The Bifrost battlefield lay in eerie silence.
Dozens of elite Asgardian warriors groaned in defeat across the marble causeway, while golden embers of chaos magic still shimmered in the air. The skies above were clearing slowly, the last echoes of storm and sorcery fading into the sunlit spires of Asgard.
At the center of it all stood Wanda Maximoff, her red aura fading into a faint shimmer as Odin Allfather lowered his spear.
His golden armor, battered from their earlier clash, gleamed as he stepped forward—this time not as a warrior, but as a king extending peace.
"You fight with fury and heart, Lady Sorcerer," Odin said, his voice a deep rumble. "But this battle was born of misunderstanding. We did not kidnap your son."
Wanda's eyes, still glowing faintly, narrowed.
"Then what would you call it?" she asked coldly. "You summoned him without asking. Without warning. You used your Rainbow Bridge like a snare."
Odin gave a heavy nod.
"We only wished to meet him," he said honestly. "He is the son of Thor, and thus, the blood of Asgard runs through him. I gave Heimdall the order to bring him the moment he could be located again."
Wanda crossed her arms.
"You speak of him like a curiosity," she said. "Not like a boy who has a life. Friends. A mother."
"He is more than a curiosity," Odin replied. "He is a prince of Asgard. We… I… wanted to welcome him. Nothing more."
There was a pause.
Then, softly, Odin added:
"If you had not come here today, he would have returned to you in time. We had no plan to keep him against his will."
Wanda exhaled, her body relaxing slightly. Her magic dimmed.
"You should have asked," she said firmly. "If he wanted to stay for a few days, I wouldn't have stopped him. But he is still a boy, and he is mine."
"A fair reprimand," Odin said with a nod. "I'm not… accustomed to asking permission. I forget the world beyond our realm moves differently. That's my failing."
There was silence between them for a moment—two forces, one forged by magic and grief, the other by age and power, acknowledging each other.
Then Odin turned, gesturing toward the shining city beyond.
"Come," he said. "Let us not speak as enemies. I will escort you myself to the palace. Your son is waiting."
Wanda's eyes softened. She gave a small nod, stepping beside him.
Together, the Allfather of Asgard and the Scarlet Witch walked through the gleaming causeways of the city. Behind them trailed Thor, his hammer slung across his back, and Loki, his emerald cloak billowing in the wind, eyes fixed curiously on the woman who had just bested Odin in a duel.
The people of Asgard lined the walkways and bridges, their faces filled with awe and confusion. They whispered among themselves, unable to believe what they were seeing:
"Who is she…?"
"Did she defeat the Allfather?"
"She looks Midgardian—but her magic…"
Wanda walked with her head held high, her coat flowing like a royal train behind her. She ignored the murmurs. Her mind was focused on one thing: Harry.
Loki leaned closer to Thor as they walked.
"She bends reality like fabric," Loki whispered. "I've studied the mystic arts for centuries… but her power is something else entirely."
"It's called chaos magic," Thor said, his eyes not leaving her. "Mother spoke of it once… unpredictable, raw, dangerous."
Loki smiled.
"And beautiful."
Thor chuckled under his breath.
"You're not the only one who noticed."
"Oh?" Loki raised an eyebrow.
"She is the mother of my son," Thor replied with a slow grin. "There's a certain… poetry to it."
Loki gave him a side glance.
"You're already imagining her in your bed, aren't you?"
Thor smirked, not denying it.
"Would that be such a tragedy?"
"She nearly flattened the realm," Loki said. "So yes—just maybe."
Up ahead, Odin looked back briefly.
"Behave," he said without looking at either of them.
At last, the group reached the gates of the Golden Palace, where guards parted silently, casting reverent glances toward Wanda. Her battle had spoken volumes more than any introduction could.
Inside the grand atrium of the palace, lined with high columns and golden reliefs, the marble echoed under their steps.
And standing in the center, looking both amazed and guilty, was Harry Potter.
"Mum?" he said, eyes wide.
Wanda's expression melted. She ran to him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.
"Are you alright?" she whispered, clutching him. "Did they hurt you? Did they—"
"No, no—Mum, I'm fine!" Harry reassured her quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know this would happen. They just wanted to meet me. I was about to come back."
Wanda pulled back, cupping his cheek.
"You're alright," she said again, more to herself than to him.
Odin stepped forward.
"He has honored us with his presence. But we shall not keep him against his will. You have my word."
Wanda looked at Odin, then back at her son.
"You'll tell me next time?" she said quietly.
"I swear," Harry replied. "No more surprises."
"Good," she said.
Then, slowly, Wanda turned to face the rest of the room—Thor, Loki, Frigga watching silently from above.
"If you wish to be part of his life," she said clearly, "then you'll do it my way. You'll treat him as a person—not a symbol, or a prince, or a pawn. He's a boy. He has a life. He has a family."
She narrowed her eyes.
"And that family includes me."
Thor, heart pounding in his chest, stepped forward.
"Then maybe… we could be family too," he said gently. "Someday."
Wanda raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe."
And with that, the palace of Asgard fell silent again.
The sky above Asgard had turned a deep violet when Wanda and Harry stood once more beneath the golden arches of the Bifrost station. With a quiet farewell and polite nods from Odin, Frigga, and even a begrudging Loki, Wanda lifted her hand.
With practiced focus, she carved a swirling scarlet portal into the air—an intricate blend of chaos magic and dimensional shifting, taught to her by America, who had long mastered multiversal travel. The air crackled with power.
"Ready?" Wanda asked, glancing at Harry.
"More than," Harry replied, arms full of books.
Together, they stepped through.
They emerged on the familiar stone path leading to Highland Manor, the grand estate tucked into the Scottish Highlands. The night air was cool and sharp, and in the distance, the lights from the manor's tall windows glowed like lanterns in the fog.
Wanda barely had time to shake the dust off her coat when the door flung open.
"Harry!" shouted Hermione, her hair wild and her face pale.
She sprinted down the path and threw her arms around him so hard that Harry nearly dropped the stack of ancient Asgardian grimoires he was carrying.
"I thought I lost you!" she cried into his shoulder. "You vanished! There was lightning—then that rainbow light—I thought I'd never see you again!"
"I'm okay, Hermione," Harry murmured, hugging her back. "Really. I didn't know they'd do that. I was about to thunderstep, and then—boom—Asgard."
"Asgard?" she pulled away, her eyes wide. "As in… Norse mythology?"
"It's real," Harry said, grinning.
Inside the manor, Sirius Black leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, worry etched into every line on his face. America sat nearby, bouncing her foot restlessly, her usual carefree attitude absent.
Sirius striding toward them. "You're both alright."
"There was… a complication," Wanda said dryly. "Apparently, being the son of Thor comes with an Asgardian welcome basket."
"They just snatched him?" Sirius frowned.
"Not exactly," Wanda sighed. "Heimdall brought him because Odin wanted to meet his grandson. They didn't mean harm, but they didn't ask either."
"And you went full Scarlet Witch on them, didn't you?" America asked, arching a brow.
"They'll survive," Wanda said casually, removing her coat. "It's Odin's fault. Not mine."
Sirius let out a deep breath and rubbed his temples.
"Next time, they should ask before abducting children, gods or not."
Wanda smirked.
"They got the message."
Later that night, the manor was full of life again.
Harry had already stored most of his gifts inside his personal trunk—a magically expanded vault in his room that acted like a miniature private library and armory. Rows of glowing bookshelves hummed with golden runes, and enchanted lanterns floated in the air.
Hermione stood by, hands clasped behind her back, her eyes wide with jealousy and awe.
"These books are… incredible," she whispered, tracing a glowing spine labeled Runic Echoes of Vanaheim.
"Lady Frigga gave them to me," Harry said, opening the trunk to reveal more: spellbooks, scrolls, even glowing crystals. "She said I've got a strong affinity for Asgardian magic."
"I can see why," Hermione said. "These enchantments are woven through the page structure itself—there's living magic in some of these bindings."
"You're welcome to borrow any you want," Harry offered.
"Really?" Hermione's eyes lit up like stars.
"You're my best friend," Harry said. "Of course."
Hermione smiled so brightly it made Harry's chest ache.
Meanwhile, Wanda sat beside Sirius in the study, conjuring tea into porcelain cups. She summoned a dark metallic trunk, engraved with chaos runes and bound with leather clasps, and opened it.
Inside was a collection of clothes, jewelry, enchanted rings, delicate silk robes, and several weapons made of Uru metal, including an ornate short-sword etched with lightning.
"They gifted me all this," Wanda said. "Even enchanted armor fragments. Frigga was… welcoming."
"They're not going to try and claim Harry, are they?" Sirius asked quietly.
Wanda looked thoughtful.
"No. Not anymore. Odin agreed. If Harry wants to return to Asgard, it will be his choice. They'll invite, not take."
Sirius sighed in relief.
"That's all I ask."
The next morning, as light filtered through Highlands Manor's tall windows, Harry and Hermione sat on the rug, flipping through an oversized Asgardian tome filled with rune studies, while Wanda stood nearby, inspecting a set of lightweight Asgardian daggers.
"Harry," she said, turning toward him, "you're not just a wizard anymore. You're part Asgardian. That means more than magic—it means combat, survival, strength of body and mind."
"You want me to start fighting?" Harry asked, sitting up.
"I want you to start training," Wanda clarified. "Asgardians don't raise scholars without also making them warriors. Magic and martial skill go hand in hand."
"I'm okay with a wand," Harry muttered, but Hermione nudged him.
"Come on. It might be fun. We could both learn."
"You want to join a martial arts school?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"You think I don't?" she huffed. "I already knew couple of moves."
Wanda smiled proudly.
"Good. Because I've already contacted a master—an old associate. I want you to learn with structure. Meditation. Discipline. Not just flinging spells and hoping for the best."
"You're starting to sound like a professor," Harry said with a grin.
"Oh really?," Wanda said smugly.
Harry rolled his eyes, but deep down, he was excited.
Asgard, magic books, weapons of gods—and now, martial arts?
His life was anything but ordinary now.
And somehow, it finally felt right.
The training ground was a secluded field surrounded by hills, stone walls, and protection wards cast by Wanda herself. It was once an old Highland sheep pasture, but now it rang with the sounds of wooden swords, grunts, and sharp spells clashing in the air.
Harry and Hermione stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the man Wanda had invited.
He was young—perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four—with deep brown eyes, shoulder-length black hair tied back loosely, and a lean, muscular frame. He moved with the effortless balance of a dancer and the instinctive readiness of a seasoned fighter. He wore loose tunic-like clothes cinched at the waist with a belt of leather lined with runic embroidery. His name was Kael.
"This is Kael," Wanda introduced. "An old contact. We met in the ruins of a forgotten temple during one of my curse-breaking expeditions. He's skilled in more martial arts than I can count."
Kael bowed politely.
"It's an honor, truly," he said. "Lady Evans speaks highly of you, Harry."
"You don't look old enough to be anyone's teacher," Sirius muttered.
"Neither does she," Kael replied with a respectful smirk, glancing at Wanda, who only smiled in return.
Then, with a flash of scarlet magic, Wanda conjured a box, its lid etched in golden Asgardian glyphs.
Inside lay a weapon forged from Uru metal—a slender short spear, elegant and glowing faintly with blue lightning.
"This is for you," Wanda said, offering the weapon to Kael. "A gift from the forge of Asgard. The spearhead is made of Uru, and it's attuned to magical combat. You've earned it."
Kael stared, stunned.
"Lady… this is… it's priceless."
"So is my son's future," Wanda replied. "Train him well."
For the first week, Kael ran them through daily warm-ups, balance drills, breathing exercises, and sparring basics. Hermione learned quickly—she wasn't naturally strong, but her mind was sharp and her form improved fast. Kael admired her discipline.
Harry, on the other hand… was a different story.
Not in a bad way.
In a "what in all the stars of the cosmos is this kid made of?" way.
"Again," Kael called, and Hermione spun into a controlled forward roll before rising into a defensive stance.
Harry followed suit—but when he leapt, he didn't just roll. He flipped twenty feet into the air, twisted mid-flight, and landed silently on his feet like a cat.
Kael blinked.
"Okay. Again… but maybe slower?"
When they moved to combat drills, it got even worse.
Or better—depending on your perspective.
Kael struck at Harry with a training staff, aiming for the side. Harry didn't dodge—he blinked, appearing behind Kael in a blur of lightning, tapping his shoulder with two fingers.
"Dead," Harry said with a grin.
"You're not even trying," Kael muttered, shaking his head. "That's not fair."
Even Hermione gaped.
"That wasn't teleportation… that was wasn't lightning travel either, what was that?"
Harry shrugged.
"That's my normal speed."
By the end of the second week, Kael privately pulled Wanda aside.
They stood under the shade of an old willow near the training field.
"Lady Evans," Kael said gently. "I don't think I'm enough."
Wanda raised an eyebrow.
"You're one of the best."
"For humans," Kael said. "But your son is—he's divine. Literally. His reflexes, strength, speed… I can't keep up. No one from Earth can. He needs… someone more."
Wanda folded her arms.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
She sighed and looked toward Harry, who was helping Hermione with a defensive form, lightning occasionally crackling at his fingertips without even noticing.
"Alright. We'll do it."
That evening, Wanda gathered the family in the manor's main hall.
"Harry," she began, "you're going to start commuting daily to Asgard."
Hermione straightened up immediately.
"What?! Why?"
"Not because you failed," Wanda said. "But because you're not like the rest of wizards. You're not just magical anymore. You're an Asgardian. And you need a place that can challenge you… shape you."
"But I don't want to leave you," Harry said.
"You're not," Wanda smiled. "You'll go to Asgard every morning at the time you would normally leave for school. You'll study martial arts, advanced combat, and Asgardian magic. And then you'll come back."
"I won't be going to school anymore?"
"No more boring school. You'll have tutors from the best of nine realms."
"Wicked," Sirius grinned. "That's my godson."
"Are you okay with this?" Harry asked Hermione.
Hermione sighed, but smiled bravely.
"Only if I get to read all the books you bring back."
"Deal."
By the next morning, Heimdall had opened a permanent Bifrost corridor just outside Highland Manor. It was a subtle archway in the forest grove, only accessible by Harry's magical signature.
Every morning, Harry would step through, and the air around him shimmered with rainbow light.
He arrived not at a school—but a realm of gods.
He trained under Asgard's best warriors, sparred with Valkyries, studied rune-chanting under Frigga herself, and explored the magic of stars and storms with the scholars of Vanaheim and Alfheim.
"You are not just Prince Thor's son," one tutor told him. "You are lightning given form."
And every day, after classes, Harry would return to Highlands Manor with glowing skin, sparks in his hair, and scrolls in his satchel.
Hermione would call him everyday.
"What did you learn today?" she'd ask.
"How to shatter stone with my voice," Harry said with a wink.
"No fair."
But she was proud.
So was Wanda.
And far away, in the golden towers of Asgard, Odin watched silently, murmuring:
"The Thunderbird has returned to us."