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Chapter Text

Number 4 Privet Drive stood pristine in the early morning light, its perfectly manicured lawn and carefully tended flowerbeds a testament to suburban normality. But nothing was normal about the small boy who knelt in the garden, his tiny hands pulling weeds with practiced efficiency despite his young age.

Eleven-year-old Harry Potter had been outside since dawn, his aunt's shrill voice having woken him from his small bedroom with a list of chores longer than he was tall. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the half-slice of bread he'd been allowed yesterday evening. After talking back at breakfast, Uncle Vernon had decided he didn't deserve to eat today.

The summer sun climbed higher, and sweat trickled down Harry's face, making his oversized glasses slip down his nose. He pushed them back up with a dirt-smudged hand, careful not to smear the tape holding them together where Dudley had broken them last week.

It had been nearly a month since he'd returned from Hogwarts, and not a single letter had arrived from Ron or Hermione. Not that it would have mattered much if they had—Uncle Vernon had locked his trunk with all his magical possessions in the cupboard under the stairs the moment they'd arrived home from King's Cross.

Harry paused in his weeding, sitting back on his heels as his mind drifted to his first year at Hogwarts. It had been magical in every sense of the word, but now, away from the enchantment of the castle, certain moments stood out as... odd.

Like how Ron had been so quick to befriend him on the train, almost as if he'd been looking for Harry specifically. Or how Hermione, for all her intelligence, never questioned why Dumbledore would hide the Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children, protected by challenges that three first-years could overcome.

And Dumbledore himself... Harry frowned, remembering the Headmaster's twinkling eyes as he'd awarded those last-minute points to Gryffindor. The same Headmaster who had sent him back to the Dursleys despite Harry begging not to return.

"Boy! Are you daydreaming again? Those weeds won't pull themselves!"

Aunt Petunia's shrill voice snapped Harry back to reality. He quickly resumed pulling weeds, mumbling, "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As he worked, Harry wondered why none of his friends seemed concerned that he was returning to a home where he was clearly unwanted. Hagrid had seen how the Dursleys treated him, yet even the gentle half-giant had merely waved goodbye at the station.

That's when he saw it—a flash of light so brilliant he thought he'd imagined it. But there it was again, coming from beneath Aunt Petunia's prized rosebushes. Harry hesitated, knowing he wasn't supposed to stop working, but curiosity—the kind that even years of punishment couldn't quite suppress—drew him closer.

Nestled between the thorny stems was the most beautiful creature Harry had ever seen. A small snake, no longer than his forearm, lay coiled in the shade. But this was unlike any garden snake he'd ever encountered. Its scales appeared to be made of pure crystal, catching and refracting sunlight into tiny rainbows that danced across the mulch. Each scale was a perfect facet, and as the snake moved, colors shifted and swirled across its transparent form like the Northern Lights Harry had once seen in a book at school.

"Oh!" the snake's head lifted suddenly, galaxies swirling in its crystalline eyes. "What do we have here? A speaker, and such a young one at that."

Harry fell backward in surprise, catching himself on his hands. "You... you can talk?" he whispered, unaware that his words came out in soft hisses.

"Indeed I can, little one," the snake replied, slithering closer with fluid grace. "And you can understand me. How fascinating... I am Ørjan, and I have not met a speaker in many centuries."

"I'm Harry," he replied automatically, then added, "just Harry," because that's what he always said when someone asked his name. It was better than 'boy' or 'freak', which were the Dursleys' preferred names for him.

Ørjan's head tilted, studying Harry with ancient eyes. "No... no, I don't think you are 'just' anything, little speaker. There is old magic in you, very old indeed. Power that has been bound and hidden." The serpent tasted the air with its transparent tongue. "Tell me, young one, do strange things happen around you? Things you cannot explain?"

Harry's eyes widened. The Dursleys' first rule was never to mention anything strange or unusual. But this was a talking snake made of crystal—surely that counted as strange already? And something about Ørjan made Harry want to trust him.

"Sometimes," Harry admitted in a whisper. "When I'm scared or angry. Last week, Dudley and his friends were chasing me, and suddenly I was on the school roof. I didn't mean to, honest! And my hair—Aunt Petunia cut it all off once because she hated how messy it was, but it all grew back overnight."

"Accidental magic," Ørjan confirmed, "but there's something more... something different about your power. It feels... divine."

A sharp rap on the window made Harry jump. Aunt Petunia was glaring at him through the glass, pointing aggressively at the unfinished weeding.

"I have to go," Harry said hurriedly, turning back to his chores. "They'll be angry if I don't finish."

"Those creatures who call themselves your family," Ørjan's voice held an edge of anger, "they hurt you, don't they?"

Harry's silence was answer enough.

"Little speaker," Ørjan said softly, "what if I told you there was a way to discover who you really are? A place called Gringotts, where goblins keep the secrets of all magical families? They could tell you about your parents, about your power."

"My parents died in a car crash," Harry replied automatically, but even as he said it, something felt wrong about the words.

"Another lie they've told you, I suspect," Ørjan slithered closer. "I could help you reach this place. You could learn the truth about yourself."

Harry's hands stilled in the dirt. The offer was tempting—more tempting than anything he'd ever heard. But... "I'm not allowed to leave the house except for school."

"Magic, little one," Ørjan's scales sparkled with amusement. "Let me guide you. You need only be brave enough to take the first step."

Harry hesitated. Something about this didn't seem right. Why was a magical snake appearing to him now? Why hadn't anyone at Hogwarts mentioned he could talk to snakes? And if Gringotts had information about him, why hadn't anyone told him?

Yet another memory surfaced—of Hagrid taking a small package from vault seven hundred and thirteen, the same vault that Voldemort had later tried to rob. Hagrid, who had given Harry his Hogwarts letter but somehow forgotten to tell him how to get onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, leaving him to be conveniently found by the Weasleys.

The more Harry thought about it, the more his first year at Hogwarts seemed less like a series of adventures and more like... tests. Tests that had nearly gotten him and his friends killed.

A crash from inside the house made Harry flinch. Dudley's voice carried through the window, whining about wanting to go to the park. Soon Uncle Vernon would lumber out to the car, probably cuffing Harry on the head as he passed. Another day of chores and hunger and punishment stretched before him.

Harry looked at his raw, dirt-covered hands, then at the beautiful crystalline serpent. A year ago, he wouldn't have believed in magic. Now he was being offered answers about his past—answers no one else seemed willing to give him.

"Okay," Harry whispered, heart pounding. "Please... please help me."

Ørjan slithered up Harry's arm, coiling gently around his wrist. The crystal scales were cool against his skin, and somehow their touch made him feel braver.

"Hold tight, young speaker," Ørjan instructed. "Your journey to truth begins now."

As Harry stood, the morning sun caught Ørjan's crystalline form, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the garden. Neither the small boy nor his magical companion knew it yet, but this moment would change not just their lives, but the fate of multiple worlds. For the son of gods had taken his first step toward destiny, and nothing—not manipulative wizards, not false families, not even death itself—would stand in his way.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, though there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Chapter Text

The morning bustle of London seemed a world away from Privet Drive, yet here stood eleven-year-old Harry Potter, clutching a crystalline serpent to his chest as he gazed up at the imposing white marble of Gringotts Bank. Ørjan had guided him here through what he called 'old magic,' a journey that had felt like stepping through a cool mist before emerging in Diagon Alley.

"This is Gringotts," Ørjan explained, his crystalline form catching the early morning light. "The goblins who run it are fierce warriors and clever bankers. They take pride in their independence from wizard control—which means they'll help you without reporting to Dumbledore."

Harry frowned at the mention of the Headmaster. Over the past month, he'd had plenty of time to think about his first year at Hogwarts, and certain things just didn't add up. Why had Dumbledore hidden the Philosopher's Stone in a school? Why send him back to the Dursleys when Harry had made it clear he was miserable there? And why had the Headmaster been so quick to award those last-minute points to Gryffindor, ensuring they won the House Cup?

"Do you think the goblins know about... whatever's wrong with me?" Harry asked, unconsciously touching his lightning scar.

"They know many things wizards prefer to keep hidden," Ørjan replied. "But we should move quickly. Even in a place as busy as Diagon Alley, a boy with a legendary scar won't go unnoticed for long."

Harry nodded, pulling the hood of his oversized sweatshirt lower over his face. The last thing he needed was another mob of people wanting to shake his hand, like the one in the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid.

As they approached the bronze doors, a goblin guard spotted them.

"Speaker," the goblin said sharply, eyes fixed on Ørjan. Then his gaze shifted to Harry, and his eyes widened fractionally. "Come with me. Immediately."

Harry hesitated, memories of his first visit to Gringotts with Hagrid resurfacing. The goblins had been polite but distant then, certainly not rushing him off to private areas. But Ørjan gave an encouraging squeeze to his wrist, and Harry decided to trust his new friend.

The goblin led them not to the main hall but through a side door, down several marble corridors, and into an ornate office where an older goblin sat behind a massive desk.

"Account Manager Griphook," the guard announced, "a speaker with a crystalline familiar. And..." he paused significantly, "there's old magic on him. Many bindings."

Griphook's sharp eyes narrowed as he studied Harry. "I am Griphook of the Silvermark clan, young one. And you are?"

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry replied, feeling oddly like he should bow. This Griphook seemed far more imposing than the goblin who had taken him to his vault last summer.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Griphook's fingers tightened on his desk. "Indeed. And with a XXXX class crystalline serpent as companion... Most interesting." He pulled out a piece of parchment and a ceremonial dagger. "Would you consent to an inheritance test? Three drops of blood will tell us what magics have been worked on you."

Harry glanced at Ørjan, who nodded encouragingly.

"The inheritance test is a deeply magical process," Griphook explained, laying out an ornate piece of parchment. The paper itself seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "Three drops of blood will reveal not just your lineage, but any magical bindings, inheritances, and even attempts to alter your true nature."

Harry watched nervously as the goblin picked up a ritual dagger. Its silver blade was etched with runes that seemed to dance in the office's torch light.

"It will only hurt for a moment, little speaker," Ørjan assured him, still wrapped comfortingly around his wrist. "The truth is worth far more than a small prick."

With trembling fingers, Harry extended his hand. Griphook made a quick, precise cut on his finger—it hurt less than when Aunt Petunia's roses scratched him. Three drops of blood fell onto the parchment, and immediately, golden script began to spread across it like flowering vines.

Griphook's eyes widened as he read, his expression growing increasingly thunderous. The parchment continued filling for several minutes, far longer than the goblin seemed to expect. When it finally stopped, he looked up at Harry with a mix of rage and reverence.

"By the ancient laws," he breathed, "what they have done to you..." He composed himself and turned the parchment so Harry could read.

Inheritance Test

Lief Asbjørn LokiThorson (Also Known as: Harry James Potter)
Gender: Male
Magic level: Demi-God

Biological Fathers:
Loki Laufeyson – father (alive)
Thor Odinson – father (alive)

Step-Father:
James Fleamont Potter – Blood-adopted father (Dead)

Biological Mother:
Lily Jocosa Potter nee. Evans - (Dead)

Godparents:
Sirius Black (alive)
Severus Snape (alive compromised)

Harry's hands began to shake as he read his true name. Ørjan squeezed his wrist gently, encouraging him to continue reading.

Inherited Lordships:
Noble and Ancient House of Potter - paternal and Step-father (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Evans - maternal (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Prevelle - paternal and Step-father (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Slytherin - paternal (Heir)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Gryffindor - paternal and Step-father (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Lefay - maternal (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Emrys - by magic (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Merlin - by magic (Lord)
Most Noble and Ancient House of Pendragon - by magic (Lord)

"I have godparents?" Harry whispered. "Living ones?"

"Both currently unable to help you," Griphook growled. "One imprisoned without trial, the other under magical compulsion. Continue reading."

Vaults:
Potter Family Vault - 500,000 Galleons
Evans Family Vault - 2,000,000
Prevelle Family Vault - 2,500,000
Slytherin Family Vault - 5,000,000
Gryffindor Family Vault - 2,500,000
Lefay Family Vault - 10,000,000
Emrys Family Vault - 10,000,000
Meriln Family Vault - 2,000,000,000
Pendragon Family Vault - 1,200,000,000

Griphook's eyes gleamed as he noted Harry's reaction to the lordships. "Yes, young prince. You are heir to some of the most powerful magical legacies in our world. And there is more."

Properties:
Potter Manor - England
Godric's Hollow - England
Peverell Castle - West Country
Slytherin Castle - Scotland
The Emerald Villa - Ireland
Hogwarts Castle - Scotland
Lefay Estate - France
Emrys Estate - Wales
The Merlin Estate - Unknown Location
Pendragon Manor - Wales
Pendragon Castle - Wales

"All of this... is mine?" Harry asked, overwhelmed by the numbers.

"Yours by blood and magic," Griphook confirmed. "But first, we must address the gravest concern." He pointed to the next section.

Bonds on Magic:
Magic – 85% placed by Dumbledore
Glamour - 100% placed by Albus Dumbledore
Metamorphmagus - 100% placed by Albus Dumbledore
Elemental Abilities: Water - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
Non-verbal magic - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
Wandless magic - 90% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
Natural Legilimency - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
Natural Occlumency - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
Familiar's (3) - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore

• Types:
• Snake (XXXX class)
• Dragon (XXXXX class)
• Wolf (XXXXXX class)
  Animagus forms: Various animal forms - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
• Main Forms:
• Phoenix
• Black Panther
  Parseltongue Ability - Failed Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
• Parselmagic – 90% placed by Dumbledore
  Mage Sight – 100% placed by Dumbledore
  Eidetic Memory – 85% placed by Dumbledore
  Illusions and Trickery - Loki's abilities - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
  Superhuman Strength and Durability - Thor's abilities - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
  Lightning Manipulation - Thor's abilities - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore
  Flight - Thor's abilities - 100% Block placed by Albus Dumbledore

"They bound your familiars," the serpent hissed in fury. "They knew you were meant to have three of us—myself, a divine dragon, and a cosmic wolf—and they dared to block the bonds!"

But it was the final sections that made Harry's heart truly ache:

Potions:
Loyalty – keyed to Gryffindor house; Molly, Ron, and Ginny Weasley; Hermione Granger; Dumbledore
Hate – Keyed to Slytherin house; Severus Snape; Dark/Gray Magic
Distrust – keyed to Remus Lupin; Teachers; Healers
Impairment – makes focusing difficult and harms learning

Compulsions:
Distrust - Black Family; Lupin; Snape
Remain Silent about Abuse placed by Dumbledore
Dislike Studying and healers placed by Dumbledore
Listen to Dumbledore and Molly Weasley placed by Dumbledore

"They... they made me not tell about the abuse," Harry whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "Made me trust them and distrust anyone who might help me?"

Everything was falling into place now: his immediate dislike of Snape despite having never met him before; his friendship with Ron despite how the redhead constantly belittled Hermione and abandoned Harry during the tournament; the way he never questioned Dumbledore's decisions, even when they put him in danger.

Griphook's face was a mask of controlled rage. "Yes, young prince. But know this—such bindings can only be placed on a being of immense power. They feared you, and rightly so. You are the son of storm and chaos, of lightning and mischief. Today, we begin breaking these chains."

He stood and walked to a cabinet, withdrawing a small bowl of silvery liquid. "But first, you must understand. Your mother left these memories in our care. She knew this day might come, knew you would need to understand why she hid you, why she bound her own son's power—though not nearly to this extent." He gestured to the swirling silver memories. "Would you like to see?"

Harry looked at Ørjan, who nodded encouragingly. "Know your past to claim your future, little prince."

"Before I look," Harry said, finding courage he didn't know he had, "can you remove any blocks that might stop me understanding what I see? I noticed there's one on my memory..."

Griphook smiled, showing sharp teeth. "Clever, young prince. Yes, we can do an initial breaking of the most restrictive bonds. The memory block, the compulsions about abuse and trust, and the learning impairment. The rest will require a ritual, but these..." He snapped his fingers, and two more goblins entered. "These we can break now."

"Will it hurt?" Harry asked, trying to be brave.

"Less than living with them has hurt," Griphook said gently—or as gently as a goblin could. "Ørjan can stay with you."

"I'm not going anywhere, little prince," the serpent assured him.

As the goblins began their work, thunder rolled overhead—closer now, more insistent. In New York, Thor looked up at a clear sky, feeling an inexplicable pull. In Asgard, Loki paused in his reading, a forgotten memory tickling at the edge of his mind. And in Scotland, Albus Dumbledore's numerous silver instruments began to shriek as their careful spellwork started to unravel.

The son of gods was awakening, and nothing would ever be the same.

"Ready yourself, young prince," Griphook said, raising his hands. "It's time to begin removing your chains. Then we'll show you the truth about Lily Evans and the gods who loved her."

Chapter Text

The ritual chamber deep beneath Gringotts bank thrummed with ancient magic. Carved runes covered every surface, their edges gleaming with old power. Six goblin healers and ritualists stood at key points around a raised stone dais, while Griphook supervised from the circle's edge. In the center, eleven-year-old Leif sat cross-legged, Ørjan coiled protectively around his shoulders.

"The initial breaking of bonds must be precise," Griphook explained, his voice echoing in the chamber. "We'll start with the memory block and learning impairments. These are the most immediately harmful and the easiest to remove. Are you ready, young prince?"

Leif nodded, trying to hide his trembling. "I'm here," Ørjan reassured him in Parseltongue. "Nothing will harm you while I'm present."

The goblins began to chant in their ancient tongue, their voices rising and falling in complex harmonies. The runes on the floor began to glow, first with a soft golden light that gradually shifted to an angry red as they encountered the blocks on Leif's magic.

"By the ancestors," one of the goblin healers hissed, "these bindings... they're tied to his very life force. Whoever did this meant them to drain him slowly, keeping him weak and malleable."

Griphook's face darkened with fury. "Break them. Break them all!"

The chanting intensified. Leif felt something inside him stretch and snap. Suddenly, memories began flooding back—clearer, sharper. He remembered every cruel word the Dursleys had spoken, every "accidental" burn from the stove, every "trip" down the stairs. But he also remembered moments of strange kindness: a teacher who tried to help before suddenly becoming distant, a neighbor who showed concern before abruptly moving away, a librarian who began giving him extra food before inexplicably forgetting he existed.

"Pattern recognized," another goblin called out. "Multiple memory charms on Muggles who showed concern. Regular Obliviation tactics."

"Document everything," Griphook ordered. "We'll need records for when justice comes."

The ritual continued for nearly an hour. As each small block broke, Leif felt his mind becoming clearer, his thoughts sharper. When the goblins finally lowered their hands, he felt as though he'd been wearing dark glasses his entire life and someone had finally removed them.

"That's the preliminary breaking done," Griphook said, helping Leif to his feet. "How do you feel?"

"Like... like I can think properly for the first time," Leif answered, surprised by how much easier it was to form complex thoughts. "But also angry. They made me forget so much."

"The anger is natural, young prince. Channel it wisely." Griphook led them back to his office. "Now, before we view your mother's memories, there's another matter we must address. The financial audit our team began during the ritual has revealed... irregularities."

Griphook spread several documents across his desk, his expression grim. "Your trust vault is severely depleted compared to our last audit before your parents' deaths. We've traced numerous unauthorized withdrawals over the past ten years."

He pointed to a long list of transactions. "Monthly payments to Molly Weasley for your 'care'—though you've clearly never met the woman before your first year. Regular withdrawals to a Hermione Granger's educational fund. Deposits to Ronald and Ginevra Weasley's personal vaults. All authorized by Albus Dumbledore, who named himself your magical guardian—a position he had no right to claim."

"Ron and Hermione were being paid?" Leif asked, feeling a new wave of anger. "To be my friends?"

"It would appear so," Griphook confirmed. "The payments to Mr. Weasley began shortly before your arrival at Hogwarts. Miss Granger's began after Halloween of your first year."

Leif thought back to Halloween—to the troll incident that had cemented their friendship. Had that been orchestrated too? And Ron's behavior on the train—his insistence on sitting with Leif, his disparaging comments about Slytherins—had that all been planned?

"Can we stop them?" Leif asked.

"Immediately. As your account manager, I can—"

"No," Leif interrupted, surprising himself with the calculating thought that emerged. "Let them keep taking it for now. If we stop it, they'll know something's wrong. Let them think their plan is working."

Griphook's eyebrows rose, and a slow, sharp-toothed smile spread across his face. "Very cunning, young prince. Very cunning indeed. Your father Loki would be proud of such strategy."

He pulled out another document. "However, there's something else we must address immediately. We need to perform a full health scan. The audit revealed payments to several healers over the years—healers who never actually treated you."

Leif sat still as the goblin healer who'd been summoned waved her hands over him, muttering in Gobbledegook. A piece of parchment filled with script as she worked. When she finished, her hands were shaking with rage.

"Multiple untreated broken bones," she spat. "Severe malnutrition. Internal bruising. Magical core strain from fighting the blocks. Poor eyesight that could have been corrected years ago. Cursed scar that's been allowed to fester..." She turned to Griphook. "This is enough to claim blood right."

Griphook nodded solemnly. "Young prince, the goblin nation takes crimes against children very seriously. What has been done to you... by our laws, we could claim you as our own, offer you sanctuary and protection."

"Like... adoption?" Leif asked, thinking of another unwanted child in another unwanted home.

"Of a sort. We would name you Friend of the Nation—a status few wizards have ever earned. It would give you protection, resources, and the right to learn our magics."

Leif looked at Ørjan, who nodded encouragingly. "A powerful alliance, little speaker. The goblins are fierce friends and fiercer enemies."

"I would be honored," Leif said formally, sitting straighter despite his exhaustion.

The ceremony was brief but powerful. Three drops of Leif's blood mixed with three drops of Griphook's in a golden bowl. Words were spoken in the ancient goblin tongue. Magic flared, and Leif felt something settle into his bones—a connection to the ancient magic that ran through Gringotts' halls.

"Now," Griphook said, once the magic had settled, "I believe it's time to see what your mother wanted you to know."

He guided Leif to the Pensieve, its silver surface swirling with Lily's memories. "Remember, young prince, you cannot be harmed within a memory. Ørjan can accompany you, as your familiar bond has been partially freed. Are you ready?"

Leif took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his new knowledge, his anger at the manipulations, and his curiosity about his true parents all swirling together. "Yes," he said firmly. "Show me."

Together, Leif and Ørjan leaned forward, and the world dissolved into silver mist. When it cleared, they stood in a sunlit field in Norway, watching a young woman with brilliant red hair carefully examine what appeared to be ancient runes carved into a standing stone.

"Your mother," Ørjan whispered, "on the day she met your fathers."

Thunder rolled in the memory's sky, and two figures appeared on the horizon. One carried a hammer that crackled with lightning. The other held a staff that gleamed with green energy. Both were walking toward Lily Evans, about to change her life—and the fate of multiple worlds—forever.

Just before the memory fully engulfed him, Leif gasped as another block seemed to shatter in his mind. The goblins' Gobbledegook, which had sounded like harsh consonants moments before, suddenly transformed into clear speech in his mind.

"The All-Speak awakens," Ørjan observed as they fell into the memory. "Another gift of your divine heritage they tried to suppress."

"I can understand everything," Leif whispered in awe, realizing he could now read the ancient Norse runes his mother was studying in the memory just as easily as English.

The scene before them came into sharp focus. Summer, 1979. A younger Lily Evans knelt before a massive runestone, her bright red hair caught in a messy bun, several quills stuck through it. She was muttering to herself as she sketched the runes in a notebook.

"These patterns," she was saying, "they're not just Norse. There's something else here, something older..."

Thunder rolled overhead, far closer than natural. Lily looked up, and her green eyes—so unlike Leif's true ones—widened as two figures emerged from a sudden swirl of clouds and lightning.

The first was massive, blonde and muscled, wearing armor that gleamed in the summer sun. Mjolnir, the legendary hammer, hung at his side. The second was tall and lean, dressed in green and black leather, dark hair falling to his shoulders. His staff pulsed with an inner light that matched the clever gleam in his eyes.

"Thor and Loki," Lily said, standing quickly. She didn't seem afraid, only fascinated. "I wondered when you'd notice someone studying your old waypoints."

Both gods paused, clearly surprised by her lack of fear and her recognition.

"You know of us, mortal?" Loki asked, head tilting in curiosity.

"Lily Evans, Master of Charms, researcher of ancient magical convergences," she introduced herself with a small bow. "And yes, I've been tracking patterns of Norse magic across Europe. These runestones..." she gestured to the massive stone behind her, "they're not just markers, are they? They're doorways."

A slow smile spread across Loki's face. "Thor, I believe we've found a clever one."

"Indeed, brother," Thor's voice rumbled like distant thunder, but his smile was warm. "Tell us, Lady Lily, what else have you discovered about our old paths?"

The memory shifted, swirling into a series of moments:

• Lily demonstrating her charm work, combining Norse runes with modern wizarding spells in ways that made both gods lean forward with interest. • Thor teaching her about storm magic while Loki watched, amused, as she tried to call lightning. • Loki and Lily bent over ancient texts, discussing magical theory while Thor brought them mead from Asgard. • All three of them laughing around a campfire, sharing stories of their worlds.

Then the tone of the memories changed. Lily and Thor were tangled together under the stars while Loki watched with heated eyes. Later, Lily and Loki practiced illusions while Thor's hands rested possessively on both their shoulders. The three of them moved together like planets in a perfect orbit, magic and passion and understanding flowing between them.

"They both loved her," Leif whispered, understanding dawning. "And she loved them both."

The memories shifted again. Lily, looking pale and worried, pacing in front of the runestone where they'd first met.

"I'm with child," she was saying to both gods. "And there's a prophecy. A dark wizard, a chosen one born as the seventh month dies..." She pressed her hands to her stomach. "This child will have power the Dark Lord knows not—of course they will, look at who their fathers are!"

"We'll protect you," Thor declared immediately. "Both of you."

"No," Lily said firmly. "Listen to me. This Dark Lord, Voldemort, he's hunting for the child of the prophecy. If he knew I carried a child of gods..." She shook her head. "And it's not just him. Dumbledore... I've seen how he manipulates, how he moves people like chess pieces. If he knew..."

"What would you have us do?" Loki asked softly, understanding in his eyes.

"James," Lily said. "James Potter still loves me. He'd claim the child as his own, protect us both. We could hide under the Fidelius Charm. And..." she hesitated, "we'd have to bind the baby's divine powers, just enough to hide them. Just until they're old enough to protect themselves."

"You want us to forget?" Thor's voice broke slightly.

"A temporary memory charm," Lily explained. "One that will break when the child comes into their power. You'll remember everything then." She touched both their faces gently. "I hate to ask this of you, but it's the only way to protect our baby."

The memory swirled again, showing a complex ritual. Lily, Thor, and Loki standing in a runic circle. James Potter nearby, love and determination on his face as he agreed to the blood adoption. The magic swirled, golden and green and crackling with lightning.

"His name is Leif," Lily whispered as she placed the sleeping baby in the ritual circle. "Leif Asbjørn LokiThorson. But for now, he'll be Harry James Potter." She looked at her divine lovers. "Remember him. Even if you forget us, remember to look for him when the time comes."

The memory began to fade, but not before young Leif saw tears on his mother's face as she cast the memory charm on Thor and Loki, watched them fade away in a swirl of lightning, their memories of their time with her locked away until the right moment.

The Pensieve released Leif and Ørjan back into Griphook's office, where the young prince immediately collapsed into his chair, tears streaming down his face. The crystalline serpent tightened his comforting grip around Leif's wrist.

"She loved them," Leif whispered in the ancient tongue of the goblins, his newly awakened All-Speak flowing naturally. "She loved them both, and they loved her. She didn't abandon me—she was protecting me."

"Indeed," Griphook replied in the same language, eyebrows raising slightly at Leif's easy use of Gobbledegook. "Your mother's memories continue, young prince. Would you like to see what happened next?"

Leif nodded, and they dove back into the Pensieve.

The next set of memories were darker: Lily arguing with Dumbledore about the prophecy, the old wizard's eyes twinkling with hidden calculation. James holding baby Harry/Leif protectively while Lily wove protection spells into his very skin. The night they cast the Fidelius Charm, Peter Pettigrew's nervous shifting as he became Secret Keeper.

But the most disturbing memory came last.

"He's planning something," memory-Lily was writing in a journal. "Dumbledore's been asking too many questions about Harry's power levels. The bindings we placed to hide his divine nature are holding, but yesterday I caught the old man trying to add more." She looked up, as if speaking directly to her future son. "If you're seeing this, my little storm-bringer, then I'm no longer there to protect you. But know this—you were born of love, of lightning and chaos and magic itself. You have two fathers who would tear apart the realms to protect you, if only they remembered. Find them. Break these chains. Become who you were meant to be."

The memory faded, and this time when they emerged, Leif's tears had dried. In their place was a determined gleam that made him look remarkably like Loki in one of his more calculating moments.

"Dumbledore," he said quietly, thunder rumbling in the distance despite the clear sky, "he didn't just maintain mother's necessary bindings. He added more. Trapped me with the Dursleys. Stole from my vaults. Planned to control my whole life."

"Yes," Griphook agreed, showing sharp teeth. "But his plans are already unraveling. The preliminary blocks we broke have awakened your All-Speak and some of your basic divine abilities. Once we perform the full cleansing ritual—"

"No," Leif interrupted, a plan forming in his mind. "Not yet. A full cleansing would alert him immediately. We need to do this carefully." He straightened in his chair, and for a moment, both Griphook and Ørjan saw the future king he could become. "Here's what we need to do:"

Over the next hour, Leif outlined his plan, surprising both the goblin and the serpent with his strategic thinking:

• Keep most of the blocks for now, but slowly weaken them so they'd appear to be fading naturally • Allow the theft from the vaults to continue to maintain the illusion of control • Use the goblin network to arrange safe passage to New York • Have the goblins slowly begin reclaiming stolen money through clever banking laws • Prepare the cleansing ritual for when the time was right

"Your fathers' gifts shine through even the bindings," Ørjan observed. "Loki's cunning and Thor's strategic mind combined."

"There's one more thing," Griphook added, pulling out a small chest. "Your mother left this for you. It contains a letter for your fathers, explaining everything. She spelled it so only their combined presence would open it."

Leif took the chest reverently. "Then I'll make sure they get it." He looked up at Griphook. "How soon can we arrange transport to New York?"

"Give us three days to set everything in place. We'll create a paper trail showing Harry Potter was legally relocated to a distant magical relative. By the time Dumbledore realizes something's wrong, you'll be under the protection of the Avengers."

"And the tracking charms?"

"Already removed during the preliminary cleansing," Griphook assured him. "Though we left a faint trace heading toward Wales to further confuse matters."

Leif nodded, then hesitated. "My familiars... the test showed I'm meant to have three. Ørjan is one, but the others..."

"Will come when the time is right," Ørjan assured him. "I sense they wait in Asgard—a dragon of ancient power and a wolf of cosmic might. When you meet your grandparents, you'll find them too."

"For now," Griphook said, standing, "let's get you somewhere safe for these three days. The Potter family has a small townhouse in London, heavily warded. We've already dispatched teams to update the protections." He handed Leif a ring bearing the Potter crest. "This will grant you access and mark you as Lord Potter, though I suggest glamouring it in public for now."

As they prepared to leave Gringotts through a secret passage, Leif turned to Griphook. "Thank you," he said in flawless Gobbledegook. "For everything."

"Thank us by succeeding, young prince," Griphook replied. "The goblin nation looks forward to watching you shake both the magical and divine realms to their foundations."

Three days, Leif thought as they made their way to the townhouse. Three days until he'd meet his fathers. Three days until he could begin dismantling the manipulations that had shaped his life. Three days until Thor and Loki would hold the chest containing Lily's letter, and all the memories would come flooding back.

"Rest now, little prince," Ørjan said as they settled into the heavily warded house. "Your journey truly begins soon."

That night, as Leif slept in a proper bed for the first time in his memory, two dreams played out:

In New York, Thor dreamt of red hair and laughter, of lightning called by hands not his own, of a baby with eyes green as spring leaves. He woke with tears on his face, not knowing why.

In Asgard, Loki jerked awake from dreams of ancient runestones and stolen kisses, of complex magical theories debated under starlight, of a child with his cunning and Thor's strength. He spent the rest of the night searching his books, trying to understand why it felt less like a dream and more like a memory struggling to break free.

And in London, Leif smiled in his sleep as thunder rolled gently across the sky, his first night of true rest since he'd been left on the Dursleys' doorstep. Change was coming, and neither the magical world nor the divine realms were ready for what would follow.