Rebirth 5

The people of Vanaheim were much more simplistic in their lifestyles than the Asgardians, and that was saying something, considering the Asgardians lived on the simple equation of eat–fuck–fight–sleep and repeat. And while the Æsir certainly didn’t believe or practice in the overt displays of wealth like humans if his home planet, the golden palace, the brooches, and the plated vambraces were opulence enough in the face of what he was seeing here.

The Vanir didn’t wear jewellery or ornate armaments. At least, not in the strictest and materialistic sense of the term. Loki had not been kidding when he had told him bits and pieces of the Vanir culture on their short trip to Freyndalr. Ornaments for them were nothing more than proof of their skill in communing with the nature around them, and a trophy of their most impressive hunt to date. Giant bear claws and necklaces made of teeth collections swayed with every step the Vanir before him took, most of the dancing to the tunes of the flutes and harps being played as the celebration continued late into the night.

It had been several hours since they had arrived at Freyr’s Valley, and even now, despite the dinner being long since concluded and the mead barrels emptied, the Vanir continued to revel and enjoy without a pause and a care. Good for them, he supposed, for a society that had not been at conflict for over a millennium.

“Do you wish to partake in a dance, Harry?”

“Not at the moment, Your Majesty,” he shook his head with a smile, turning his gaze upon Freyja—and reminding himself for the dozenth time that she was off limits, even for his eyes. Alas, the mead that had been forced down his throat seemed to have dulled his thoughts, for it took him a moment more than he would have liked to focus back on her eyes instead of the way her lips shone in the soft lamplights. Smiling at her as he shrugged, Harry leaned back fully into the plush, leather-backed chair he had been provided with and looked up at the sky, millions of stars shining in a breathtaking band of celestial beauty. “Wondering about what life has in store for me now.”

“Rarely do the threads of the Norns unravel themselves before you cross them,” she chuckled, taking a sip from her mug of mead as she too followed his gaze, gazing at the stars that had shone their world, and many more for as long as she had been alive. “Your tale has been a fascinating, yet sad one, Harry Potter. The life that was snatched from you, the vinr and kin that you have lost to ambition and foolish, misguided decisions…I commend you for your fortitude and the fact that you still haven’t succumbed to the trials you have faced.”

“I almost did, once,” he chuckled, remembering those first few nights after the wizarding world had been exposed, the statue of secrecy torn down in the aftermath of what the new ministry had tried to enact. Even now, years later, he couldn’t believe what had happened, and moreover, just how had it happened?

“We all reach a precipice of fate I believe,” Freyja commented softly, her eyes falling down on her kin and fellow Vanir, a sombre note in her eyes as she beheld the celebration going on before them. “For a long time, I too was close to losing myself. To the continuous fighting, to the unending deaths, to the ever-loud voices of doubt. Yet, I persevered for the sake of my people, and for my own sake as well. Today, the realm prospers, almost healed from the generational war that had taken over our world, and relations with Asgard are getting better with each solstice.”

“I don’t have anyone for whom I should get better,” he pointed out dryly, before taking a long gulp from the goblet before him, the wooden creation feeling much better in his hands than the ornate, metallic ones back on Asgard. For a moment, he was back at Hogwarts, after the final battle against Voldemort, with Aberforth handing out free drinks to everyone in similar cups, cries of joy and sadness echoing in equal measure around him. The drink passed his throat, honey and charcoal brimming on his tongue, and suddenly, he was on castle grounds —staring up at the world-eater descend on his home, tearing away everything to atoms and energy in a cosmic storm.

“But you do have their memories, do you not?” Her soft, understanding voice brought him back to the present, and Harry nodded with a forced smile as he looked up at the stars, discreetly vanishing the tear that had started to crawl down his eye. Soft, warm fingers touched his forearm, and Harry looked at Freyja as she gave him a sad smile, echoing his emotions. “Live for those memories. Live to see their desires, their hopes come true. Maybe in a different form, and a different world, but let their souls live their best moments through you.”

“I shall try my best, Your Majesty,” he inclined his head in respect as she retracted her hand, and even if it was unconscious on his part, he missed that warmth of her energy, or her nebulous magic instantly. Goddess of Magic and Love certainly, he observed with a mental shake of his head as he continued to sip away at his drink, casting his gaze about the cavernous hall they were in, wondering what was he to do once they returned to Asgard.

“I remember telling you to call me Freyja,” she interrupted him, and Harry looked back at her, finding her giving him a cross look as she bit into a cheese-laden piece of bread—and just how was even a simple task as biting into food made so otherworldly by her? It wasn't as if she was deliberately being seductive about it. Her actions just seemed to…happen in a way that made everything she did look a dozen times beautiful, every movement graceful and serenading.

Off limits’ he reminded himself again even as he took another sip, meeting her eyes with a raised eyebrow as he spoke over the rim of his tumbler, that famed cheek which had turned quite a few of McGonagall’s air white returning full force. “And yet, you are the Queen of the realms I am in, are you not? Etiquette demands that I address you properly.”

“You are just like Loki, flowery with your words and devious in your charms,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms languidly, and Harry was well aware of what that did to her considerable bust, as well as the smirk on her face. However, before their conversation could continue, Loki appeared in a shifting sheen of golden magic, holding in his hands…a clam?

“Tell Brunr to clean up that lake, there are half a dozen giant Sarlaccs in that pit,” he muttered as a greeting, sitting down beside Freyja and summoning his newest knife, before slicing open the giant clam on one stroke.

“Damn,” he muttered absently, looking at the shining, crimson black pearl sitting inside the mollusc, the hues melding together at the center in a wondrous display of -”Wait, Sarlacc? As in those giant animals in Star Wars?”

“Could be,” Loki shrugged, and Harry didn’t know what surprised him more. That Loki knew of Star Wars, or that the creator of that fictional piece knew of Norse animals, “A lot of mortal stories draw inspiration from the tales of the olden times, when we walked through Midgard and it was much more active in the cosmic events. I remember something about a famous character they have developed…Gon or Goku? Heh, last I checked, they were debating whether it could destroy Thor or not, given a fight were to take place. Foolish, but that’s children for you.”

“I wonder what that says about you, my child,” Freyja cut in smoothly, eyes glimmering with mirth as she leaned forwards, inspecting the pearl, while Harry was left stifling his chuckles at the sudden, but brutal chastisement she had delivered to the arrogant god. “Why did you harvest this? It is not yet mature.”

“I need something to hold in the enchantments I am thinking of laying into this weapon,” Loki held up the said dagger, and he watched intricate, dense runic scripts form around the blade, revolving in circles as Loki’s eyes glowed a soft golden, “The gemstone you gave to the dwarves is powerful aye, but it will break under the stress of what I intend to do.”

“Why don’t you take Harry here along with you when you do so,” Freyja supplied, eyes still not moving from the pearl, and yet both Loki and Harry looked at her as if she had grown a second head—and yes, he fully supported Loki’s thoughts for once.

Him? Learn enchantments from the Norse God of Mischief?

“Moth-”

“He is our guest, Loki,” she cut in with all the authority of being a mother, turning her eyes upon her son and giving him a short look, before meeting his eyes. “What do you say, Harry Jamesson? It will certainly aid you in enchanting that necklace once you decide on what to do with it.”

‘Well, I already know the basics of enchantment, but those are through runes,’ he thought to himself, looking down at the bit of metal he could see on his chest. Ingvild’s gift sat between his open tunic, its weight warm and strangely comforting. Running a gaze along the dagger in Loki’s hands, as well as the several dozen scripts floating off it, which instead of being carved into it, or being inlaid as a permanent spell into the metal…existed inside it all the same.

‘But still…Loki?’ he thought, curiosity for the magic, and his wariness as well as exasperation at the caustic god warring inside his brai-

“I cannot stand to teach a Midgardian the finer aspects of sorcery. Competent he may be—for a Midgardian—I still have much better things to do,” Loki interrupted his thoughts, thankfully speaking sen—wait what?! 

Before he could offer a much-needed retort to the prick, he continued with a shrug as he leaned back into his seat. “Besides, it is not as if he has the talent for Æsir or Vanir magicks.”

“I am honored, Your majesty,” he too added his words, lowering his head respectfully as he considered his words, before deciding honesty was the best thing he could do for, “The only 

craft I have played lately with my magic is that of death. Of destruction. Enchantment, creation—those are arts I’ve scarcely touched. You and yours have already shown me a kindness I have no hope of repaying. I would not presume to ask for more.”

Freyja gave him a look for a moment as she straightened in her seat, before turning towards Loki, “I disagree with your judgment of his skills and aptitude.” 

Her words carried amusement, yet there was steel behind them as she too mirrored her son’s pose, turning towards him the next moment. “And I find your words untrue, Harry. You created a live dragon. Not a mere illusion, or a simulacrum. That creature lives, breathes, and radiates energy like a life, not a blanket on one's senses.”

He had no reply to that, not when her words rang true with the roars that came in through the sky every few minutes. Deciding to stay silent for now, he acquiesced to her words with a nod, not meeting her eyes at all.

“And I,” the Trickster clicked his tongue, flicking his fingers and vanishing the dagger to sleeves unknown, breaking the quiet as he stood up, “disagree with yours, dear mother. Now, it has been a long week, and I haven’t rested in days, so I shall be taking your leave. I shall meet you at the altar tomorrow.”

“Ignore him,” she muttered once the git disappeared in his trademark golden magic, and Harry found himself under the scrutiny of two deep, bemused pools of amber-glazed honey, “if Loki shall not teach you, then I shall.”

“...what?” he mumbled, thoughts grinding to a halt before he caught up with her words, and his eyes widened. However, before he could continue his protest, Freyja laughed brightly, the atmosphere once more responding to her joy as it had in the evening and Harry couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his veins, pulsating warmth and a much softer rush of desire following in its wake.

“I said, I shall teach you the magicks of the Æsir and Vanir—those which you can master of course,” she reiterated, and Harry instantly opened his mouth to list of the half a dozen reasons on why that was not a good ide-”You will be able to show up Loki if you master it.”

‘Fuck’ he stopped instantly, seeing her irises glimmer with victory and satisfaction, and he knew that she knew how much of an arse Loki’s offhanded comments backhanded jibes had become in just a single day of knowing the Norse deity. He was a stranger to these lands, and a mortal amongst gods. He had no business being tutored by the Queen of the Nine Realms herself. Every instinct and the voices inside his head screamed at him to bow out politely.

But then he thought of Loki’s smirk, the disdain in his voice when he had dismissed him as “competent he may be…for a Midgardian.” That same voice had mocked him all day with every sideways glance. And as if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Freyja’s smile curved just a fraction, honey-gold eyes glittering like the promise of dawn.

“You need not answer now,” she said gently, leaning back as her laughter softened into something like command. “But know this, Harry Jamesson: the Norns do not spin their threads idly. You are here for a reason, and I would not see such potential left to wither. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, you shall walk with me. We will begin with what you already know, and from there, shape it into something worthy of your name.”

His protest died on his tongue. A warmth—whether from the necklace at his chest or the goddess before him—settled in his bones, and against his better judgement, against his doubts, Harry inclined his head.

“…Then I’ll see you at dawn, Milady.”

“Good,” Freyja replied, satisfaction lilting in her tone as the air around them seemed to brighten with her approval. “You will not regret it, Harry Potter.”

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The solstice here was much different than the ones he had observed on Earth. For one, the offerings were not being made to the gods, but to nature, to the very realm they were in. The Vanir gathered from all over the forest around them, thousands arriving within hours as the sun started to peek over the horizon. And this was not the only place where the celebration was happening. According to Freyja, altars like this were set up in every continent, allowing multiple rituals to be conducted simultaneously.

As a guest, he stood nearby the Queen and Loki, watching Freyja walk up the steps to the altar, three priestesses trailing behind her. And it was not merely the Vanir who had come out in droves. Numerous birds and animals stood amidst them, chittering and crying out as the villagers fed them with nuts and berries and bread. Even Loki, for all his aloof and I-am-better-than-you behaviour, had somehow let a small snake wrap itself around his neck, the stark white serpent laying its head on the god’s shoulder.

For a moment, he was tempted to ask Loki if it was Jormungandr, but Harry resisted the urge. Ahead of them, at the altar, the priestesses began to hum. At once, every vanir fell silent, and even the creatures stopped all sounds as the humming grew louder, the women serenading to a tune only they could hear as their voice rose and well in waves. Vibrations rolled across the atmosphere, and bit by bit, Harry felt the energy around him rise. Freyja and Loki were both instantly noticeable, their power far dwarfing those of the others, but still, Harry felt his hair stand on end as every Vanir started to pour out their energy into the surroundings.

And then, Freyja joined the priestesses, her melodious voice changing something fundamental around him, as instead of separate, clashing pools of energy and magic, every Vanir’s power began to flow in harmony, twisting and turning around together to form a meld so indistinguishable, that it blew his mind away.

The chanting began slowly, three notes held and repeated, low and steady like the pulse of the earth. It was not the sort of song Harry had ever heard before. It was not the hymns of churches, nor the carols that had echoed through the Great Hall in December—but something older, heavier, dragging at the marrow of his bones as if trying to remind him of a language forgotten by men. 

Freyja lifted her arms wide, the bowl of mead in her hands glowing faintly, as if the liquid itself had caught the first rays of the rising sun. At the altar’s edge, runes smouldered into life, burning red as though carved freshly with a searing blade, crimson-orange energy swirling in the ancient script.

The air shifted, the birds fell quiet and even the wind seemed to still, as if listening. Then came the growl—a low, rolling thunder from above that rattled through his bones and set his ribcage on fire. He looked up with the others and saw them—two shapes streaking across the heavens, vast and dark and terrible, silhouettes amongst the clouds that glowed molten yellow with the rising sun. 

Sköll and Hati, the wolf-sons of Fenrir. 

Their paws stirred the heavens like storms, their eyes like burning coals as they leapt through the firmament in pursuit of Sunna and Máni, their celestial hunt sending lightning and winds storming through Vanaheim. Raw, potent energy suffused the atmosphere, and for a heartbeat, Harry forgot to breathe. They were larger than mountains, casting enormous shadows that blotted out the sky as if it were twilight, and yet the Vanir did not cower.

Instead, a howl rose around him. Fearless, loud, and equally as ferocious as the celestial wolves—and not from one throat, but from thousands. It burst from the villagers, from the children and the elders, and even from the animals pressed close to their sides. Even the fox Harry had noticed earlier tilted its muzzle back and joined in, shrill and wild, while its children hummed and swayed their heads in tune with the priestesses’ chant. 

As one, the entire forest howled along with the people as energy gathered in visible wisps and streams of color. The whole realm gave voice to the rising crescendo, and the sound surged up into the heavens—defiance made into music that was as potent as it was wild. Harry felt it pass through him like a current, dragging him with it, his own magic joining in the swirling, surging currents of power until he found his own voice joining in, humming deep from his chest without his willing it. 

The wolves snarled back, their thunder rolling across the sky as a pair of wild, solid cyan eyes as big as entire islands paused on them, but the rite did not falter. The priestesses’ chant climbed in pitch, weaving above the howls and the hums, and the runes on the altar flared brighter, writhing and shifting into shapes that made his vision blur when he tried to follow them. Magic hung thick in the air, visible now in motes of green and gold that clung to skin and hair, fur and claw alike. It stung his tongue with a taste of iron and honey, and smoke rose from the altar fire as oil was poured into it, twisting into shapes that danced in the air—wolves, serpents, antlers, wings and a dozen other things that vanished as soon as they formed. He swore he could hear voices in the flames, whispering half-words in that same lost tongue that Freyja was chanting in, layered and echoing.

The world felt alive. Not merely inhabited, but awake, aware, watching. For a moment, he thought he could feel it gazing back at him through every leaf and root and stone—the weight of a realm that did not simply host its people, but walked beside them. He had seen Hogwarts breathe once, in its own quiet way, but this… this was something vast and feral, raw and eternal. It was as if the ley lines of magic that pooled and flowed beneath the crust had all awoken, to dance through the air and supercharge the air with vast, untamed amounts of power.

The chants picked up in speed, and the humming grew louder as the priestesses began to bring their feet down in tandem with the voices, their steps pulsating in rhythm with the vibrating energy. And then, a moment later, the whole realm seemed to stand still, frozen in a moment eternal as the energy coalesced together—and something shifted in the world around him. Freyja raised the mead high above her head as the clearing fell into silence, save for the echo of the wolves’ howls retreating across the horizon, as the storm of sensations abated. Their steps fell in the heavens above like distant thunderclaps, fading more and more with each moment, and Freyja’s voice rang clear, cutting through smoke and song alike as golden dawn broke through the clouds.

“Balance is kept. The hunt is stayed, the chase endures.”

The Vanir roared in triumph as her voice soothed the very realm, and every creature joined in celebrating the ritual as the power that had been unleashed began to nourish Vanaheim. Even Loki smiled for once, free of that caustic superiority as he stroked the scales of the serpent in his arms, emerald eyes glittering with something that was far too foreign a look on the deity.

Giving him another skeptical glance, Harry looked around in wonder as the gold and green motes of power that floated between them began to disappear, seeping into everything and enriching it. He felt the foreign energy—something far greater in its essence than anything he had ever felt before—entering his body, his very soul.

It brought with it the freshness of crisp, cool waterfalls. It gave him the sensation of a warm, fresh kill entering his mouth. His skin warmed under the heat of the sun, and the smell of the earth and forest filled his senses. In that moment, Harry was connected to Vanaheim, and the Vanir ritual he had just witnessed in such an…dare he say intimate way that words failed him.

But it gave him hope. That just as the Vanir had stayed the cursed hunt, just as every creature, every leaf in this forest strived for life, for joy…he should too. His fists clenched as the emotions invoked by the ritual broke through his mental control. Regret, Sadness, Love, Joy, Hope, Disdain, Anger…all warred within that storm in his head, just like it had on the day he had arrived in this Universe, when Odin had told him to use his second chance wisely.

And then, as his eyes met Freyja’s across the gap between them, her earnest expression, and her words from yesterday night brought about a feeling he had not really thought of yet.

Acceptance.

Of her words.

Of his situation.

And that of his future.

As the Vanir around him broke bread and danced merrily underneath the trees, the forest danced with them in tune, Harry finally looked towards tomorrow not with resignation, nor the forced agreement he had felt at the Allfather’s words.

Instead, he looked at it with acceptance.