Harry sat in his motel room as the afternoon sun streamed through dusty blinds, his mind replaying the events of the past few days. The conversation with Thor on the hillside had been a few days ago, and it seemed things had kickstarted, moving in the right direction.
As an invisible observer, Harry had watched Thor's interactions with Jane Foster and her research team with growing interest. The Norse god's first encounter with mortal hospitality had been telling. Jane had offered him food, shelter, and kindness without expecting anything in return. More importantly, she'd treated him as a person rather than a deity.
Thor's response had been equally revealing. Instead of demanding worship or recognition, he'd shown genuine gratitude for simple acts of compassion. When Jane had given him her father's clothing, Thor had handled the garments with reverence, understanding their sentimental value. When Darcy had made him coffee, he'd thanked her with sincere appreciation rather than royal condescension.
Small changes, but significant ones.
The real test had come when SHIELD agents arrived to confiscate Jane's research. Harry had watched from across the street as Thor witnessed the systematic destruction of someone else's life work. The old Thor would have demanded satisfaction, would have seen the injustice as a personal affront requiring immediate violent response.
Instead, this Thor had listened to Jane's pain and chosen a different path. He'd infiltrated the SHIELD compound not through brute force but through clever misdirection. He'd retrieved Jane's notebook not because his honor had been challenged, but because someone he cared about was suffering.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable. Thor was learning to see beyond his own needs and desires. Learning that true strength sometimes meant enduring injustice rather than responding with overwhelming force.
"You've been brooding in here for hours," Darcy's voice came from the doorway, warm with affection and concern. "What's got you so deep in thought?"
Harry looked up to find her leaning against the doorframe, her dark hair catching the afternoon light. She'd changed out of her work clothes into a simple sundress that made her look younger and more carefree than the serious intern facade she wore around Jane and Erik.
"Just processing recent events," he said, setting aside the papers he'd been pretending to read. "There's been a lot happening in this little town."
Darcy crossed the room and slipped her arms around his shoulders from behind, her chin resting on the top of his head. Her warmth pressed against his back, and Harry felt some of the tension he'd been carrying begin to ease.
"The tall blonde guy?" she asked. "Jane's been mooning over him since he showed up. She keeps insisting he's some kind of expert in her field, but I've never seen an atmospheric physicist who looks like he benchpresses small cars."
Harry chuckled despite himself. "Thor does have a distinctive presence."
"Thor?" Darcy's voice carried amusement. "That's really his name? Like the god of thunder?"
"Something like that." Harry leaned back into her embrace, enjoying the simple comfort of human contact. Darcy's uncomplicated presence was exactly what he needed.
Her hands moved to his temples, fingers working in small circles to ease the stress headache he hadn't realized was building. "You know what I think?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you care too much about everyone else's problems and not enough about taking care of yourself." Her voice carried gentle reproach. "When's the last time you actually relaxed?"
Harry considered the question seriously. Between monitoring Thor's progress, tracking cosmic threats, and maintaining his cover identity, he'd been operating on pure adrenaline for days. The weight of responsibility that came with his unique knowledge was taking its toll.
"You might have a point," he admitted.
Darcy's hands moved from his temples to his shoulders, working at knots of tension he hadn't realized were there. "I usually do. It's one of my most endearing qualities."
Her touch grew more purposeful, more intimate, and Harry felt his awareness narrow to the present moment. The cosmic threats and divine politics could wait. Right now, there was only the woman whose hands were slowly unknotting the stress from his shoulders, whose presence reminded him that he was still human despite everything else.
"Darcy," he said softly, turning in his chair to face her.
She looked down at him with dark eyes that held both concern and invitation. Without words, she moved around to straddle his lap, her hands framing his face with gentle reverence.
"Let me take care of you," she whispered, her lips brushing against his forehead. "Tonight, let someone else carry the weight."
Harry's response was wordless, his hands finding the curve of her waist as he pulled her closer. Their kiss was slow and deep, a deep hunger between them that didn't seem like it'd be satiated easily. Darcy's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as their kiss got more passionate by the second.
They rose from the chair, her body still pressed close, her hands never leaving him. There was no rush, no urgency as they moved over to the bed. Darcy stepped back, her eyes locked on his as she slipped her sundress over her head, and Harry's breath caught, his hands pausing as he drank in the sight of her, clad in nothing but the lace.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Darcy's lips curved into a smile, equal parts shy and bold, and she reached for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt. He helped her, shedding the fabric as if it were the last of his burdens. Her hands roamed his chest, tracing the lines of muscle and scar with a reverence that made his heart stutter.
Darcy's fingers found the button of his jeans, undoing it with ease, before taking care of his boxers as well. Harry's hands mirrored hers as he reached for the waistband of her knickers and the clasp of her bra.
Finally, as they were bare, Darcy stepped closer, her skin warm against his, and the contact sent a shiver through him. Her hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, and she pulled him down to the bed, their bodies tangling as they sank into the soft sheets.
Their kisses grew more fervent, Darcy's hands roaming his back, her nails grazing lightly, urging him closer. Harry's fingers traced the curve of her spine, lingering at the small of her back before dipping lower, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. He kissed her jaw, her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, and Darcy arched beneath him, her breath hitching as his mouth found the sensitive skin just below her ear.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with want, and the sound of his name on her lips sent a jolt through him. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, finding her eyes dark with desire, her cheeks flushed. She reached for him, guiding his hand to her hip, her touch both gentle and commanding. "I want you," she said, her voice filled with desire.
He kissed her deeply, his hands exploring her, caressing her curves, loving the way her body responded to his touch. Darcy's fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him closer, and he obliged, their bodies aligning perfectly.
Her legs wrapped around his waist as Harry finally entered her gently, and Darcy's eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting in a soft moan that sent heat coursing through him.
They moved together, building a slow rhythm, the bed creaking under them. Harry held himself above her, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as he watched her, marveling at the way her expressions shifted—pleasure, trust, and vulnerability all mixed in.
Darcy's hands roamed his back, and her legs remained wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. It felt as if the world had narrowed to the heat of their bodies, the soft sounds of their breathing, and the steady beat of their hearts.
"Darcy," he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and they both felt something shift between them. It felt as if the connection between them deepened, a silent promise that this was more than just a moment.
Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, this one fierce and hungry, as if she could pour all of herself into him. Harry responded in kind, his movements growing more urgent, driven by the fire in her touch.
The intensity built, a crescendo of sensation that left them both breathless. Darcy's nails bit into his shoulders, her body arching beneath him as she whispered his name, the sound a plea and a prayer. Harry's hands tightened on her hips, guiding their rhythm.
It didn't take long for their mutual release to come, a shared wave that crashed over them in a rush of warmth and light. Darcy's cry mingled with his own low groan, their bodies trembling as they clung to each other, riding the aftershocks together.
They collapsed into the sheets, limbs entwined, their breathing ragged but slowing. Harry made sure he didn't crush her, and as he lay beside her, Darcy leaned over, her head resting on his chest, her hair spilling across his skin. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her back as she tilted her head to look at him, her eyes soft and sated, a small smile playing on her lips.
"You okay?" she asked teasingly, but her eyes held genuine concern.
Harry chuckled warmly. "More than okay," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You?"
Darcy's smile widened, and she pressed a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Perfect," she whispered.
For a long while, they lay entwined as the Sun set outside, Darcy's head pillowed on Harry's chest as her breathing evened out completely. Her hand rested over his heart, and Harry marveled at how something so simple could feel so deep.
"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.
"For what?"
"For just being you."
Darcy lifted her head to look at him, her expression serious despite their intimate position. "I don't know your whole deal, and I don't expect you to tell me everything. But Harry, it's okay to just be a normal guy sometimes who doesn't feel as if he's carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders."
Harry smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I'll try to remember that."
She settled back against his chest with a contented sigh, and within minutes her breathing had evened. Harry held her close as darkness fell completely outside their window.
Hours passed, and while Darcy slept safely in his arms, Harry's mind inevitably returned to the larger picture. Thor was making progress toward worthiness, but Loki's influence was still a wild card. The cosmic entity pulling the strings remained a mystery, and the threads of fate had shown him what this little town had coming for it soon.
Eventually, as the clock struck midnight, Harry carefully extracted himself from Darcy's embrace and moved to the chair by the window. She murmured in her sleep but didn't wake, and he pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders before settling down to work.
The conversation with Thor had gone better than expected, but it had also raised troubling questions about the larger picture. Thor's banishment wasn't happening in isolation. There were too many moving pieces, too many cosmic forces converging on this small desert town.
The Tesseract's presence still nagged at him. That level of power didn't simply appear without purpose, and the threads of fate surrounding it felt deliberately tangled. Someone was pulling strings, orchestrating events from the shadows.
Harry needed answers, and he had an idea where he could find them.
The Resurrection Stone responded to his call with familiar warmth. Death magic flowed through him, reaching across the veil between worlds to touch spirits that lingered between life and whatever came after. He wasn't seeking the long dead this time, but the recently departed. Those whose deaths might shed light on current events.
The first spirit that answered his call surprised him.
"Who summons me from my rest?" The voice carried the formal rhythm of Asgardian nobility, but underneath lay confusion and pain.
"I am Harry Potter, Master of Death. You died recently. I need to understand how and why."
The spirit's form solidified enough for Harry to make out details. An Asgardian guard in ceremonial armor, his face bearing the mark of a violent end. Frost burns covered half his body, the kind of damage that came from direct contact with Jotun magic.
"I am Captain Eriksson of the palace guard. I died defending the weapon's vault from... from Prince Loki."
Harry leaned forward. "Tell me what happened."
The guard's spirit flickered with anguish as he remembered the events in vivid detail. "The prince came to the vault in the night. We thought nothing of it at first. He had every right to be there, every right to examine the artifacts we protected. But something was wrong. His manner was strange, desperate."
"Strange how?"
"He moved like a man fleeing something terrible. His eyes held a wildness I had never seen before. When we asked if he required assistance, he turned on us with fury. Said we had been lying to him his whole life. That we all knew what he truly was."
The story was beginning to make sense. Harry had studied enough magical bloodline curses to recognize the pattern. Loki had discovered something about his heritage, something that shattered his sense of identity.
"What did he discover in the vault?"
"The Casket of Ancient Winters. He touched it with his bare hands, something no Asgardian should be able to do without suffering grievous injury. But instead of being harmed, his skin changed. Turned blue. Revealed his true nature as one of the Jotuns."
Frost Giant heritage. That explained the desperate edge Harry had sensed around Loki's fate threads. The god of lies had spent his entire life believing himself to be Asgardian royalty, only to discover he was the son of their greatest enemy.
"How did he react to this revelation?"
The guard's spirit grew darker, more agitated. "He screamed. Such rage and pain in that sound. He demanded to know who else knew, who had participated in the deception. When we could not answer, when we tried to calm him, he struck out with magic. Frost and ice and terrible cold. We tried to defend ourselves, but he was beyond reason."
"And you died protecting the vault?"
"We died because he needed to vent his fury on someone, and we were there. It was not strategic. It was not necessary. It was simply the rage of a child who had learned his entire life was a lie."
Harry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. Loki's discovery of his heritage was traumatic enough to explain his recent actions, but something about the timing bothered him. Why now? What had triggered this particular moment of revelation?
"Captain, before Prince Loki arrived at the vault, had there been any other unusual events? Strange visitors? Disruptions in the normal routine?"
The guard's spirit considered this. "Now that you mention it, yes. There had been whispers among the servants. Talk of strange dreams plaguing the royal family. Nightmares that felt more real than sleeping visions should. And the prince himself had been acting oddly for weeks before that night."
"Oddly how?"
"Withdrawn. Suspicious. He would stare at nothing for long periods, as if listening to voices only he could hear. Some of the servants said they caught him talking to empty rooms, having full conversations with invisible companions."
The pieces were falling into place, but they formed a disturbing picture. Harry reached deeper with his magic, seeking other spirits from that time period.
Two more guards answered his call, their stories confirming Captain Eriksson's account. But it was the fourth spirit that provided the crucial detail.
"I served in the throne room," this guard said. "I saw Prince Loki speaking with his father before the incident at the vault. The conversation was... intense."
"What did you overhear?"
"King Odin was trying to explain something about Prince Loki's origins. About being found as an infant in Jotunheim after a great battle. The prince kept asking why he had been lied to, why he had been made to believe he was truly Asgardian. The king spoke of love, of wanting to give him a true home, but Prince Loki heard only deception."
Harry nodded. The confrontation with Odin had been the trigger, but something else was influencing events. He could feel it in the way the spirits' memories carried an undertone of wrongness, as if their final moments had been tainted by an outside presence.
"In those final days before his discovery, did Prince Loki mention any new advisors? Anyone who might have been counseling him?"
The throne room guard's spirit grew thoughtful. "He spoke once of dreams that revealed truth. Said he had been visited by visions that showed him his real nature, his real purpose. We assumed he meant prophetic dreams sent by the Norns. But now that you ask..."
"Now what?"
"The dreams always came after he spent time alone in his chambers, staring at that blue cube he kept on his desk. The Tesseract's smaller sibling, I think. A tool for scrying distant realms."
Harry's brows furrowed, a frown emerging on his face. So Loki was using a scrying device on Asgard for visions, which meant he was communicating with someone on a regular basis. That explained everything. The cosmic entity he'd sensed around the Tesseract wasn't just connected to the cube on Earth. It had been whispering to Loki through his own scrying device, feeding his doubts and amplifying his rage.
"This tool," Harry pressed. "How long had Prince Loki possessed it?"
"Months. Maybe longer. He claimed it was a gift from his father, but I never saw the king present it to him. It simply appeared in his chambers one day, and after that, his behavior began to change."
The final piece clicked into place. Loki wasn't acting entirely from his own motivations. His discovery of his heritage had been real, his pain and anger genuine, but something else was pulling his strings. Amplifying his worst impulses. Driving him toward actions that served a larger agenda.
Harry dismissed the spirits with gratitude and respect, then sat back in his chair to process what he'd learned. The situation was far more dangerous than anyone realized. Thor's banishment, Loki's madness, the Tesseract's presence on Earth—all of it was connected to something vast and malevolent that operated on a cosmic scale.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Coulson: 'Loki is compromised. External influence. Will explain later.'
The response came within minutes: 'How external?'
Harry stared at the phone for a long moment before typing back: 'The kind that eats planets.'
His phone buzzed immediately with an incoming call, but Harry ignored it. Coulson would want details, explanations, a full briefing on cosmic threats and interdimensional influences. But first, Harry needed to deal with more immediate problems. Fate's threads had revealed something crucial to him.
Thor's friends—the Warriors Three and Sif would be arriving soon.
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