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Loki gingerly stat up, stretching his stiff muscles and getting once more used to his body. This one had been rather close – tall, thin, black hair and deft, long fingered hands – but there were things that always irked him, like the different feel of the back of his teeth and the height of his ears.
His fingers traced the side of his neck, willing away the phantom pain that was likely to linger for a few hours, at least, given the brutality of the attack. This one had been a messy one.
When he deemed himself accustomed enough with his old self, Loki rose, moving towards the dining area. He did not feel particularly hungry, but he had learned from experience that he should feed as soon as possible, better not to suffer lingering effects.
He was halfway there when he saw Thor. The huge oaf was soon at him, hugging him in a brotherly embrace.
“Loki! I didn’t expect you for at least another thirty years. Heimdall had informed it was a human this time. Was he wrong? Or have I botched the calculations again?” There was a slight crinkling of his brow, but his smile was still in place. Loki took a deep breath, shoved away the awe and distrust at being touched – some things lingered, but most faded away with time, and, idly, he hoped this was one of them,
“Yes, a human. It would have been much longer, however – this one had magic.” Loki studied Thor’s pleased expression. It was so rare he took a form actually so close to his – last time it had been another human wizard, some thousand of years back into their timeline, curiously in a similar region. That one, though, had had much more power and lived a much longer life, though the end had been just as messy. Some of the mistakes had been similar, but, Loki pondered, maybe he had made better choices, however belated, this time. It had, anyway, been particularly interesting to see how his work had stood the test of time, even though some ramifications of his teachings had not been what he expected. “There was, unfortunately, a war.”
“Ah,” Thor’s voice was grave. Loki appreciated the sympathy, since he knew Thor did not think fighting unpleasant in the slightest. He acknowledged, as it was, that Loki did not partake in the enthusiasm. “Such a waste. It seems it otherwise had potential to be a truly pleasant one.”
Loki held back that none of these incursions were “truly pleasant” - and that this, for all it’s potential, had been a particularly pained one. Their intention were for him to learn, to experience the different. Thor would probably benefit, but his magic was too raw to control the delicate process.
“Indeed,” he settled, not wanting to make his brother morose. “It had some facts of interest, however. This was a maker of powerful concoctions, it made me realize I have neglected that side of my learning.” There were several other interesting facts, however he chose to discuss them later, after he’d had time to ponder them in detail by himself.
_
Years later, when that life was, no him, of no more significance than the hundreds of others he had had throughout his own Asgardian one, and he found himself in Earth again, intentions much less noble this time. When he found himself in England, however, he could not help but to sneer – that had stayed, to Freya’s dismay. He decided that visiting some former acquaintances – the very irritating boy, specially – might be a fun exercise.
Locating them was no matter – there was magic at work trying to prevent it, but, in his original self, human magic was but a minor annoyance. When he located the no-longer-a-boy, he was in that insufferably loud street, surrounded by what appeared to be his offspring.
Loki pondered his course of action. A glamor would probably be very effective – if he could still remember his mannerisms, and he thought he could – but the options were endless.
He followed as the group – half red haired, half black haired, he noticed, grimly – made its way through the alley, keeping his distance enough as not to be conspicuous. We he noticed the smaller boy stray, not noticed by his parents, his lips curled. This had potential.
His smirked only grew when the boy, upon noticing he was alone, walked of his own volition towards Loki. He was maintaining a light aura of distraction, made so no one would bother to notice him twice, but it did not seem to affect the boy. Always so special, weren’t they, he sneered in his mind.
“Excuse me, mister. Could you help me? I’m lost,” the little boy sniffed, rubbing at his eyes fiercely. Loki was terrible at telling human ages, but he placed the boy at around 7, maybe less.
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, making his smile benevolent. “And who would you be?” The boy hesitated, seemingly unaccustomed at the idea of not being known. Loki’s insides boiled at the entitlement, of course he was used to being famous and had having his face recognized and adored –
“Albus, sir.” His face scrunched in distaste. “Albus Severus Potter. But people just call me Al.”
Loki was taken aback, feeling the blood drain from his face. He noticed, with another pang, the boy’s eyes, now he was looking directly at him, his face painfully earnest. The red rim to them only made the green stand out more, that green... Another thing that had not faded with time from that life made Loki suddenly very desperate for both something to break and a dark corner to curl himself into.
“Ah, yes, very well,” his throat dry as he spoke. “I’ve seen them go into Gringott’s, I’ll show you.” He turned towards the bank, fighting the urge to turn just so so his robes would billow out. Yes, there was a reason he did not often make contact with the remains of his other lives. The world moving on, he could expect. The things that remained, however...
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He'd not spare Britain or the Potters when the time came, Loki decided as he left the alley. But there was no reason to rush their fate, either.