Author's Note: This story is inspired by DZ2's Avenger Harry Challenge. However, while inspired by, this story adheres to said challenge in very few ways. I hope you will still enjoy what I've created, and I assure you, if you continue to read this story, all questions will be answered – eventually! I'm determined to actually finish a fic for once instead of abandoning it like I have my other stories. Please encourage me to continue! Without further ado…

Chapter 1: Escape

Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. In fact, he wasn't even an ordinary wizard. Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived. He alone had survived the unsurvivable curse that had killed his parents when he was but a babe. No one knew why, but Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Harry's school and the one who had placed him with his "caring" family, claimed that love had saved him.

'Love,' scoffed Harry. How many parents had died for their children, yet he was the only one to live? Either way, Harry's status as the Boy-Who-Lived would soon be moot if Vernon Dursley didn't let go of his nephew's neck. Harry, dangling a foot in the air and gasping for breath, was desperately trying to pry off his uncle's hands and break the firm grip around his neck. His crime? Apparently, Harry was being choked to death because he couldn't keep his freaky owl quiet!

'I can't breathe!' thought Harry. 'I don't want to die!'

As he thought this, his magic began to react. First Harry noticed an unmistakable drop in temperature. It was so cold – as if dementors were present, but without the constant feeling of helplessness and the repetitive recall of his mother's last minutes alive. Then, slowly but surely, Harry's hands started to turn blue. Seeing the freak work his magic caused Vernon Dursley's eyes to widen with fright and his grip to falter thus freeing his nephew's neck and allowing Harry to get to some much needed air back in his lungs. Vernon stared at his hands. What once was pink with healthy blood flow was now black with frostbite. Seeing the mixed look of fear and rage on his uncle's face, Harry's magic waited just long enough for him to hear the outraged cry of "What have you done to me, you freak?" before it teleported him away to safety.

When Harry reappeared he was in the alleyway between the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. As the feeling of being shoved through a small tube faded, Harry fought the desire to puke. Still feeling slightly queasy, he went into the Leaky Cauldron and headed to the front bar. Cautiously, Harry approached and asked the wizened barman Tom for a room.

"Excuse me, sir. I'd like to rent a room. The thing is, I don't know how long I'll be staying and my relatives didn't give me any money before dropping me off…"

"Say no more Mr. Potter. I'll set up a room for you and I'll let you into the alley to get to Gringotts. You can pay for your lodgings when you leave and I won't tell anyone you're here."

"Really? Thanks, Tom!" Harry said relieved.

"No problem, Mr. Potter. Now let's get you to the alley." Harry went back outside, this time accompanied by Tom. Tom opened Diagon Alley to Harry then parted back towards the Leaky Cauldron while Harry entered the alley.

Moving quickly, Harry made a beeline for Gringotts, the wizard bank run by the goblin nation. He approached the counter and bowed to the creature at the desk. "Good morning, Sir Goblin. I hope your gold continues to flow and your profits flourish."

Surprised, the goblin looked up with a gasp. "And yours, Mr. Potter! Please, come in, and thank you for responding so quickly."

"Respond?" asked Harry. He hadn't gotten any letters; what was this goblin talking about?

"Mr. Potter, I think you'd better follow me." The goblin led Harry to a room near the back of the bank. Harry waited while the goblin announced their arrival.

"Lord Silverfang will see you now," the goblin said with a bow upon its return. Harry thanked the goblin then entered the room. Bowing low he said, "Lord Silverfang, thank you for seeing me. May your gold continue to flow and your profits to flourish."

Amused, the goblin retuned the sentiment. "Please, Mr. Potter, one of your standing ought to call me Ragnok."

"Sure Ragnok, but only if you call me Harry in return. Now, what's this about being expected?"

"Ah, yes. I've just been informed that you have not received your letter asking you to come in and have no prior knowledge of said letter. No matter, you're here now. As you know, your 14th birthday is coming up in a fortnight. This means you are now entitled to your lordships. When you come of age at 17 you will receive full and complete access to all your vaults and the contents within."

"Hold on a second," Harry interrupted. "Lordships? And vaults? As in plural? Who am I lord to? I thought I only had the Potter family to inherit from. Even at that, I thought I only had my trust fund."

"You're right, you are entitled to the Potter accounts. Your trust fund was only meant to last you your Hogwarts years though. You have other accounts that have been gaining interest through the years they've been left untouched. However, the Potter family is not the only family in your blood. And as the last living descendent, you are entitled to claim the mantle of lord. However, not all your lordships are derived from your position as last living descendent. The Black family fortunes, for example, have plenty of living family left. However, only the core family can pass the fortunes through the lines. The last heir to that family has yet to bare an heir by blood but has instead elected to name you his heir. That man is one Sirius Orion Black. While your godfather is in fact innocent of the crime he's been accused of, he is still legally a wanted criminal. By default, because of his status as a criminal, the lordship passes onto you, his heir. Even if he was to be declared innocent, you would still remain the lord of the Black family, as once you receive the position of lord, it cannot be revoked," Ragnok explained. "We also have reason to believe that you are heir to more families other than the Potters and the Blacks."

"Is there a heritage test I can take to find out?" he queried.

"Of course. Just cut your palm with this dagger and place your hand on this parchment. Your heritage will display and the cut will heal after you remove your hand."

Harry took the proffered dagger and winced slightly as he cut shallowly into his palm. Doing as instructed he placed his cut hand on the parchment. A tingling sensation started at his stinging hand and spread throughout his body. As Harry watched his skin once more turned blue and the temperature quickly dropped before temperature and skin both returned to normal again.

"Well," said Ragnok. "You definitely have more than just the Potter and Black heritages!"

Slightly freaked out Harry reclaimed his hand, now healed, and stared shocked at the parchment.

Name: Harry James Potter

Birth Name: Harrison James Lokiren Potter

Father: James Charlus Potter (deceased)

Mother: Lily Alexandra Evans (adopted, deceased)

Lily Alexandra Lokidottir (birth)

Paternal Grandparents: Charlus and Dorea Potter (deceased)

Maternal Grandparents: Harrison and Alexandra Evans (adopted, deceased)

Lady Sif and Prince Loki Laupheyson (birth, living)

Species: Human, Asgardian, Jotun

Lordships: Lord Potter, Lord Black, Prince Lokiren, Prince Odinson

Lord Gryffindor, Lord Slytherin, Lord Peverell

Magical Abilities:

Fire and Water Elementalist

Ice Master

Shapeshifter

Magically Gifted

Occlumency and Legillemency Naturalist

Parslemouth and Silvertongue

Godfathers: Sirius Black and Severus Snape

Godmother: Alice Longbottom

After reading through the document twice, Harry was forced to recall that this was real. He didn't know what surprised him more: that Snape was one of his godfathers and Alice Longbottom his godmother; that he wasn't entirely human; or that his mother had been adopted and his real maternal grandparents were still alive. But he had to snap out of it. Ragnok was looking at him expectantly.

"What's an Asgardian and Jotun?" he asked rather bluntly.

"I thought you might ask that," replied Ragnok. "I know you must have many questions about your heritage and magical abilities but for now, I think it's best you get in contact with your grandparents and let them explain things to you."

"Alright, but how do I contact them? Should I send Hedwig?"

"Owls won't be able to find them where they are. When you leave, you ought to find a deserted field, perhaps and abandoned park. Once there you're going to call out the name." Here Ragnok handed Harry a card with a name written on it in gold lettering. "Identify yourself and ask for him to send you the one named Loki. Then just wait. If your grandfather doesn't come, then call again and ask for Sif, your grandmum. Then, just wait. One of them should come to you. I believe it best that you go do this now, before it gets too late in the day. Any further questions you have regarding your magical abilities or finances I can help you answer another day."

Recognizing a dismissal, Harry thanked the goblin with a bow and left. He exited through the Leaky Cauldron leaving Diagon Alley behind and entered muggle London where he immediately started searching for an abandoned field. After an hour or two of wandering about London, Harry found just the place in a random suburb he didn't care to recall the name of. Taking the card out of his pocket and reading it, he then began the ritual Ragnok had instructed him to do.

"Heimdall," Harry shouted, feeling rather foolish and hoping no one had heard. "I am Harrison James Lokiren Potter. I ask of you to hear my plea. Please send me him whose name's Loki!"

As he chanted his declaration to the silent park, the sky began to cloud. The clouds blackened and hail began to fall. While most sane people would have run for cover from the sudden ice storm, Harry did not. He stayed put. The chill did not bother him and the ice pellets were melting against his skin. As the storm grew in intensity there came a great snap many times louder than apparition. When Harry looked up after rubbing his eyes from the whirling wind he saw a figure standing tall and clad in black and green. His cloak – or was it a cape – billowed out behind him and a helmet that looked like goats' horns adorned his head. But what struck Harry the most as familiar were his eyes and hair – the shaggy jet black hair so much like his own and the piercing green eyes he' always been told were his mum's.

While two sets of green eyes stared into each other the stranger – apparently Loki, since the ritual worked – spoke with a smooth tenor, "Lokiren, my grandson!"