The golden throne room of Asgard shimmered with brilliance that rivaled the stars. Torchlight bathed the high-vaulted arches, casting radiant glows on polished marble, enchanted banners, and glittering runes inscribed across the walls.
Odin, seated upon his throne in full ceremonial garb, had both hands resting lightly on the arms of his seat. His usually grim face was softened by an unmistakable look of pride.
At the center of the court, Harry stood tall in his sleek black wizard robes, crackling faintly with arcs of silver and gold energy. His electric blue eyes gleamed as he raised a hand—lightning sparked to life, danced across his fingers, swirled upward in elegant spirals, and gathered above him into a brilliant sphere of raw stormlight.
Gasps filled the chamber.
"He wields the storm as though it breathes for him," one noble whispered.
"Without a weapon… without any foci…" said another in awe.
Thor, standing beside Odin, grinned broadly, folding his arms with fatherly pride. "He's got more control over lightning than I ever had at his age. Perhaps even now…"
"You still need your hammer," Loki murmured with a sly smirk. "And a lightning-proof cape."
"I heard that."
Harry lowered his hand, and the lightning sphere dispersed with a sharp, crackling hum, followed by a whisper of wind that swept through the throne room like the breath of a god.
Odin stood slowly and addressed the nobles gathered.
"Let all in Asgard and the Nine Realms bear witness," his voice echoed. "Harry, born of Midgard, is blood of Thor, heir of the storm, and of my House. He is recognized—not only by blood but by power."
The nobles bowed in acknowledgment, though a few eyes still lingered on Harry, calculating, curious, cautious. Royalty, especially new royalty, always drew whispers.
At Frigga's side, Loki tilted his head slightly, watching Harry with unusual interest. He saw something not just royal or powerful—but unpredictable.
"There's chaos in his magic," Loki murmured.
Frigga nodded, her eyes soft and thoughtful. "Yes. He carries the storm within… but also something older. Something unshaped."
Before Loki could respond, the vast golden doors of the throne room slammed open with a thunderous boom.
A gust of wind rushed in, scattering petals and rattling tapestries.
Everyone turned as several Asgardian guards ran in, breathless and battered, dented armor scorched and sliced.
"We are under attack!" one of them cried out, falling to one knee.
Gasps filled the hall. Thor's expression darkened instantly as he summoned Mjölnir with a flick of his wrist. A flash of lightning struck through the air as the hammer landed in his hand.
Loki's ceremonial robes shimmered—morphing into his sleek, dark green battle gear, and his twin daggers appeared in his hands like slivers of shadow.
"Who dares?" Thor demanded, stepping forward.
"How many?" asked Odin grimly, standing once more. "What realm dares strike at the heart of Asgard?"
The lead guard swallowed hard, struggling to form words. "We… don't know who she is, All-Father. She came alone. Just one woman. But… she's unstoppable."
Odin's body stiffened. The room fell deathly silent as a single name echoed in the old god's mind.
Hela.
He turned sharply. "How many we lost?"
"No, my lord," the guard answered. "Not yet. But she's bested an entire company of Einherjar. She… she is toying with us."
Thor's face contorted in disbelief. "One woman? You expect us to believe that one attacker is tearing through our armies and you can't even identify her?"
"She moves like shadow," the guard said hoarsely.
"Enough," Odin said coldly.
The room trembled as Gungnir, his mighty spear, formed in his grasp in a swirl of golden mist. His ceremonial robes gave way to an ancient, rune-etched battle armor of blackened gold.
"If the attacker is whom I thinking," he said, voice distant, "then this is no ordinary attack. This is a reckoning."
"You don't mean—" Loki began, but Odin raised a hand.
"Stay here. Both of you."
"But Father—!" Thor objected.
"If this is truly her," Odin cut him off, "then this battle must be mine first. I am the one who put her in Hel. I am the only one who can defeat her."
Odin turned toward the gates.
"If I fall… then you may rise."
Without waiting for argument, Odin swept from the hall.
But Thor and Loki exchanged a glance. Wordlessly, they moved in unison—storm and shadow flowing behind the All-Father.
Harry moved to follow instinctively, wand already appearing in his hand.
"Wait!"
Frigga's voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
She stepped in front of Harry, blocking his path with her arms outstretched. Her eyes, gentle yet firm, met his.
"This is not your battle, child."
> "Someone is attacking the palace!" Harry said. "I'm not going to stand around while people die!"
"You are still new to this realm. You do not understand what it means if this is the one we fear," she said gently. "You bear the storm—but she bears death."
"I've faced death before," Harry said.
Frigga smiled sadly. "I know. But for now… let the gods of this realm face their ghosts. There will be battles for you, dear Harry. But this one… this one was forged long before you were born."
Harry clenched his jaw but said nothing.
From the far gates of the palace, a tremor shook the floor. Lightning cracked. Somewhere outside, a scream tore the wind. And from the skies above Asgard… a shadow fell.
It was a bright noon in Earling, and golden sunlight bathed the quiet suburban streets. Inside the Granger residence, the scent of chamomile and biscuits wafted through the kitchen, but Hermione Granger stood near the window in the sitting room, eyes fixed on the garden gate.
Harry Potter had just stepped outside, waving to Mr. and Mrs. Granger as they thanked him for visiting. He smiled at Hermione, and she smiled back, though her fingers clutched the curtain with unspoken tension.
"You always watch him go," her mother had once commented, half-joking.
But Hermione wasn't just watching. Today was different.
Normally, Harry would wait at the curb for the Knight Bus, awkward and dramatic in its arrival—but today, he had something new.
"Thought I'd try out my Thunderstep," Harry had said with a grin earlier that morning. "No more waiting for the Night Bus."
"You sure it's safe?" Hermione had asked, raising a skeptical brow.
"Safe-ish," Harry had replied with a wink.
Now, as he stepped away from the garden path, he glanced around the quiet street. This was the first time he was attempting it away from Highlands Manor. So he paced toward a secluded patch of the Grangers' home, just beside a tall hedge and a stone bench.
Hermione leaned closer to the glass, heart fluttering.
Harry closed his eyes and raised his hand. Static filled the air—the beginnings of a lightning surge.
And then it happened.
Not a crack of thunder.
Not blue sparks.
Instead—a circular burst of rainbow-colored light fell from the sky in a perfect, humming ring of energy. It wrapped around Harry like a giant iridescent spotlight—and then he was gone.
Hermione's heart skipped.
"Mum!" she shouted, already running.
She burst through the door, raced across the garden, and dropped to her knees on the soft lawn where Harry had just stood.
There was no scorch mark, no ash. Instead, strange golden runes engraved above the grass, shimmering with quiet, alien energy. They were like symbols carved from sunlight itself—elegant, angular, and ancient.
"Harry?!" she cried, but only the wind responded.
Her breathing became shallow. Something was very wrong.
She scrambled for her flip phone—flipped it open with trembling fingers—and dialed Harry's mother.
The line connected immediately.
"Hermione?" came Wanda's voice, calm but alert.
"Something's happened," Hermione panted. "Harry... he didn't Thunderstep. A ring of rainbow light appeared, and he disappeared!"
There was a pause.
"Are there runes on the ground?" Wanda asked, her voice sharpening like a blade.
"Yes. Glowing."
"I'm coming."
In a matter of moments, the world flickered.
A surge of crimson energy twisted into the garden like a mini-storm, and Wanda Maximoff materialized, coat flaring around her as though born of the storm itself.
She knelt beside Hermione, eyes scanning the runes.
"Just as I thought…" she muttered. "Bifrost residue."
"Bifrost?" Hermione asked, breathless.
"The bridge the Asgardians use to travel the realms," Wanda replied, her eyes narrowing with barely contained rage. "I should have known they'd try something like this."
"Why would they take Harry?" Hermione asked. "And how could they find him?"
Wanda stood, trembling with power.
"Because Asgard doesn't ask permission. It takes."
Hermione blinked, stunned.
"Can you get him back?"
"I will," Wanda said with terrifying certainty. "They opened a door. They forget I've walked through thousands of them. They don't who I am."
"You're not going alone, are you?"
"I am," Wanda said gently. "Because the place I'm going… it's not meant for other wizards. Not yet."
She stepped into the center of the glowing runes. Her hands shimmered with scarlet chaos magic, drawing sigils in the air, merging with the Bifrost residue.
Hermione watched in awe and fear.
"Tell Sirius," Wanda said. "Tell him Harry's been taken to Asgard. And that I'm going to get him back."
"Please… bring him back," Hermione whispered.
"There is nothing in the Nine Realms that will stop me," Wanda said, and with a final pulse of light—she vanished, the runes dissolving into ash and sunlight.
Hermione stood alone in the garden, staring at the empty space where mother and son had both disappeared.
She didn't know much about gods or realms or rainbow bridges.
But she knew a war was coming.
And Harry was at the center of it.
The sky above Asgard split like glass under pressure.
Scarlet tendrils of pure magic spiraled downward from the Bifrost platform, twisting and flaring like a living storm. The clouds parted, and in the next heartbeat, Wanda Maximoff—the Scarlet Witch, the mother of Harry Potter—appeared amidst the golden light of the Rainbow Bridge.
Her crimson coat fluttered as if caught in an unseen gale. Her eyes burned with fury. Her presence pulsed like thunder in the bones of the realm.
She had come to take back what was hers.
But Asgard was not welcoming.
"Halt!" cried the first line of Einherjar guards, their golden armor gleaming beneath the sun. "You are not authorized to enter Asgard! Lower your magic and come with us peacefully."
Wanda's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"You kidnapped my son," she said softly, voice like velvet stretched over steel. "You will not cage me too."
The guards moved forward, spears raised.
The world exploded.
Wanda unleashed a sphere of chaos magic that rippled through the air, bending gravity and space. The front line of guards was hurled backward like leaves in a hurricane, weapons clattering uselessly to the marble.
More came. Dozens. Then hundreds.
And Wanda met them all.
Scarlet magic danced at her fingertips—hexes, sigils, runes spinning faster than the eye could follow. She called down lightning, twisted the wind, warped the air itself into a weapon. Bolts of scarlet energy sent warriors flying. She wove shields from runes she'd learned from ancient wizarding grimoires, fusing chaos magic with human spellcraft into an unstoppable force.
She never killed. But none stood twice.
Piles of unconscious bodies began forming beneath her feet as she moved deeper into the heart of Asgard. The golden stones cracked beneath her fury.
"Where is my son?" she roared, voice echoing across the Bifrost, into the throne halls, through the soul of the realm.
By now, her breathing was ragged. The world around her warped with raw energy. For a moment, Wanda wasn't even sure why she was still fighting.
Why am I doing this?
Because they took him.
Because he's mine.
And then came a deeper hum—a power older than hers.
A single flash of gold heralded the arrival of Odin Allfather, his spear Gungnir shining like a star. Behind him stood Thor and Loki, their eyes locked on the battlefield of fallen warriors—and the single woman standing at the center, red magic flaring around her like a storm made flesh.
Odin narrowed his eyes. He had expected Hela, his eldest, risen from Hel.
But this was not her.
"Who are you?" Odin demanded, leveling his spear. "You bring war to the gates of the Eternal City. You defy the gods?"
Wanda turned to face him. Her magic flared again.
Odin, with a flick of his wrist, Gungnir unleashed a blinding beam of divine energy.
Wanda spun, her arms crossing—magic surged in an instinctive shield.
The blast hit her barrier and detonated, sending shockwaves rippling outward.
Odin skidded back three steps from the force of the rebound.
Thor's eyes widened.
"She… she blocked Gungnir."
Loki leaned forward with a smile.
"No… she returned it."
Wanda launched forward like a comet. Her red magic clashed with Odin's divine aura. Sparks of chaos and cosmic energy erupted in the air as they traded blow after blow—spell for spear, wave for ward. Odin summoned ancient runes to bind her, and she shattered them with will alone.
He hurled Gungnir again.
She warped space, twisting aside, grabbing the spear midair, and flinging it back. Odin had to roll across the battlefield to catch it again.
Thor stepped forward, stunned.
"Father… she's toying with you."
Loki, still watching intently, murmured, "That magic… I've never seen anything like it."
Odin pressed forward, hurling a wave of magic that splintered the Bifrost beneath her—but Wanda danced through it, striking with hex after hex, glowing like a vengeful star.
And then—
"Who are you?!" Odin roared, panting. "Why do you attack Asgard?! What do you want?!"
For a second, the question broke through the haze of rage and power.
Wanda stopped.
Her breathing slowed. Her fingers trembled. Her eyes flicked to the fallen guards, the unconscious soldiers beneath her feet.
What am I doing? she asked herself again.
Then she spoke.
"I came here…" she said, her voice suddenly full of pain, not fury. "I came here looking for my son. Harry."
Odin froze.
Thor stepped forward in disbelief.
"Harry…?"
Loki blinked.
"Wait… you're… his mother?"
The battlefield fell into silence.
The air, thick with power, began to settle.
Wanda lowered her hands slightly. Her scarlet magic still flickered around her, but the storm in her heart had cracked open—and through it, grief and desperation flowed like water through shattered stone.
Odin's eyes softened, just for a moment.
"You… are the witch who used the ritual?" he said quietly.
She stood tall, surrounded by the unconscious might of Asgard. Her power burned. Her purpose burned hotter.
"He is my son," she said. "And you'll have to kill me to take him or I will kill every one of you get him back."
No one moved.
Not even Odin.
Thor exhaled slowly.
Loki gave a low whistle.
Frigga, watching from the balcony above, whispered:
"By the Norns… that boy is truly loved."
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Beuwulf