The rainbow light faded with a sound like distant music, leaving them standing on the golden platform of Asgard's Bifrost observatory. The transition from London's cool night to Asgard's eternal twilight was disorienting—not just the change in atmosphere, but the fundamental shift in the very nature of reality around them.
Heimdall stood waiting at the platform's edge, his golden eyes sweeping over the new arrivals with an intensity that seemed to catalog not just their physical forms but their very souls. His dark skin gleamed with an otherworldly radiance, and when he spoke, his deep, resonant voice carried harmonics that seemed to resonate in their bones.
"Welcome to Asgard," he said, inclining his head with grave dignity. "Prince Loki, your guests have arrived safely, though I believe several of them are reconsidering their assumptions about the nature of existence."
Loki's sharp smile widened at that assessment, his pale features arranging themselves into an expression of barely contained amusement. "Heimdall, your talent for understatement remains as refined as ever. I suspect 'reconsidering' is far too mild a term for what's currently happening in their minds."
This was an understatement of cosmic proportions. Remus stood frozen, his tall frame rigid with shock, his analytical mind trying to process architecture that defied several laws of physics. The observatory stretched around them in impossible curves and angles, walls that seemed to be made of crystallized starlight reaching toward a ceiling that showed the actual movement of celestial bodies across multiple realms. His dark eyes, usually so controlled and scholarly, were wide with the kind of wonder that comes from having one's entire worldview reconstructed in an instant.
"Bloody hell," Ted whispered, his Scottish accent thick with awe as he stared at views that encompassed entire galaxies. His compact form seemed even smaller against the cosmic grandeur surrounding them, but his expression held the fierce intelligence that had first attracted Andromeda. "This is real. This is actually, genuinely real. My wife's been casually mentioning that gods exist, and I thought it was some sort of elaborate metaphor."
Andromeda had gone very pale, her aristocratic features taut with strain as she processed the reality of everything she'd tried to prepare herself for. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual elegant style, but nothing could disguise the way her hands shook slightly as she gripped Ted's arm. "I told you they were gods, darling. I specifically used the word 'gods' multiple times."
"Yes, but when you say 'gods,' I think Zeus and lightning bolts and old stories," Ted replied, his voice rising slightly as he gestured at the impossible architecture around them. "Not... not actual functioning cosmic entities with interdimensional travel capabilities and architecture that makes M.C. Escher look conventional!"
Amelia stood with the rigid posture of someone whose professional training was screaming warnings about power levels that broke every scale she'd ever learned to use. Her auburn hair caught the strange light of Asgard's eternal twilight, and her full figure was tense with the controlled alertness of an Auror encountering something completely beyond her expertise. "The magical signatures here," she said quietly, her voice tight with professional assessment, "they're not just powerful. They're operating on principles I don't recognize. It's like trying to measure an ocean with a teacup."
Susan, contentedly secured in her carrier, was apparently unbothered by dimensional travel or the presence of beings whose existence transcended mortal understanding. She gurgled happily at the pretty lights, her tiny hands reaching toward displays of cosmic energy with the fearless curiosity that only babies possessed.
Tonks was practically vibrating with excitement, her hair cycling through every color in rapid succession as she tried to look in twelve directions at once. At eight years old, she possessed the kind of adaptability that allowed her to accept miracles as simply another interesting development in what was already shaping up to be the best day ever.
"This is brilliant!" she announced, her young voice echoing off crystal walls with enthusiasm that made several gods smile. "Everything's so shiny and impossible and magical! It's like being inside the best fairy tale ever, except it's real and I'm actually here!" She spun around, nearly losing her balance as she tried to take in everything at once. "Oh, who's that?"
She was pointing toward the observatory's main entrance, where several figures were approaching with the confident stride of people accustomed to making dramatic entrances.
Thor led the group, and even forewarned about gods, the reality of the Thunder God was overwhelming. He stood well over six feet tall, his muscular frame radiating the kind of physical power that spoke of millennia spent in combat, but what struck everyone most was the way he seemed to carry his own weather system. Faint traces of lightning danced around Mjolnir's handle where it hung at his side, and the scent of ozone and distant storms followed in his wake like an atmospheric announcement of divinity.
"Brother!" he called out cheerfully to Loki, his booming voice carrying enough power to make the crystal walls ring like bells. His blonde hair caught the strange light as he grinned with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he found most situations genuinely delightful. "I see you've successfully retrieved our honored guests without losing any of them to dimensional displacement or existential crisis!"
"The day is young, Thor," Loki replied with dry humor, his dark hair falling across his pale features as he gestured toward their still-processing visitors. "Give them time to fully comprehend where they are. I predict at least three cases of reality-induced vertigo before we reach the palace."
"You have so little faith in mortal adaptability," Thor chided, though his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Remember, these are the friends of James Potter. Anyone brave enough to stand with him likely possesses considerable resilience." He turned to address the group directly, his expression growing more serious despite maintaining his natural warmth. "Welcome, friends of James Potter, to the Realm Eternal! I am Thor Odinson, and I cannot express how honored we are to have you here."
Behind him came the Warriors Three, and even without introductions, their reputations preceded them. Volstagg's massive frame spoke of countless battles and even more countless feasts, his red beard magnificent enough to have inspired its own legends. His jovial expression suggested someone who approached both combat and celebration with equal enthusiasm.
"By my beard," he declared with obvious delight, his voice carrying the warmth of someone who considered hospitality a sacred duty, "it does my heart good to see James Potter's friends safe in Asgard! The tales we've heard of your courage, your loyalty—truly, you honor his memory by your very presence here."
Fandral stepped forward with the easy grace of someone whose charm was as legendary as his swordsmanship. His blonde hair was perfectly arranged despite interdimensional travel, and his smile carried the kind of warmth that suggested he found most people genuinely fascinating. "And such distinguished friends they are! Lady Andromeda, your reputation for both beauty and intelligence precedes you across realms. Master Ted, your dedication to your family despite societal pressure speaks of true nobility. Young Tonks, your magical gifts are already becoming the stuff of legend."
"Are you flirting with my wife?" Ted asked with a mixture of amusement and protectiveness, his Scottish accent sharpening slightly as he assessed the golden-haired warrior with professional interest.
"Merely acknowledging exceptional qualities in exceptional people," Fandral replied smoothly, his smile widening as he sketched an elaborate bow. "Though I must say, your protective instincts do you great credit."
Hogun brought up the rear of the Warriors Three, his compact form radiating the kind of quiet strength that came from absolute confidence in one's abilities. His dark eyes assessed each of the visitors with calm evaluation, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of considered judgment.
"Welcome," he said simply, but the word held layers of meaning that spoke of genuine respect. "James Potter chose his friends well. We are honored to meet those who stood with him in life."
Lady Sif moved with the fluid grace of a warrior born, her dark hair catching the strange light as she approached the group. But she wasn't alone. Clinging to her hand with the determined grip of someone who had found his favorite person was a round-faced boy with light brown hair and solemn eyes that held far too much awareness for someone barely past his first birthday.
"Neville?" Amelia breathed, recognizing the child immediately despite the months that had passed since she'd seen him. Her professional composure cracked as maternal instincts took over. "Oh, sweetheart, look how you've grown! Look how healthy and strong you are!"
The boy looked up at the sound of his name, and his face broke into the kind of smile that only children could achieve—pure joy with no reservations or complications. He immediately let go of Sif's hand and toddled toward the familiar voices with the determined efficiency of someone who knew exactly where he wanted to be.
"Careful, little warrior," Sif called after him with obvious fondness, her strong features softening as she watched his purposeful progress toward the group. "These are your parents' friends, but they've traveled far to see you, and interdimensional journeys can be disorienting even for seasoned warriors."
"Mama? Daddy?" Neville asked hopefully, looking around the group with the expectant expression of someone who had learned that familiar voices often meant his parents were nearby. His small hands reached up toward Remus, who was closest, with the trusting confidence of a child who had been surrounded by love and safety.
The question hit the assembled adults like a physical blow. In all the excitement of cosmic travel and divine intervention, they'd somehow managed not to think about the practical implications of the Longbottoms' situation—that Frank and Alice were recovering from torture, that their son had been traumatized, that a toddler's understanding of time and separation was fundamentally different from adult comprehension.
"They're here, sweetheart," Remus said gently, kneeling down to Neville's level with the careful movements of someone who understood how to talk to frightened children. His tall frame folded gracefully as he extended his arms, his dark eyes warm with the kind of gentle strength that had made him such an effective teacher. "They're getting better, and they'll be so happy to see you with your friends."
"Uncle Remus!" Neville exclaimed with obvious delight, apparently recognizing him despite the passage of time. He launched himself into Remus's arms with the trusting enthusiasm that only small children possessed, his small body warm and solid with health and contentment.
"That's right," Remus confirmed, his voice thick with emotion as he gathered the child close, breathing in the clean scent of soap and innocence that spoke of careful, loving care. "Uncle Remus is here, and Aunt Andromeda, and Uncle Ted, and Tonks, and Aunt Amelia with little Susan. We're all here to see your mummy and daddy."
"And to honor the memory of a brave man," Thor added solemnly, his usual cheerful demeanor growing more serious as he regarded the child who had been orphaned by war and found family among gods. "But first, reunions. The heart must be fed before duty can be properly served. Lady Sif, if you would escort our guests to the healing chambers?"
"It would be my honor," Sif replied with a slight bow that managed to convey both respect and genuine warmth. Her warrior's bearing softened slightly as she addressed the still-processing mortals. "Though I should warn you all—what you're about to see may require some adjustment to your understanding of several fundamental concepts."
"More adjustment?" Ted asked weakly, still staring at architecture that shouldn't be able to exist. His compact frame seemed to shrink slightly as he contemplated the implications. "How many more fundamental laws of reality are we going to discover were merely suggestions?"
"Many more," Loki confirmed with that sharp smile that suggested he found mortal confusion genuinely entertaining. His pale features arranged themselves into an expression of barely contained amusement. "The hospital wing currently houses not just the Longbottoms and Mr. Black's cousin, but the most complex magical healing case in recorded history, a cosmic entity learning what it means to be mortal, and one very determined toddler who has been charming gods into submission since his arrival."
"Gods being charmed into submission?" Tonks asked with obvious fascination, her hair cycling through several curious colors. "How does that work exactly? Do you just make your eyes go really wide and ask nicely?"
"Something very much like that, actually," Volstagg replied with deep laughter that echoed off the crystal walls. "Young Haraldr has perfected techniques that would make professional diplomats weep with envy. Yesterday he convinced the entire kitchen staff to provide him with honey cakes at unprecedented intervals simply by explaining, in perfect Asgardian baby-talk, that sharing treats makes everyone happier."
"And this morning," Fandral added with obvious admiration, "he negotiated successfully for extended playtime by demonstrating to the Queen Mother that learning comes in many forms, and sometimes the most important lessons involve building block towers that glow with cosmic energy."
They made their way through corridors that seemed to pulse with their own inner light, walls carved with reliefs depicting heroic deeds spanning millennia. The scale was overwhelming—ceilings that rose beyond sight, doorways tall enough for giants, windows that showed views across multiple realms simultaneously.
"How big is this place?" Tonks asked in wonder, craning her neck to try to see the tops of the walls while skipping slightly to keep up with the longer strides of the adults around her.
"Infinite, technically," Hogun replied with dry humor, his calm voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "Asgard exists partially outside normal dimensional constraints. The palace adapts itself to whatever size is needed for current inhabitants and their requirements."
"Naturally," Amelia muttered, automatically adjusting Susan's position while trying to process architecture that redefined physics. Her professional mind was cataloging impossibilities with the grim determination of someone who refused to surrender to cosmic incomprehension. "Why would anything about this situation be conventionally logical? We've traveled to a realm that exists outside space and time to attend the funeral of a friend who died protecting his wife, who is now apparently a cosmic princess raising a god-child with reality-warping abilities."
"You're handling this remarkably well," Andromeda observed, her aristocratic composure holding despite the strain of processing revelations that exceeded her considerable preparation. "I was rather expecting more... screaming."
"The screaming is internal," Amelia replied with grim humor. "My professional training includes modules on maintaining composure during unprecedented supernatural encounters. They never specifically mentioned interdimensional travel or divine intervention, but the principles remain applicable."
"What principles?" Ted asked with genuine curiosity, his analytical mind seizing on anything that might help him process the impossibility of their situation.
"Don't panic, don't make assumptions, don't antagonize entities with superior firepower, and always, always remember that supernatural situations still operate under some form of logical framework, even if that framework exceeds current understanding," Amelia recited with the precision of someone who had memorized regulations designed to save lives in impossible situations.
"Excellent principles," Thor approved with genuine admiration. "Very similar to basic warrior training, actually. Though we would add: when in doubt, face danger with courage and trust your companions to stand with you."
"Speaking of companions standing with you," Loki interjected with meaningful glance toward the doors ahead, "I should perhaps mention that the reunion you're about to witness may be... emotionally intense. Cosmic healing tends to involve rather dramatic revelations about the true nature of various magical compulsions."
The hospital wing doors opened to reveal a scene that was equal parts medical facility and family reunion. The chamber itself defied conventional understanding—walls that seemed to be carved from living crystal, beds that appeared to be made of solidified starlight, and an atmosphere that hummed with healing energies that made everyone present feel stronger and more vital just by proximity.
Frank and Alice Longbottom sat on beds of crystalline healing stone, looking healthier than they had in days but still showing the subtle signs of magical trauma—a certain fragility around the eyes, careful movements that spoke of bodies remembering pain, voices that carried the careful modulation of people still rebuilding neural pathways damaged by torture.
Their faces lit up with pure joy as Neville toddled toward them, his excited babbling echoing off the walls with the kind of unrestrained happiness that only children could achieve.
"Mama! Daddy! Friends came!" he announced with scientific precision, pointing back toward the group still processing their way through the doorway with the determined enthusiasm of someone delivering important news.
"Oh, my brave boy," Alice whispered, tears flowing freely as she reached for her son with hands that shook slightly from emotion rather than injury. Her face, still bearing the subtle marks of healing trauma, transformed with maternal love so pure it made the cosmic energies in the room seem dim by comparison. "Our clever, wonderful boy. Did you tell everyone we were here? Did you help bring our friends to see us?"
"Helped!" Neville confirmed with obvious pride, launching himself into his mother's arms with the kind of trust that spoke of absolute security in parental love. "Lady Sif helped too! And Uncle Thor! And the pretty blocks that sing!"
But it was the figure in the corner that stopped everyone cold.
Bellatrix sat in what appeared to be comfortable containment, no longer bound but clearly under observation. She looked... different. Gone was the wild, manic energy that had characterized her public appearances. Gone were the hypersexual mannerisms and artificial cruelty that had made her name synonymous with sadistic violence. In their place was something that looked almost fragile—a woman who had been through psychological hell and emerged fundamentally changed.
Her dark hair, instead of the chaotic tangle that had become her trademark, was clean and neatly arranged. Her pale skin, instead of bearing the marks of deliberate self-destruction, showed the healthy color of someone who had been eating properly and sleeping without nightmares. Most remarkably, her eyes—those dark eyes that had blazed with artificial madness for so long—were clear, intelligent, and filled with an awareness that spoke of sanity restored.
When she looked up and saw Andromeda in the doorway, her face went white as parchment.
"Dromeda," she whispered, her voice carrying none of the artificial madness that had defined her recent years. Instead, it held the cultured tones of Black family education, the warmth of genuine sisterly affection, and the desperate hope of someone who had been given an impossible second chance. "Oh, Dromeda, they said you might come, but I didn't dare believe... Look at you. You're so beautiful, so healthy, so..." She stopped, tears beginning to flow freely down her cheeks. "So much yourself. So much the sister I remember before everything went wrong."
Andromeda stared at her eldest sister with an expression that cycled rapidly through recognition, horror, and dawning understanding. Her aristocratic composure cracked as she processed the implications of what she was seeing—not the madwoman who had terrorized Britain, but the sister who had braided her hair and told her bedtime stories and stood up to their parents when family pressure became too intense.
"Bella?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as hope and disbelief warred in her expression. "Is it really you? Not the... the thing they turned you into, but actually you?"
"It's me," Bellatrix confirmed, her voice cracking with emotion that transcended words. Her hands, instead of the claw-like talons she'd cultivated during her years of artificial madness, were folded carefully in her lap, trembling with the effort of containing feelings too large for any single human heart. "Or it's me again, anyway. Thanks to cosmic intervention and more pain than I care to remember, but definitely me. The sister who taught you how to braid daisy chains, who stood up to Mother when she tried to make you conform to impossible standards, who cried when you told us you were in love with Ted because I was so happy for you and so terrified of what it would mean."
The healing chamber went very quiet as everyone processed the implications of what they were witnessing—not just reunion, but the restoration of someone who had been magically enslaved for years.
Ted stepped forward with the protective instincts that had always defined his relationship with Andromeda's complicated family, his compact frame radiating the kind of controlled fury that spoke of someone discovering that people he cared about had been systematically tortured. "What happened to you?" he asked, his Scottish accent thick with barely controlled rage. "What did they do to turn you into... into what everyone thought you were?"
"Marriage contracts," Bellatrix replied with bitter honesty, her voice carrying the weight of years of suppressed trauma. Her dark eyes met his directly, without the manic gleam that had characterized her public appearances, but with the steady gaze of someone who had fought through hell and emerged determined to tell the truth. "Ancient Black family magic designed to ensure... compliance in arranged marriages. The Lestranges wanted a weapon more than they wanted a wife, so they systematically destroyed my original personality and built something more suitable for their purposes."
She looked directly at Andromeda with desperate sincerity, her whole body tense with the need to be believed, to be understood, to be forgiven for horrors she hadn't chosen. "Every cruel thing I did, every person I hurt, every moment of madness and violence—it was them, wearing my face, using my magic, destroying everything I actually cared about while the real me screamed from behind magical chains I couldn't break."
"Oh gods," Andromeda breathed, horror and understanding crashing over her in waves as the full implications became clear. Her elegant features contorted with pain as she realized the scope of what had been lost, what had been stolen, what had been endured. "Oh gods, Bella, I'm so sorry. We thought... everyone thought you'd chosen to follow Voldemort, chosen to become what you appeared to be. We mourned you as lost to darkness, never realizing you were fighting for your soul every single day."
"I did choose," Bellatrix said with quiet conviction, her voice growing stronger as she found the courage to explain years of hidden resistance. "I chose to resist every single day for five years. I chose to fight them, to try to remember who I really was, to hold onto every memory of the people I loved even when they tried to make me hate you all. I chose to save some small part of my real self, even when it would have been easier to surrender completely to their reconstruction." Her voice broke slightly. "I just... I wasn't strong enough to break free on my own."
Ted was looking between his wife and her sister with growing understanding and relief, his analytical mind processing the implications with the kind of comprehensive horror that came from realizing how close they had come to a similar fate. "We eloped," he said suddenly, his voice thick with emotion as connections crystallized. "When your parents tried to arrange a marriage contract for Andromeda, we ran away and eloped before they could complete the magical bindings." He looked at Andromeda with renewed appreciation and dawning terror. "We thought we were just choosing love over family obligation. We had no idea we were literally saving your mind."
"You saved everything," Bellatrix confirmed with profound gratitude, her dark eyes bright with tears of relief and love for the man who had unknowingly preserved her sister's soul. "If Dromeda had been subjected to the same treatment, if they had gotten their claws into her mind..." She shuddered at the thought, her whole body reacting to the horror of possibilities that had been narrowly avoided. "I can't bear to imagine what would have been lost."
"Narcissa," Andromeda whispered with dawning horror, understanding the implications immediately as the full scope of their family's systematic destruction became apparent. Her face went pale as she considered her youngest sister, always the most vulnerable, always the most eager to please. "Oh gods, what about Narcissa? She married Lucius Malfoy in an arranged marriage. If they used similar magic..."
The question hung in the air like a sword, unanswered but increasingly urgent. How many others had been subjected to magical personality reconstruction? How many apparent Death Eaters were actually victims of sophisticated mind magic? How many families had been destroyed by techniques that turned love into weapon and siblings into enemies?
Before anyone could formulate a response, the chamber doors opened again, and two figures entered that made everyone else fade into the background through sheer presence alone.
Aldrif came first, and the transformation from Lily Potter to Asgardian princess was so complete that for a moment, even those who had been warned didn't recognize her. She wore armor that seemed to be forged from captured starlight, each piece fitting her form with the perfection that spoke of divine craftsmanship. Her copper-gold hair flowed like liquid fire, catching and reflecting light from sources that didn't exist in mortal realms, and her emerald eyes blazed with cosmic power that made the air itself seem to shimmer with potential energy.
But more than the physical transformation, it was the presence she carried that truly marked her as something beyond mortal understanding. She moved with the fluid grace of someone who had learned to navigate multiple planes of existence simultaneously, and when she spoke, her voice carried harmonics that resonated not just in the air but in the fundamental structure of reality itself.
But it was the child in her arms that really stopped them cold.
Harry—Haraldr—had grown in the months since they'd seen him, developing from an infant into a toddler with unmistakable traces of both parents in his features. James's unruly black hair crowned his head like a challenge to conventional grooming, but his eyes were pure Lily—emerald green and blazing with intelligence that exceeded his apparent age. But more than that, he radiated an otherworldly awareness that made it clear he was far more than an ordinary magical child. The toy he clutched glowed with gentle golden light, and when his green eyes swept the room, they seemed to see far more than someone his age should be capable of understanding.
"Hello, everyone," Aldrif said, and her voice carried harmonics that spoke of cosmic forces barely contained within mortal form while still maintaining the warm familiarity that marked her as fundamentally, recognizably Lily Potter. Her smile was radiant with genuine joy at seeing beloved friends, though it carried depths of experience that spoke of transformation beyond normal human comprehension. "I'm sorry we're late. Someone insisted on bringing his favorite blocks, and we had to negotiate the difference between 'favorite blocks' and 'all the blocks in Asgard.'"
"Blocks!" Harry announced with obvious pride, holding up his glowing toy for everyone to admire. The crystalline construction in his small hands pulsed with gentle energy that seemed to respond to his emotional state, brightening with his excitement. "Pretty blocks! Sing blocks! Magic blocks!"
"Very pretty blocks," Amelia agreed automatically, her professional instincts cataloguing power levels that exceeded anything in her experience while her personal recognition focused on the familiar features hidden beneath cosmic transformation. Her voice carried the controlled tone of someone whose reality had been thoroughly reconstructed but who was determined to maintain some semblance of normalcy for the sake of her own sanity. "Lily? Is it... is it really you?"
"It's me," Aldrif confirmed with gentle warmth, and for a moment the divine authority faded enough to let Lily Potter shine through completely. She stepped closer, her expression softening with genuine affection that transcended realms and transformations. "Different than you remember, obviously, but still me underneath all the cosmic complexity. Still the woman who hexed Severus Snape for calling me a Mudblood, still the mother who would do anything to protect her child, still the friend who considers all of you family in every way that matters." She paused, her voice growing thick with emotion. "I've missed you all so much. The hardest part of everything that's happened has been letting you believe I was gone, knowing you were grieving for people who were actually safe."
"We planned memorial services," Remus said softly, his tall form seeming to fold in on itself as he processed the mixture of relief and retrospective grief that came from discovering that mourning had been unnecessary. "We were going to honor your memory, celebrate your life, try to find some way to continue without you and James and Harry."
"And now you're here," Andromeda whispered, her aristocratic composure finally cracking completely as she stared at her friend transformed into something that exceeded normal understanding while remaining fundamentally herself. "Alive and safe and raising your son among gods who apparently think he hung the stars."
"They're not wrong," Aldrif replied with maternal pride that blazed brighter than cosmic fire. "He's extraordinary in every possible way. Yesterday he convinced an entire council of war-gods to postpone a strategic planning session because he thought they looked sad and needed hugs. And this morning he successfully mediated a dispute between kitchen staff and stable hands by suggesting that sharing honey cakes makes everyone happier and more cooperative."
Harry squirmed in her arms until she set him down, then immediately toddled toward the group with the determined efficiency that had always characterized his approach to new situations. But instead of going to any of the adults, he made a beeline for Susan, who was still contentedly secured in Amelia's carrier.
"Baby!" he announced with scientific precision, reaching up to try to touch Susan's tiny hands with the focused determination of someone who had identified the most interesting person in the room.
Susan looked down at him with the serious expression that babies reserved for other small children, her tiny features arranging themselves into the kind of careful assessment that suggested she was taking his measure. Then she gurgled happily and reached back toward him with small hands that seemed to recognize kindred spirit.
The moment their hands touched, both children lit up with gentle golden light—not the cosmic fire that surrounded Aldrif, but something warmer, more playful, more purely joyful. The light pulsed between them like visible laughter, and suddenly Susan was giggling with the kind of delighted surprise that only babies could achieve while Harry beamed with obvious satisfaction at having made a new friend.
"Oh my," Frigga's voice said from the doorway as the Queen of Asgard entered with perfect timing, her regal bearing unchanged despite the wonder in her expression as she observed the interaction between the children. "How lovely. Young Haraldr is sharing his gifts with another child. The Phoenix Force does so enjoy opportunities to nurture developing magical awareness in the very young."
She moved into the room with regal grace, taking in the assembled group with the kind of maternal assessment that suggested she was already planning how to make everyone feel welcome and properly cared for. Her presence carried the authority of someone accustomed to managing complex family dynamics across multiple realms, and her smile held the warmth that had made her legendary for both wisdom and compassion.
"You must be the honored friends we've heard so much about," she continued with genuine warmth, her voice carrying the refined tones of someone who had spent centuries mastering the art of putting people at ease. "Welcome to Asgard. I'm Queen Frigga, and I cannot tell you how pleased I am to finally meet the people who meant so much to James, who continue to mean so much to my daughter and grandson."
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