my lady, are we still going with the 'evil genius' plan, or should I just get some snacks?"

Amora shot him a glare that could freeze over a frost giant. "No, Skurge! We're not getting snacks! I had everything planned perfectly. Loki was supposed to be the villain in this story, not some tragic hero with a backstory worthy of a bard's ballad!"

Skurge scratched his head. "So, what now? Are we going to throw a tantrum or something? Because I'm really good at throwing things."

"No tantrums! This isn't a game of dodgeball!" Amora snapped, her frustration spilling over like a potion gone wrong. "This was supposed to cause chaos in Asgard, not turn them into some happy family reunion. Thor's going to teach Loki's son how to swing a hammer. Can you believe that?"

She paced back and forth, her long, flowing hair trailing behind her like a storm cloud. "I need a new plan, and fast. I didn't come all this way to be outsmarted by a bunch of Asgardians. I need to regain control of this narrative!"

Skurge, always eager to please, finally chimed in, "What if we find some dirt on this Harry kid? I mean, half-Olympian or not, he's still a kid. How much trouble can he cause?"

Amora paused, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "That's it! If I can't break Thor and Loki apart, maybe I can turn that little boy against them. There's nothing quite like a family feud to spice things up!"

With renewed determination, Amora began plotting her next move, fueled by spite and the desire to see her plans come to fruition. After all, in a realm filled with gods and heroes, sometimes the best way to win was to throw a little chaos into the mix. And with her dimwitted henchman by her side, she was ready to shake things up—whether Asgard liked it or not.

—

Odin could feel a migraine brewing as he led Frigga, Loki, and Thor to the Royal Chambers. He was on the verge of a full-blown explosion. His son, Loki, having a child with Artemis, of all people—Zeus' daughter? It was enough to make even the Allfather lose his cool. Sure, Loki and Artemis hadn't known who they were at the time, but Odin wasn't about to let facts get in the way of his righteous fury. Before he could unleash his wrath, though, both Frigga and Thor beat him to the punch.

"Mother," Thor interrupted, eyes bright with curiosity. "Tell me more about Harry, my nephew! I had no idea I had one, and now I learn he's a demigod and a wizard? Glorious!"

Frigga, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation, smiled warmly. "Oh, Harry is quite remarkable. Like his father, he can shape-shift—though I dare say, Loki, your son might even surpass you one day."

Loki, despite his best efforts to remain stoic, couldn't hide the pride blooming in his chest. His son, a shape-shifter like him? And possibly better? Now that was something worth boasting about.

"Not only that," Frigga continued, "Harry's magic is Lunar Synchronous, thanks to Artemis."

"Lunar… what now?" Thor frowned, clearly lost.

Frigga chuckled softly. "It means his magic is tied to the phases of the moon. It waxes and wanes in power depending on the lunar cycle. It makes him a force to be reckoned with."

"And I gifted him an enchanted bow made from Uru and Celestial Bronze," Frigga added casually, "crafted by the Dwarves of Nidavellir."

Thor's face lit up at the mention of Uru. "He has a weapon made of Uru, like Mjolnir?"

"Yes," Frigga replied. "The core of the bow has a single hair each from Artemis, Loki, and myself, so it can also function as a wand for casting magic. You remember when I asked you for a hair, don't you, Loki?"

Loki blinked. "I thought it was for some strange magical ritual. You made my son's weapon with it?"

"Only the best for my grandson," Frigga said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Odin, who had been silently fuming the whole time, could no longer hold it in. "You went to the Dwarves of Nidavellir and commissioned a weapon made of Uru—without my permission?"

Frigga waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, Odin, it was for Harry's birthday. You know I only want the best for him."

Thor snickered, leaning over to Loki. "Mother does have a way of getting what she wants."

Odin grumbled but knew better than to argue. Frigga had that look in her eye—the one that even he, the mighty Allfather, was wary of. He could scold Loki all he wanted, but when it came to Frigga, there was no winning.

Taking a deep breath, Odin shifted the conversation. "Does Zeus know about the boy's origins?"

Frigga shook her head. "He only knows Harry as the son of Artemis. However, Apollo, being the god of prophecy, is aware, as is Aphrodite—after all, Artemis invoked her protection on Harry before sacrificing her mortal form. Some of the other Olympians might suspect, but none have told Zeus yet. They're all too aware of his 'smite first, ask questions later' policy."

At this, Thor and Loki exchanged a dark look. The idea of Zeus being a potential threat to Harry didn't sit well with either of them. Thor cracked his knuckles. "If Zeus tries anything, he'll have to go through me."

Loki nodded, uncharacteristically serious. "He may be the King of Olympus, but he won't lay a finger on my son."

Odin, sensing the rising tension and knowing that Frigga was fiercely protective of their grandson, sighed. Even he didn't want to cross his wife on this. "Give me time to figure out how we can break this to Zeus without, you know, getting Harry smote."

But a tiny part of him, one that he'd never admit to out loud, couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of victory. His son, Loki, had a child with Zeus' prized daughter—his virgin daughter. That was sure to get under Zeus' skin.

Before the Allfather could start planning his diplomatic approach, Frigga added one last bombshell. "Oh, and did I mention there's a prophecy about Harry in the Wizarding World? He's a Child of Prophecy, which means he's untouchable until the prophecy is fulfilled. So no smiting allowed, at least for now."

Odin blinked. "A prophecy? Of course, there is. Well, that certainly makes things… easier. A little."

With that revelation hanging in the air, Odin resigned himself to the fact that navigating this family drama was going to take more than just a few thunderbolts. Zeus would have to wait. For now, Harry—Haris Lokison—was protected, and Odin had to figure out how to keep it that way.

—

Eight-year-old Harry Potter—well, technically, Haris Lokison, but no one at Camp Half-Blood needed to know that—found himself in yet another grapple with Charles Beckendorf. Charlie, the son of Hephaestus, was basically a walking tank in kid form, which was great when you needed to build a catapult but not so much when you were trying to wrestle him to the ground.

"Come on, Harry, twist his arm!" Jasper, the nine-year-old son of Apollo, shouted from the sidelines. He was bouncing up and down, practically vibrating with excitement like he was the one in the ring. Jasper was that kid who could turn anything into a competition—cheering included.

"Break his nose!" Clarisse added, gripping her toy spear with a little too much enthusiasm. At five, she was already proving to be more Ares than ever, and honestly, Harry was a bit terrified of her when she got that look in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Chiron, towering over them with his centaurian calmness, called out advice like it was no big deal that Harry was one bad move away from being squashed by a future blacksmith demigod. "Use his weight against him, Harry," Chiron said. "Leverage is key."

Leverage, right. Like wrestling a boulder was that simple.

But Harry wasn't just a normal demigod. Oh no, his family tree was like something out of a mythical soap opera. He was the secret son of Loki and Artemis, which came with some perks. For starters, he could change his form if he really wanted to, though he wasn't going to cheat—today. He also had powers that fluctuated with the moon's cycle (thanks, Mom). But right now, none of that was going to help him if Charlie decided to sit on him.

So, Harry did what he did best: he improvised.

With a quick shift in weight and a roll of his hips, Harry slipped out of Charlie's hold and flipped him over with surprising ease. Beckendorf landed on his back with a thud, blinking up at the sky in confusion. "What the—?"

"Whoo! Nice one, Harry!" Jasper cheered, waving his hands like Harry had just pulled off a magic trick.

"Yeah, not bad, Potter," Beckendorf muttered as he sat up, grinning despite himself. "Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

"That was amazing!" Clarisse yelled. She didn't do gentle encouragement. For her, it was all about victory, blood, and glory, even if it was just training.

In the distance, Hilda—who everyone thought was just a Huntress of Artemis—nodded in approval. But secretly, Hilda was none other than Brunhilde, a Valkyrie sent by Queen Frigga to keep an eye on her grandson. She was here to ensure Harry's training didn't fall short of Asgardian standards. Because, let's be honest, Loki's kid needed all the help he could get.

Harry flashed a grin at Chiron. "Guess magic helps too, right?"

Chiron chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Indeed, young hero. But remember, it's not the magic that defines you. It's how you use it."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of those words, though he didn't let it show on his face. He was still figuring out how to balance all his powers, all his responsibilities, and the fact that his dad was... well, Loki. And Mom? Yeah, she was Artemis, the literal goddess of the hunt, but no pressure, right?

For now, though, Harry was content to enjoy the victory. He wiped some sweat from his brow and turned to Jasper and Clarisse, who were already gearing up for the next round of encouragement. Or, in Clarisse's case, possibly a tactical suggestion on how to actually break someone's nose.

But, deep down, Harry knew this was just the beginning. With every lesson Chiron taught, every fight he had with Beckendorf, he was learning how to balance the chaos of his father's trickery and the honor of his mother's discipline. And maybe, just maybe, one day he'd be able to handle whatever crazy adventure life—or the gods—threw at him next.

Because, let's face it, if your dad's Loki and your mom's Artemis, things were never going to be boring.

—

Meanwhile, in the depths of Busch Wildlife Sanctuary in Jupiter, Florida, Artemis—formerly known as Lily Potter and currently the Goddess of the Hunt—was leading her Huntresses on a mission that could only be described as a combination of "epic" and "why did I ever agree to this?" The air smelled like pine and impending chaos, which meant only one thing: they were hot on the trail of an Ethiopian Drakon, and things were about to get intense.

At her side were her trusty companions: Zoe, the overprotective lieutenant who treated Harry like her honorary little brother (which was adorable, if a bit awkward); Phoebe, the chief healer with a heart bigger than her penchant for healing spells; and Atalanta, the relentless tracker who could probably smell trouble even in her sleep. They were a fierce bunch, and Artemis was proud to lead them—even if they were all a little too cheerful for her liking.

As they closed in on their scaly target, a flicker of gold caught Artemis's eye. A golden sparrow—Frigga's modified Patronus—suddenly appeared, fluttering above them like a tiny, feathered harbinger of chaos. The bird chirped and out came Frigga's voice, sounding both urgent and just a touch mischievous.

"Artemis! You need to hear this. Loki's memories have returned! Yes, your beloved James Potter is back in the game!"

Artemis froze mid-step, a bolt of emotion shooting through her. James. Her husband. Her heart did a little somersault at the mention of him, but she quickly squashed the feeling. No time for sentimental mush when there was a giant scaly monster to hunt down. Still, her mind raced—what would it mean for everything? Loki remembering he was James complicated the whole shebang.

The sparrow continued, "You know that I had to wipe his memories seven years ago for his own protection. Apparently, some pesky rumors about him inciting rebellion in Jotunnheim at the exact same time he was missing were making the rounds. Meanwhile, he was just living his best life as a mortal during that time—learning magic, making friends, and, oh yeah, having a son. Thor and Odin are eager to meet Harry!"

Artemis clenched her fists, a mix of joy and anxiety bubbling inside her. On one hand, she was thrilled Loki remembered their life together. On the other, she was the Goddess of the Hunt—not exactly the poster child for romantic entanglements. What would her Huntresses think? They had sworn off love like it was a bad perfume, opting for eternal maidenhood over messy mortal relationships. Talk about complicating things!

Zoe, who could probably sense the emotional turmoil from ten miles away, placed a hand on Artemis's shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Goddess. You're still you, whether you want to play the loving wife or not. You can figure it out."

Phoebe chimed in, "Yeah! You can still be a fierce Huntress and a loving mother. Besides, who wouldn't want a 'cool mom' like you?"

Atalanta nodded sagely. "Just tell him Harry truth. The kid can handle it."

Artemis took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their encouragement lift her spirits. "You're right. But first, let's finish this Drakon hunt. No point in worrying about family drama when we have a giant monster to take down!"

With renewed determination, she readied her bow, and her Huntresses mirrored her focus. As they charged into the fray, the golden Patronus faded from view, leaving behind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Artemis couldn't help but chuckle at the irony: the goddess of the hunt was hunting more than just Drakons today—she was also tracking the tangled feelings in her heart.

Once they dealt with the monster, it would be time to face her family—her complicated, divine family. And maybe, just maybe, she'd figure out how to navigate this new world where her son, the embodiment of love and mischief, was not just a mortal child but also the son of a god she still cherished deeply. But first, she had a Drakon to slay.

—

Meanwhile, at Camp Half-Blood, 8-year-old Harry—also known as Haris Lokison (but shh, don't tell Zeus or Odin; it could get messy)—was fully immersed in the art of Pankration, which was basically ancient Greek wrestling with a flair for drama. With Chiron, the camp's resident centaur and gym teacher, as his mentor, Harry was picking up skills faster than a demigod who just discovered candy. Seriously, he was like the poster child for athletic talent—if there was a demigod Olympics, he'd be winning medals left and right.

His training partner today, as always, was Charles Beckendorf, the son of Hephaestus, who was practically a pint-sized blacksmith superhero. As the boys grappled, laughter and the sound of their laughter echoed through the training area. Harry's muscles burned, but it was the good kind of burn—like when you eat too much chocolate cake and know you should regret it, but instead, you just want more. He could feel his strength building, a little boost courtesy of Zeus and Ares. It wasn't like he was turning into the Hulk or anything, but those pesky limits on his strength were starting to ease up.

"Okay, Harry! Try that suplex move again!" Charles shouted, already bracing for impact.

Harry flashed a grin, channeling his inner trickster. "Hold on tight!" With a burst of energy, he executed a suplex with surprising finesse. Charles landed with a satisfying thud, and the two boys erupted into a fit of giggles that could rival the wildest campfire stories.

From a distance, Clarisse, the 5-year-old daughter of Ares, was acting like the camp's cheer captain, her blond curls bouncing as she yelled, "Come on, Harry! Show him who's boss!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, like a toddler on a sugar rush, and Harry couldn't help but feel pumped.

Jasper, the 9-year-old son of Apollo, chimes in, "If you keep this up, Harry, you'll be a champion by the time we hit double digits!" He was already dreaming of glory and gold medals, as usual.

As they practiced, Harry and Charles weren't just honing their Pankration skills; they were budding blacksmiths, thanks to the blessing from Hephaestus. After countless hours at the camp forges, they crafted some epic gear for their friends: a Celestial Bronze electric spear for Clarisse and a quiver packed with trick arrows for Jasper that would totally prank anyone who crossed their paths.

But the pièce de résistance? The Celestial Bronze sword they made for Fleur, the 11-year-old daughter of Aphrodite and Harry's first friend at camp. It transformed into a stylish hairpin with the press of a jewel on its hilt—perfect for a demigod who had style in spades. Harry couldn't wait to present it to her when she returned from Beauxbatons during Christmas break. He could already picture her delight and the shine in her eyes.

Just as he was about to attempt another move, Mr. D—the ever-cantankerous god of wine who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else—strolled over with his usual grumpy expression and a can of Diet Coke clutched in his hand. He was like the camp's embodiment of 'please don't make me be here.'

"Hey, Brad!" he barked, using his favorite misnomer for Harry, as if it was a secret code for annoyance. "Your mother's here with the Huntresses. Go clean up or something."

Harry's heart did a backflip at the mention of his mother—Artemis! "Wait, she's here?" he shouted, the thrill bubbling up inside him like a shaken soda can ready to explode.

Mr. D rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Yes, yes. Your royal huntress and her squad have graced us with their presence. Don't keep them waiting."

Without another word, Harry bolted off to meet them, excitement bubbling within him like the best kind of magic. With his mother and the Huntresses in the vicinity, adventure was guaranteed, and he couldn't wait to dive into whatever chaos awaited him next. After all, with a name like Lokison, trouble had a way of finding him—especially when the gods were involved.

—

At Camp Half-Blood, 8-year-old Harry Potter—known among his peers as Haris Lokison—strolled confidently toward the Big House, flanked by Hilda, the Valkyrie disguised as a camp counselor, and Chiron, the legendary centaur. To any outsider, Harry looked like just another demigod-in-training, but he stood at the intersection of two divine legacies—Loki, the Trickster God of Asgard, and Artemis, the Greek Goddess of the Hunt.

As they approached the sky-blue building that loomed ahead like a giant summer cloud, Harry felt an electrifying mix of excitement and dread. "Why is Mom here? Last I heard, she was off hunting an Ethiopian drakon with the Huntresses," he mused aloud. The thought of his goddess mom checking in on him filled him with a strange kind of thrill.

Hilda smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe she got tired of dragon hunting and decided to see how her favorite little warrior is doing."

"Or maybe she heard about your spear-wielding skills and couldn't resist," Chiron added, his deep voice resonating like friendly thunder. "But you should be more worried about your Pankration skills. It's a shame you can't shoot arrows and throw punches at the same time."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't help but puff out his chest a little. "I'm getting better! I mean, how hard can it be to punch someone while shooting arrows?"

As they stepped inside, Harry's heart raced. The main room of the Big House was bathed in warm light, and there was Artemis, flanked by her overly protective honorary big sisters—Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta—who kept watch over him like hawks guarding a particularly feisty chick. The air shimmered with divine energy, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Harry!" Artemis exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with a warmth that could melt ice. "I wanted to see how my favorite little warrior was doing."

"Good! I'm learning how to kick butt!" he declared, puffing out his chest. "Hilda's teaching me how to use a spear, and Chiron says I'm getting better at Pankration!"

"Excellent! But that's not the only reason I'm here," Artemis said, her tone shifting to one of seriousness. "We need to talk about your father."

Harry's stomach dropped like a rock. "Dad? I thought... I thought he was gone."

"He was," Artemis confirmed gently, her gaze steady. "But your Grandma Frigga has returned his memories. Loki remembers everything now—his life as James Potter, his love for your mother, and, of course, you. He's excited to meet you!"

"Excited? Really?" Harry's eyes widened, the idea filling him with hope and a thousand questions. The thought of his dad, the trickster god who had lived a whole other life, was more thrilling than facing any drakon.

"Very," Artemis replied, a smile creeping back onto her face. "Though I suspect Odin is only excited because he's terrified of Frigga, who has a tendency to dote on her grandson." She chuckled, and Harry couldn't help but join in, imagining Odin hiding behind his throne.

"Are we going to meet him soon?" Harry asked, his curiosity bubbling over. The anticipation of meeting his father—an actual god!—was more exhilarating than any adventure he'd faced so far.

"Soon, yes," Artemis said, glancing at the Huntresses, who were nodding in agreement like a synchronized cheerleading squad. "But first, we need to make sure you're ready for whatever Loki has planned. After all, you'll be representing us all, my little hero."

With those words, a surge of determination washed over Harry. He was ready for anything—dragons, trickster gods, cranky grandfathers, or even cranky grandmothers. He had training, a family, and a whole world to discover. As they moved deeper into the Big House, he felt a new sense of purpose.

Harry was caught in the exhilarating chaos of being the son of two gods. He could shapeshift into anything or anyone, thanks to Loki's influence, and his Lunar Synchronous magic, gifted by Artemis, made his abilities even stronger under the full moon. Plus, he had inherited charm from Aphrodite, making him a little too irresistible for his own good.

But it wasn't just about powers; he was learning honor and respect from the Huntresses. Thanks to his mischievous mentors, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, he had developed a love for pranks that would make even Loki proud. He was the embodiment of chaos and order, mischief and duty, forever balancing on the tightrope between two worlds.

"Bring on the adventures," he thought, grinning at the thought of what lay ahead. After all, being a demigod was just the beginning of an epic saga—and Harry Lokison was more than ready for the ride.

Meanwhile, Atalanta, the best tracker among the Huntresses, enjoyed the scene unfolding before her. But then, her expression shifted as her instincts kicked in. She sensed a malicious presence lurking just beyond the magical barrier of Camp Half-Blood, their eyes locked on Harry.

"Artemis," she said, her voice low and serious, "there's someone watching Harry. We have a breach."

Artemis's smile faded, replaced by a fierce glint in her eyes. "What do you mean, Atalanta?"

"There's a presence—malicious, like a predator stalking its prey. We need to warn everyone."

As Artemis and the Huntresses exchanged worried glances, the atmosphere shifted from light-hearted joy to urgent determination. Harry's impending reunion with his father was suddenly overshadowed by the specter of danger lurking just outside the camp. They were about to face an enemy that threatened to tear apart the fragile peace of their lives.

—

As Atalanta felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, that unmistakable warning that something—or someone—was off. Her instincts were spot on; lurking in the shadows was Amora, the Enchantress, and her less-than-brilliant henchman, Skurge, who was following her around like a lovestruck puppy. They had somehow smuggled themselves from Asgard, and Atalanta could sense the malicious intent radiating from Amora.

After her scheme to drive a wedge between Thor and Loki backfired spectacularly, Amora had decided to pivot. Instead of sowing discord between brothers, she planned to use Loki's son, the one they called Harry, as a pawn to ignite a war between Asgard and Olympus. A classic villain move, if there ever was one.

However, the moment Atalanta zeroed in on their presence, Amora's eyes widened in alarm. "Skurge, we need to go—now!" she hissed, her plans unraveling faster than she could conjure them.

Skurge, whose brain-to-brawn ratio left much to be desired, blinked in confusion. "But—"

"No 'buts'! Just move!" Amora snapped, and in a flash, the two vanished into thin air, retreating back to Asgard like shadows fleeing the dawn.

—

At the same time, in Asgard, Loki was a bundle of nerves, pacing like a cat that had just spotted a particularly elusive mouse. The last time he had seen his son, Harry, he was a toddler with big, innocent eyes and a tendency to misplace his toys. Now, the boy was eight years old, a young wizard training to become something special, and Loki couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him.

As if that weren't enough, he was also painfully aware that his wife, Lily—now revealed as Artemis, the Virgin Goddess of the Hunt—was no longer just a memory. They had shared this truth during their life as James and Lily Potter, but knowing it in the abstract was a far cry from the reality of seeing her again in her divine form.

"What if he doesn't like me?" Loki muttered to himself, glancing at his reflection in a polished shield. "What if he thinks I'm a bad father?"

Thor, ever the optimistic one, chuckled as he watched his brother fret. "Oh, come on, Loki! He'll love you! Just be yourself. Or, you know, a version of yourself that doesn't involve chaos and mischief."

"Right, because that's what all kids want—an unpredictable dad who's part god of mischief!" Loki shot back, rolling his eyes.

"Look, it could be worse," Thor reassured him. "You could be trying to explain to him why you vanished for two decades."

As Loki continued to pace, Frigga entered the room, her presence both calming and grounding. "Loki," she said gently, "remember that Harry is a child of two worlds. He's been raised by the Huntresses of Artemis, and he's had a good life. He'll understand."

"But will he accept me?" Loki's voice cracked just a bit, revealing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden under layers of bravado.

Frigga smiled softly. "You are his father, Loki. That bond is stronger than you think. Just be honest with him. The truth has a way of shining through, even in the darkest times."

Taking a deep breath, Loki nodded, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He was ready to step into his son's life again, and maybe—just maybe—this time, things would turn out differently. It was time to embrace his role as a father, godly mischief and all.

---

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