The Son of Mischief and Moonlight

The day of Harry's eighth birthday dawned bright and clear, perfect weather for a seaside celebration. But for Harry, the real storm wasn't outside—it was the prank war brewing inside the Black family cabin. With the waves crashing in the background and the air thick with anticipation, the Black's cozy cabin became a battlefield for what was sure to be an epic showdown between Team Potter and Team Black.

Now, birthdays for most kids meant cake, presents, maybe a game or two. But for Harry? Birthdays were practically an invitation to unleash all-out chaos. Sirius and Remus had made sure to pass down their sacred knowledge of pranking to the next generation, and Harry—well, he was a natural. After all, being the son of a Trickster god and a goddess of the Hunt practically made mischief a birthright.

Team Black: Sirius, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, led his team with a mix of overconfidence and pure glee. This wasn't just a prank war—it was a matter of family pride. Remus, ever the voice of reason (and mischief's reluctant enabler), stood by, offering just enough restraint to keep Sirius from going completely overboard.

Then there were Fred and George, who, at 10 years old, were practically chomping at the bit to prove they could out-Marauder the Marauders themselves. They weren't called prank prodigies for nothing. Lyra, Sirius' 4-year-old daughter, bounced around like an excited puppy, her pigtails flying as she spied on the enemy. Despite her innocent appearance, she had already learned from her dad that the best pranks are the ones no one sees coming.

Team Potter: Harry, birthday boy, chaos incarnate, stood at the helm of his team. His smirk said it all—this was his turf, and no one was going to out-prank him at his own party. Jasper, Harry's best friend and mischief partner-in-crime, had an armful of enchanted stink bombs and confetti cannons ready to go.

And then there was Clarisse La Rue. At five years old, the daughter of Ares wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. She had strength and a knack for intimidation that made her the perfect enforcer. And finally, there was Fleur. At eleven, she was the oldest, and though her Charmspeak ability was still a bit wobbly, it was more than enough to infiltrate enemy lines.

The battlefield, aka the living room, was rigged with traps, enchanted balloons, and whoopee cushions charmed to sing opera. Just as Harry stepped into the room, Fred and George triggered their first move—a cloud of itching powder exploded from an enchanted bag rigged to go off the second he crossed the threshold. Classic Weasley move.

But Harry had anticipated this. With a quick flick of his wrist, the itching powder reversed course, covering Sirius and Remus in a fine dusting of itch-inducing chaos. "Nice try!" Harry called out, ducking behind the couch with Jasper and Clarisse, who were both laughing their heads off as Sirius started flapping his arms around, trying to shake off the powder.

From the sidelines, Lyra winked at Harry. Officially, she was still on Team Black, but she hadn't exactly been subtle about where her true loyalties lay.

Sirius, eyes gleaming with pride, shook off the powder and pointed at Harry. "Oh, you think you've won? This isn't over, pup."

Meanwhile, the rest of the guests—Weasleys, Longbottoms, Tonks, and a few others—attempted to keep out of the prank war crossfire. Molly Weasley stood near the refreshments table, muttering under her breath about "boys and their nonsense" while Arthur smiled, clearly amused by the chaos. Ginny Weasley, perched on the edge of the couch, was wide-eyed with admiration, her fangirl crush on Harry growing by the second.

In the background, though, not everyone was wrapped up in the pranks. Diana—or rather, Artemis, disguised as a witch—watched quietly from the sidelines, her fellow hunters (Zoe, Phoebe, Atalanta, and Hilda) all exchanging knowing looks. They knew this was just fun and games compared to what lay ahead for Harry. But for now, they allowed him this moment of carefree joy.

The prank war raged on, both sides pulling off move after move. Buckets of whipped cream, exploding pies, and enchanted musical chairs turned the cabin into a madhouse of laughter and lighthearted battle. Harry's team was holding their ground, but Team Black was relentless.

The pièce de résistance, though, came courtesy of Harry and Jasper. Together, they'd rigged a bucket of neon-green slime, perfectly balanced above the kitchen doorway. It was meant for Fred and George, but instead, it was Sirius who sauntered through.

SPLAT!

Sirius froze, slime dripping down his face and hair. "Merlin's—" he started, but the rest was drowned out by the laughter from Team Potter. Harry, grinning like the Trickster he was, saluted Sirius. "Better luck next time."

By the time noon rolled around, the prank war had to be called to a truce. Not because anyone was giving up—but because Molly Weasley had declared that if they didn't cut the cake now, she'd start hexing people.

As everyone gathered around the massive chocolate cake, Sirius ruffled Harry's slime-covered hair. "Happy birthday, kid. You're already a legend, and you're only eight."

The candles flickered in front of Harry, and he couldn't help but smile at the scene before him—his makeshift family, covered in slime and whipped cream, laughing together. For a kid with the lineage he had, it wasn't always easy being carefree. But today? Today, Harry was just a boy celebrating his birthday. As he blew out the candles, he silently wished for more days like this—days filled with laughter, love, and just the right amount of chaos.

---

Of course, the day wasn't completely over. After the cake was devoured and the pranks mostly cleaned up, Sirius and Artemis would gather the adults to discuss something a bit more serious—revealing the truth about Harry's godly heritage. But that could wait. For now, Harry could enjoy the simplicity of being a mischievous, carefree kid, if only for a little while longer.

—

It was just after Harry's 8th birthday party, and while the cake had been eaten, the balloons were deflated, and the streamers looked like they'd seen better days, the real fun was just about to begin. Except, you know, the "fun" part was about to take a nosedive.

Sirius Black stood at the head of the room, flanked by Harry, Diana (or Artemis, but let's not get ahead of ourselves), Remus, Marlene, and the Tonks family. You'd think this crew was gearing up for a game of charades, but nope. It was time to drop a bombshell the size of Mount Olympus on their unsuspecting guests—the Weasleys, Longbottoms, and Bones families.

The room buzzed with tension. Harry could feel it, the kind of tension you get right before someone says, "We need to talk."

"So, there's something we need to tell you," Sirius began, ever the master of understatement. "And, uh… it's big. Like, really big."

Harry exchanged a glance with Diana—Mom? Artemis? What do I call her now?—who nodded subtly. They were all in this together.

"You all know us," Sirius continued, with a dramatic hand gesture that made Harry wonder if he'd ever missed his calling as an actor. "But what you don't know is... gods and demigods? Yeah, totally a thing. And, well, Harry here? He's not just Harry Potter."

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Molly Weasley raised an eyebrow, Frank Longbottom's eyes narrowed, and Amelia Bones just crossed her arms. No one believed it—yet.

And then Sirius dropped the hammer. "James and Lily Potter weren't exactly who you thought they were. They were—are—Loki and Artemis. As in, the Loki, god of mischief, and the Artemis, goddess of the hunt."

Cue the collective confusion.

Molly was the first to speak. "You're telling me my dear friends were… gods?" She sounded half-convinced it was a prank—understandable, given Sirius' reputation.

But Sirius, to his credit, went all in. "Yep. And they didn't die. Well, their mortal bodies did, but the gods don't just die. Loki and Artemis returned to being their immortal selves. The thing is, Loki—James—he sort of lost his marbles after Peter's betrayal, so Frigga, Loki's mother—Harry's grandmother—temporarily wiped his memories."

Marlene chimed in, "And before you ask, yes, we're serious. We swear it on our lives and magic." Her words echoed with finality, and as if to prove their sincerity, their magic flared—Sirius, Remus, Marlene, and Andromeda all glowing with raw power.

That got everyone's attention.

And then, just to seal the deal, Diana—or rather, Artemis—stepped forward and, with a simple shimmer of divine energy, transformed into Lily Potter right before their eyes. "I am Artemis, and yes, I am also Lily. I've always been here, watching over Harry."

The room collectively gasped, and Harry thought Yep, that'll do it.

Now fully on board, the group didn't have much choice but to accept that the world was much bigger—and weirder—than they had ever imagined.

Sirius cleared his throat, ready to drop the next bomb. "The reason we're telling you all this now is that we're done with Dumbledore's games. His manipulations, his constant need to 'protect' everyone by keeping us all in the dark? We're not playing that anymore."

At this, Harry noticed a flicker of agreement pass between the adults. Dumbledore's policies of restraint during the last war had cost lives—Molly's brothers, Gideon and Fabian; Amelia's brother and sister-in-law, Susan's parents; and Frank and Alice Longbottom had nearly been driven insane, if not for Sirius arriving just in time with Moody and Kingsley. The thought made Harry's stomach churn, especially when he remembered that Voldemort's followers had been tossing around Unforgivables like confetti at a birthday party while the Order was stuck playing defense.

And then came the kicker. "Voldemort's not dead," Sirius said, and the air in the room seemed to freeze. "Artemis checked with Hades. He's not in the Underworld. That means he'll be back. We need to prepare, and this time we're not going to let Dumbledore's ideals hold us back."

Molly clenched her jaw, her eyes sharp with determination. Losing her brothers had cut deep, and it seemed like Sirius' words struck a chord. Amelia Bones had the same look—one of fierce resolve, hardened by loss.

"We'll fight," Frank said, his voice grim but steady. "We'll be ready."

And that's when Fleur, Jasper, and Clarisse, who'd been hanging back quietly until now, piped up. "So, Harry," Fleur said with a smirk, "you're not just Artemis' son. You're Loki's too?"

Harry nodded, feeling more than a little self-conscious now that his full heritage was out in the open. "Yep. Guess that makes me a bit of a… demigod hybrid?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to put it."

Clarisse snorted. "Well, that explains a lot."

The others in the room were still trying to process the idea that Harry was the child of two gods—two different pantheons of gods, at that—but Harry was used to this kind of madness by now.

"Look," Harry said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, "we're not saying it's going to be easy, but with all of us working together, we've got a real shot at taking Voldemort down for good. And if we have to go through Dumbledore to get there... well, let's just say we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

And with that, the meeting of mortal and divine adjourned—for now. Because this was just the beginning.

—

In the sprawling, glittering halls of Asgard, Loki was doing what he did best: brooding. He paced back and forth, an agitated prince in a world that was far too sunny and cheerful for his current mood. You see, the universe had decided that Odin, his father and the Allfather (whatever that meant), was about to retire and hand the throne over to Thor, the golden-haired, muscle-bound embodiment of "Why think when you can smash?" Loki was less than thrilled about this.

"Great. A brainless warmonger at the helm," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Just then, in strolled Amora, also known as the Enchantress, with a flair for drama and a knack for making Loki's life ten times more irritating. She was flanked by Skurge, a hulking brute of a warrior who seemed to take "lackey" to an entirely new level. He followed Amora around like a lovesick puppy—one with biceps bigger than Loki's head, but still, a puppy nonetheless.

"Loki!" Amora chimed, her voice dripping with charm. "What's got you so glum? Surely, you have better things to do than wallow in self-pity. Like plotting to steal the throne from your dear brother?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes. Steal the throne from Thor. That sounds like a Tuesday." He was a prince, after all, and sarcasm was practically his birthright.

Amora sauntered closer, her smile dazzling enough to blind a lesser god. "Why waste your time plotting against Thor? Join me instead! We could—"

"—Take over the universe?" Loki interrupted with a dramatic flair. "How original! Why not just throw in a love potion or two? That worked so well for you last time." He shot her a smirk that could rival a Cheshire cat.

Skurge shifted nervously, glancing from Amora to Loki, clearly not understanding the banter but hoping to remain on her good side. Amora's face flickered for a moment—was that anger? Or perhaps just a hint of disappointment? "You know, Loki, you could be quite persuasive if you wanted to be. Together, we could manipulate Thor's affections, make him see the true path to power!"

Loki snorted. "Right, because we all know how well your last attempt at manipulation went. Thor spent an entire week singing love songs to a goat."

"It was a very persuasive goat," Amora shot back, pouting. "But I have my plans. And don't forget, Loki—chaos is a powerful tool. Maybe we could use it to make you feel a little more... appreciated."

Loki waved her off with a flourish. "I appreciate the thought, but I think I'll stick to my own methods of mischief. Less goat, more cunning."

As they turned to leave, a lightbulb flickered in Amora's mind. "You know, that wasn't very nice, Loki. Maybe it's time I remind you who holds the strings around here."

Skurge blinked. "Uh... what do you mean?"

Amora's smile transformed into something more sinister. "Let's sow a bit of discord among the Odinsons, shall we? Thor may be a muscle-bound moron, but even he can question loyalty when the right words are whispered in the right ears."

Loki, still preoccupied with thoughts of impending doom and his brother's rise to power, didn't even catch the glint in her eye. He continued pacing, unaware that two figures were plotting to pull the rug out from under him while he ruminated over the vastness of his own genius.

"Thor's trust in Loki has always been a bit shaky," Amora mused as they walked away. "A little seed of doubt here, a rumor there... I can already see the chaos unfurling."

"What do you think will happen?" Skurge asked, scratching his head.

"Loki will go from misunderstood genius to outcast in no time! I mean, it'll be delightful!" she exclaimed, twirling with glee. "And when the dust settles, maybe Thor will realize that sometimes it takes a little chaos to see who truly deserves to wear the crown."

Meanwhile, Loki was lost in thought, considering the prospect of his brother, the idealistic fool, ruling Asgard. He had no idea that a storm was brewing, one that would soon shake the very foundations of House Odinson.

Little did he know that Amora's plan was about to set off a chain reaction that would lead to some very uncomfortable family dinners in the near future.

—

The day after Harry's birthday party at the Black family's seaside cabin was a mixed bag of cake crumbs, sand in weird places, and excitement about what lay ahead. The Moon Chariot soared through the skies, making Harry Lokison feel like he was living in a storybook—if the storybook included a goddess for a mom, a trickster god for a dad, and the constant threat of impending monster attacks.

Harry, currently enjoying the perks of being half-god and all trouble, lounged on one of the chariot's plush seats, surrounded by his pals Jasper and Clarisse. The walls of the chariot shimmered like the surface of the ocean below, and the feeling was nothing short of magical.

"Are we seriously flying through the clouds?" Jasper said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I mean, how many kids can say they rode on a chariot pulled by a goddess?"

"Most of them are probably dead," Clarisse replied, crossing her arms with a smirk. "But hey, at least we're not getting eaten by monsters right now. That's a win."

"True," Harry said, casually flipping a piece of imaginary lint off his shirt. "But with my luck, that'll change in about five minutes."

Just then, the chariot doors swung open like they were on a hinge of pure magic, and in strutted Fleur Delacour, looking like she'd just stepped off a runway instead of out of the sea breeze. The sunlight hit her golden hair just right, making her look like some kind of goddess herself. "Hey, boys!" she called, her accent adding an irresistible charm to her words. "Guess what?"

"Let me guess," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "You're going to tell us you've been selected as France's next top model and are leaving us behind for the fashion world?"

"Close, but no!" Fleur giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. "I'll be attending Beauxbatons starting September 1st!"

The mood shifted instantly. Jasper nearly choked on his snack, while Clarisse's jaw dropped like a trapdoor. "Wait, you're leaving us?" Clarisse blurted out, arms crossed like a defensive shield. "What are we supposed to do without our resident French charm?"

"Exactly!" Harry added, pretending to clutch his heart in mock horror. "Who will keep the satyrs on their toes while we're battling monsters? And I mean literally keeping them on their toes."

"Relax! I'll be back for the holidays," Fleur said, her playful smile lighting up the cabin. "And I'll send you letters filled with my adventures—and maybe some French pastry recipes."

"Okay, okay, but how can we survive without your charm?" Jasper exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm still dreaming about that chocolate croissant you brought last time."

"Promise!" Fleur said, raising her pinky like it was some sacred vow. "And I might even have some special tips from my father on how to charm your way through a duel!"

As they continued to exchange playful jabs, the Moon Chariot glided smoothly through the sky, with Artemis steering it like a pro. Harry's mom was a sight to behold, her presence both commanding and comforting, while the Huntresses—Zoe, Phoebe, and Atalanta—filled the air with their laughter, teasing Harry like the overprotective older sisters he never knew he needed.

"Hilda," who was actually Brunhilde in disguise, leaned against the chariot's railing, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. "You'll find plenty of excitement awaiting you, Harry. Just remember to keep your wits about you."

"Pfft, wits? Who needs those?" Harry replied with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I've got charm, shapeshifting abilities, and the power of the elements at my fingertips. Wits are overrated."

The chariot flew over the shimmering ocean, and Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill of adventure bubbling up inside him. After all, being the son of Loki, the Trickster God, and Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt, came with some serious perks. He could shapeshift into anything—any person, creature, or magical being—and he could blend in like a chameleon on a rainbow. Plus, when the moon was full, his powers went into overdrive.

As they zoomed over the waves, Harry thought about all the adventures that lay ahead at Camp Half-Blood. "So, do you think there's a monster waiting for us on the other side?" he asked, leaning over the railing.

"Probably," Clarisse said, grinning fiercely. "Let's hope it's something fun. I'm in the mood for a challenge."

"Or at least something with glitter," Jasper chimed in. "Monsters are so much cooler when they sparkle."

As they laughed and teased each other, Harry felt a sense of belonging wash over him. He might be a child of gods, caught between the worlds of the divine and the mortal, but he was also just a kid with friends—friends who were ready to take on whatever chaos awaited them.

With a smirk, Harry raised an imaginary goblet. "Here's to new beginnings! And to making sure Fleur doesn't go too soft while she's off in France!"

"And to epic adventures at camp!" Clarisse added, her fists clenched in excitement.

"Count me in!" Jasper cheered, feeling the adrenaline rush of impending quests tingle in the air.

With their laughter echoing in the chariot, Harry silently vowed to make the most of every moment. After all, with his mixed heritage—Trickster god and huntress—adventure wasn't just a possibility; it was a certainty. As they approached Camp Half-Blood, he grinned, ready for whatever mischief, monsters, and mayhem awaited him.

—

Half a month at Camp Half-Blood flew by faster than one of Harry's arrows—and if you know anything about Harry, you know his arrows are basically lightning bolts with feathers. The guy could nail a bullseye from halfway across the camp, a fact that Jasper, son of Apollo, still hadn't quite recovered from after losing an archery contest to Harry. Being the son of Loki and Artemis kind of gave Harry an edge in all things archery-related.

Okay, and maybe everything else, too.

At camp, the usual mix of training, sparring, and the occasional run-in with a rampaging monster kept things interesting. Chiron had them all on a pretty intense schedule, but when you're the son of two gods from rival pantheons, training wasn't just a part of life—it was survival. And, of course, a great way to show off.

While Harry had already mastered archery, thanks to, well, being Artemis's son, Hilda decided it was high time he learned the art of spear-fighting.

"Spears aren't just for decoration, kid," Hilda said, spinning hers with enough force to make the air whistle. "You may be able to shoot the wings off a harpy, but let's see how you do in close combat."

Harry grinned, leaning casually on a practice spear. "You're talking to the son of a Trickster God and a Huntress, Hilda. Pretty sure I've got this covered."

"Yeah? Then prove it," she challenged, eyes narrowing.

Now, Harry could've shapeshifted into, say, a giant eagle, flown off, and called it a win. But where's the fun in that? So, he squared up, gave a respectful nod to his teacher, and promptly spent the next hour getting his butt handed to him. He was great with a bow, but learning to fight with a spear? That was a whole different ball game.

Meanwhile, Clarisse, the five-year-old daughter of Ares, watched all of this unfold with a glint in her eye that Harry had come to recognize. It was the "I'm going to fight something today" look that all Ares kids seemed to have.

"I wanna learn how to use a spear, too!" she declared, stomping over like she owned the place—which, let's be real, she kind of did.

Harry raised an eyebrow, twirling the spear like a baton. "You sure? Spears aren't toys, Clarisse."

"I'm sure!" she snapped, crossing her arms. "I can handle it!"

Hilda chuckled. "She's got the spirit. Let her try."

And that's how Harry found himself teaching a five-year-old how to wield a spear. Was it cute? Absolutely. Was Clarisse terrifying for a kid her size? Also, yes.

Jasper, sitting off to the side with his bow across his lap, watched the whole scene with a smirk. "Why are you all so obsessed with spears? Bows are where it's at, man. You can take down a monster from like, a mile away."

Harry gave him a look. "Uh, you're just saying that because I beat you at archery."

Jasper winced, his pride still smarting. "Yeah, well, that doesn't count. You've got two godly parents, and one of them is the Goddess of the Hunt. Totally unfair advantage."

"Excuses, excuses," Harry replied with a grin, casually tossing the spear into the air and catching it. "Face it, Jasper. I'm just better."

The days kept ticking along like that—training, friendly (or not so friendly) competitions, and more than a few pranks. Thanks to his dad, Harry had a knack for turning camp life into one long game of "What Can I Get Away With?" Fortunately for him, most of the campers were too distracted by the whole trying not to get eaten by monsters thing to notice half the chaos he caused.

But August was winding down, and that meant Fleur, the daughter of Aphrodite, would have to return to France for school. She had been improving her sword skills over the summer, and even though people often underestimated her because of her looks, she'd proven she could hold her own.

When her father, the very intimidating and very French Head of the DMLE, Sebastian Delacour, showed up to collect her, it felt like a storm cloud had rolled into camp. The guy looked like he could single-handedly arrest every monster in Tartarus and still make it home for dinner.

Harry, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned over to Jasper as they watched Sebastian talk with Chiron. "You know, we really need to get a Floo Network up in here. Pegasus rides are cool, but portals? Way better."

Jasper snorted. "Good luck convincing Chiron. He still thinks telephones are some sort of demonic curse."

Fleur's departure hit a little harder than Harry expected. Over the summer, the group had gotten close. But now, she stood with her bags packed, her cool composure firmly in place. Clarisse was the first to say goodbye, trying to act tough but managing a quick, fierce hug. "You better come back," she muttered.

Fleur smiled. "Of course. Someone has to keep you all in line."

Jasper, leaning on his bow, gave her a dramatic sigh. "Camp's gonna be boring without you."

"You'll survive," Fleur teased, rolling her eyes. Then she turned to Harry.

For a moment, the usual banter between them faded, and something more serious lingered in the air. Fleur smiled softly. "Don't do anything reckless while I'm gone, Harry."

Harry shrugged, trying to keep things light. "Reckless? Me? Nah, I'm all about the cautious life." He winked.

Fleur laughed, hugged him, and whispered something in French that Harry didn't quite catch—but knowing her, it was probably something like "Don't get yourself killed."

Finally, Sebastian stepped up, nodded at Harry, and said, "You've got potential. Don't waste it."

Harry smiled back, feeling the weight of his dual heritage settle on his shoulders. "I'll try my best, sir. You know, when I'm not too busy dodging lightning bolts."

With one last wave, Fleur and her father stepped through a portal back to France, leaving Harry, Jasper, and Clarisse standing there, staring at the empty space where their friend had just been.

"Well," Harry said, tossing his spear from one hand to the other, "Back to training. There's bound to be a monster out there that needs slaying."

Clarisse grinned, brandishing her own spear with enthusiasm. "And I'm ready to take it down!"

Jasper rolled his eyes. "You two are impossible."

Harry just smirked. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, my friend. Impossible is where we start."

—

Meanwhile, in Asgard, Odin was not having what one would call a peaceful day. His eldest son, Thor, along with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, had just returned to report an incursion of Frost Giants from Jotunnheim on Lord Tyr's territory. This news alone was enough to tighten the All-Father's grip on Gungnir, but it wasn't even the biggest headache waiting for him.

No, that honor went to the growing rumor spreading among the citizens of Asgard. Word had it that Loki—Odin's youngest son, the trickster—had spent two decades in Jotunnheim, inciting Laufey, the Jotunn king, to rebel against Asgard. This rumor came at a bad time, especially given that Loki had been mysteriously absent from court during those exact two decades, only to return seven years ago claiming he had simply...slept through it all. For two decades. Right.

Now, Loki stood before the All-Father, brought forward for questioning. His expression was a mix of innocence and annoyance, as if the very idea of inciting a rebellion was beneath him. But Odin had been around long enough to know that when it came to Loki, nothing was beneath him.

However, before any interrogation could begin, Queen Frigga entered the throne room. She moved with the grace of someone who had seen much, understood more, and held secrets beyond counting. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but there was a weight to her words.

"It's time, Odin," she said softly. "It's time I tell you all the truth."

Odin raised an eyebrow, glancing from Frigga to Loki, whose expression shifted from amused detachment to something resembling curiosity.

"Truth about what?" Thor asked, standing to the side, ever the hammer-wielding, clueless one.

Frigga took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto her youngest son's. "Loki does not remember what truly happened during those two decades, because I made sure he wouldn't."

Odin's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring. "What have you done, Frigga?"

She lifted her chin. "I did what I had to, to protect his mind from breaking under the weight of memories that would have driven him to madness."

Loki, now thoroughly intrigued, took a step forward. "Memories? What are you talking about, Mother?"

Frigga turned to face him fully. "The truth is, during those two decades, you weren't in Jotunnheim inciting rebellion. You were on Midgard."

"Midgard?" Loki echoed, the word filled with distaste. "Why in the nine realms would I—"

"You were reborn, Loki," Frigga interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. "As a Midgardian wizard named James Potter."

The room fell silent. Even Thor, who often acted first and thought second, was rendered speechless.

Frigga continued, her voice tinged with sorrow. "You had only recently discovered the Wizarding World of Midgard and wanted to experience it. You lived a life there, as a mortal. You studied their magic, attended a place called Hogwarts, and fell in love with a woman named Lily Evans."

Odin's expression darkened, his hand tightening around Gungnir. "Fell in love?" he repeated, as if the words were a personal affront.

Frigga nodded, unbothered by the All-Father's reaction. "Yes. You married her. You had a son."

At this, Loki took another step forward, disbelief clouding his usually sharp features. "A son?"

"His name is Haris Lokison," Frigga said softly. "Though on Midgard, they called him Harry Potter."

Loki staggered back as if he'd been physically struck, his mind racing to comprehend what his mother was telling him. "But I... I don't remember any of this."

"Because I removed the memories," Frigga admitted. "After you died—after your mortal body was killed protecting your wife and son from a dark wizard named Voldemort—the memories of your life as James began to return. They fractured your mind. You would have gone mad if I hadn't intervened."

Loki stood still, processing this tidal wave of information. He had lived and died as a mortal, loved as a mortal, and fathered a child on Midgard. And none of it—none of it—had felt real to him until this moment.

Odin, his face etched with concern and anger, turned to Frigga. "And now?"

"Now," Frigga said, her voice steady, "it's time for him to remember."

With that, Frigga raised her hand, and a soft, golden light enveloped Loki. The memories that had been locked away began to resurface—images of a simpler life on Midgard, of laughter and love, of a green-eyed boy.

Loki's knees buckled, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something raw and real tug at his heart. He had a son. A son who was still alive.

And just like that, the weight of Asgard's politics and the Frost Giant incursions faded, as Loki, the God of Mischief, remembered what it meant to be human.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!