Disclaimer: I only own the plot idea, nor am I a famous author. All rights and characters belong to their respective owners: J.K. Rowling and Marvel. Any resemblance to other characters is unintended.

Summary: Harry was both extraordinary and unwanted, an orphan whose spirit had nearly been broken. However, after tragedy falls upon the Dursleys, Harry finds help in an unlikely place of freaks and rejects - and learns that he is not the kind of freak everyone believed him to be. A Lokison story.

A/N: Pairings are not yet determined, and will develop as the story does. This plot was inspired by the story Blended Blood by wickedlfairy17. If you enjoy similar crossovers, I recommend checking it out.

Thank you so much to fudgemonkeyvenus and uncertain-about-heisenberg, my lovely Betas, for doing such a good job! I owe it all to them :D

Edit: Thanks to the reviews I have received, I have made a few adjustments to the chapter (some large plot points, others simple grammatical problems). If you happen to see any issues, please, feel free to tell me!

"You have to admit, for a baby, he's very handsome."

Lily smiled gratefully at Sirius, who stood beside the bed where, just hours before, she had given birth to her son, Harold Evans, on the early morning of July 31st. James, as well as Sirius and Remus were present for the birth; Poppy Pomfrey had assisted in the birthing process, being the only person Lily trusted as a medical practitioner.

Harold was cradled close to Lily's chest, suckling on her breast for the first time in his life. It was slightly uncomfortable, but Lily knew she would soon become accustomed to the feel of breast feeding - or so says the maternity books she had been reading prior to her son's arrival.

"So Harold, right? A bit of a mouthful if you ask me. Can we just call him Harry?" James settled himself on the other side of Lily, staring in awe at the baby in her arms - his attention solely on Harold and not once mentioning (or acknowledging) that Lily's breasts were on blatant display.

Lily hummed, stroking Harold's inky hair. "That does sound a bit easier to say. I don't mind, as long as his father isn't nearby when you say it."

A knock sounded at the door, and before one of the men could get up to answer, it swung open to show a black cloaked figure, piercing green eyes staring out from beneath the hood. All the men, who had become tense at the intrusion, slowly relaxed at the familiar sight, and left without prompt, leaving Lily and Harold alone with the cloaked stranger.

"I apologize for not being present. There were pressing matters I had to attend to."

Lily snorted and frowned at the excuse. "Because there are matters more important than your son's birth."

The emerald eyes behind the darkness softened and he swept to her side, lowering the hood to reveal his narrow, regal face. His ear length hair - the same inky shade as his son which Lily held in her arms - was slicked back against his scalp, curling down around his sharp jaw. The man settled himself on the bed beside the mother of his child and looked fondly into her eyes and at the babe.

"A son..." he said fondly, brushing his fingers softly over Harold's hair. "I am truly sorry, my einga. My father was growing suspicious, I couldn't allow him to learn about my actions as of late."

Lily watched the man, her own green eyes calculating and her lips tight. "You should have just sent a duplicate then. I'm quite mad at you, despite that, albeit good, excuse."

The skin around the man's eyes crinkled as he smiled, lips curling into a devious grin. "Now now, anger turns you quite ugly."

"Loki-"

"What have you named our son?"

Lily huffed and answered, "Harold Evans."

"Haraldr, a strong name for a prince. And why not Lokison? He is mine after all."

"If he is going to live here then wouldn't it be odd if he was named for his father? People would be questioning how I managed to get knocked up by a god, let alone the fact that I gave birth to him out of wedlock."

Loki chuckled, but went silent and watched his son give a big yawn and settle himself in for sleep against Lily's chest. "...may I?"

Lily nodded and gently lifted him from her chest, and Loki hunched forward to cradle him close, face appearing almost afraid at the apparent fragility of him.

"He's so small...and...mortal."

Loki was taken by surprise when he felt Lily's slap on his shoulder, and more so shocked to see the furious expression on her face - it almost reminded him of his mother, which was a terrifying thought.

"Loki, don't you dare start that "weaker than thou" bullshit. You and I both knew what would happen when I got pregnant, and we accepted the consequences. We agreed that he would either stay with me, and live as a wizard, or go to Asgard with you and-"

"No!" Loki's panicked shout woke Harold, who let out a piercing cry. Loki returned Harold to Lily quickly, and attempted to pacify the newborn.

"I-I can't. I can't let my father know, he can't. I won't let him take another one away-"

Lily watched as Loki hunched himself over in abject pain, head cradled in upturned hands and he let out a sob that broke her heart. Lily knew exactly the reason for Loki's breakdown, and only wished there was something she could do to lessen the pain. The pain of a lost child was not something she had ever experienced, and she wished to never understand that feeling either.

She hadn't any need to ask him about his children, learning all she needed to know from the myths that had been left behind before the Asgardians' withdrawal from Earth. And when confronting him about it, he was honest, and far from angry - melancholy would be the appropriate word.

Lily shifted herself forward, wincing at the phantom pains in her lower half, and leaned herself against Loki's hunched shoulder in a sad attempt at a comforting hug. She let him cry out his pain, keeping her tongue for nearly ten minutes before he turned his red rimmed eyes in her direction, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Are you better now?"

Loki nodded, but kept his lips tight, appearing to suppress his urge to cry again.

"I want you to look at me, and I want you to listen carefully, alright?" Lily wasn't really sure what she was doing, but hoped her split decision would pull him from the hole he seemed to bury himself into.

"Your father had no right to take your children away from you, and I don't know where they may be or what state they are in, but they know you love them. You may not have all your children, but you have one here right now, that you can love and protect. I love you, and I know Harold will love you; you can't let the past cloud the present. Your father doesn't know about us, and if he does, he has no right to take my child away - I will do everything in my power to keep him safe. Even if it means I have to kill the All-Father myself-"

"Lily, thats blasphemous!"

"-then so be it!" Lily's face had grown red, and her fiery hair lifted from her shoulders along with the objects in the room. Her magic had become unbridled and chaotic, the air tasting faintly of ozone, and Harold began to wail once more. "I will not let some superstitious old fool take away my reason for living on the notion that his grandchildren will bring about some kind of apocalypse and bring about his end! If he so much as tries to destroy this-this family...I-I-"

Lily dissolved into sobs, clutching Harold to her chest with all her strength, and the objects in the room all fell in tandem. It was nearly silent, save for Lily and Harold's equally loud cries. Loki reached forward and gathered his love into his arms, and buried his nose into her neck, breathing in her heavenly scent and soothing not only her, but himself.

Lily was right, as she always was. His family was here, alive, and he would not allow his father the chance to take away his happiness. He had been quite a bit younger when he had his children, naive in thinking that his father would accept the monstrosities that they had been born as. He would do everything in his power to protect them...even if it meant giving them up.

The door opened with a slam, and the three Marauders that had just left the room earlier, flooded in with their wands held at the ready, obviously expecting danger. "What happened, we heard a-"

"Sod off James!" Lily lifted her arm, and without even looking in their direction, threw the three men back out of the room, door slamming shut behind them with just a wave of her hand.

Loki laughed outright at the humorous display before his expression grew more serious, turning his loving gaze to Lily. "Thank you, my einga. You have brightened my spirits quite well."

Loki allowed himself a brief moment to take in the sight of his beloved and the son she held in her arms. Her crimson hair was messy and wild around her face, reflecting the woman it belonged to, beauty unhindered by the fact that she had given birth just hours before. She was a lioness, strong and fierce and not afraid of that which meant her harm. Had she been born on Asgard, Loki imagined she would have had the honor of being a Valkyrie or a powerful enchantress. She has done well in enchanting my heart, Loki thought with a silent chuckle.

And their son, Haraldr, was the product of their love. He had gone silent in the moments that passed between the hysteria and the calm, red rimmed, puffy eyes staring up at his mother - unseeing at the distance. His eyes were a clear blue, like many newborns, but Loki imagined his son would have his mother's eyes, an enchanting jade so bright they might as well be acid in name. And he had his father's hair - a perfect combination by Loki's standards. And he would grow to be a beautiful boy...but Loki would only ever see it from afar.

"My einga, you know I love you dearly, yes?"

Lily's expression grew cautious and she drew back from Loki in anticipation. "...yes?"

"Then you must understand what I am to do is for your safety," he said, and she opened her mouth to reply, but he had already pressed his palm over her eyes. He pressed false memories into her mind, pulling his presence from her memory and replacing it with that of another. James Potter would do well in this regard, and his affection for Lily would make the memories all that more easy to replicate.

It broke Loki's already fragile heart, but he knew it had to be done. If his father ever knew, then he would find himself lacking another child, and he could not do with the pain - and this time he would most likely end himself after the fact. However, Loki treasured the knowledge that his beloved and child were safe, and with her memories altered, the pair would be protected from Odin's all-seeing eye.

Lily slipped into a restful sleep, her eyes sliding shut as he laid her back against the pillows, adjusting Haraldr safely in her arms for when she woke.

With a clenched jaw, Loki left a kiss on his einga's lips, and proceeded to leave one upon his son's forehead. Within his kiss, he weaved his magic, thoughts of his brother and mother strengthening the charm of protection he lay upon his son's mortal body.

"I do love you both so, and I am sorry I could not have been a better man." With his job completed, Loki threw up his hood and left the room, stopping before the three Marauders. "You never saw me, understand?" He would leave them with their memories, as Odin would have no need to sort through their minds.

The three men cast each other looks of befuddlement, but nodded slowly in response. "Loki...what's going on?" James had been the one to speak for the group.

Loki cast him a look, and ground his teeth, his hand striking out and grasping James' forehead, Remus and Sirius both letting out identical squawks of alarm. Loki pressed the false memories into the man's head as well, hoping that the facade would stand up with both participant's unaware. James slumped down in his chair, the memories arranging themselves in their proper places, and he turned his attention to the remaining two Marauders.

"What did you do?" Sirius yelled, his eyes burning with fury, whipping his head back and forth between his best mate and the god. Remus watched the pair, choosing to stay silent. Loki always had reasons for his actions, no matter how unusual they may be.

Loki's expression was that of indifference, but his mind was churning with thoughts of Lily and Harldar and their safety. "From now on, I have never existed. She has always been, and always will be, Lily Potter."

The morning at Number 4 Privet Drive started as any other.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley woke at precisely 6 am, each completing their own daily routines. Vernon dressed for work; his job at Grunnings was his life, and his most boring tie was always the perfect choice. Petunia wrestled a screaming Dudders into his highchair and cooed calming words to her little cherub.

"Now now Angel, mummy will get you all fed and happy, and then we'll take a stroll down to the park to play with little Piers." The toddler was mollified after Petunia turned on the telly and placed several handfuls of cereal within his reach.

Vernon, while normally clear minded, was boggled by the events of the previous day - what with hoards of owls flying around in day time, curiously cloaked figures whispering in alleyways, their murmurs of the Potter family making Vernon largely paranoid. Those odd folk were an abomination, the Potter family and the lot of them didn't deserve to roam society - a load of weirdos they were. The appearance of many had him shuddering, unable to sleep during the night with thoughts of crazed fools and his no-good in-laws destroying the normalcy of his family.

The Dursleys were very much ordinary, thank you very much. They would not have themselves involved with oddness or strangeness of any kind.

Fully dressed, Vernon traveled down to the kitchen, his tea and newspaper already set out on the dining table.

Grunnings' stocks were doing well.

More about the strange owls.

The weather was expected to clear up in the next few days, that was good.

More about the strange cloaked figures.

Vernon threw down his newspaper in frustration, having no patience to read the codswallop that had been written.

"Petunia, tell me, what do you think about all this-this strangeness?"

"Strangeness?" Petunia was pre-occupied with her cooking. "What strangeness would that be?"

"Those birds, and the oddly-dressed people in town. And - And that sister of yours and her husband-"

Petunia shot Vernon a piercing glare. "What has this to do with Lily? Why are we talking about this, we talked about it yesterday."

Vernon's mustache twitched as he thought. Petunia never liked speaking about that dreaded sister of hers, and especially about - her crowd. Mentioning it more than once in only two days would not bode well. Though, if it were possible, Vernon hated them even more than his wife did.

Petunia had never been on good terms with her sister, especially after she started attending that abominable school. But most sisters never truly got along except on more extreme circumstances. With the death of their parents, Petunia and Lily became closer emotionally - maybe not so much that they would actively seek each other's company on important matters, but just enough to mend broken bonds and, hopefully, allow them a chance for reconciliation in the future.

Vernon however, loathed the thought of Petunia's sister destroying their normalcy, going so far as sabotaging their already fragile relationship by withholding letters and having the phone company block that freak of a sister's number.

Petunia knew none of what he had done, and Vernon planned on keeping it that way.

"I'm saying that those people had best go on their way, they're a disruption to society. There was even a car accident! Gawking and all that is going to cause more than a crash or two-"

A cry sounded and Vernon went silent as the sound of a child met his ears. Petunia, who turned to the her son, let a look of confusion cross her face when she found that Dudley was thoroughly distracted by the telly.

"What in the world?"

Vernon grunted and turned towards the living room. "It's coming from the front garden. Must be that old crone from down the street with her granddaughter."

Petunia crossed the kitchen as Vernon continued to mumble about rowdy neighbors. The crying grew louder as she neared the front door, and was nearly unbearable when she opened it - the surprise on the doorstep was enough to send her into near shock.

"Goodness, Vernon! There's a baby on the doorstep!"

Petunia stooped down to scoop the child into her arms, whispering softly to the babe as it continued on with its wailing. It appeared to have been left out on the doorstep since the night before, as its face was pale from the cold air, but seemed no more disturbed than it was hungry. In the baby's hand, a boy that looked strikingly familiar, he clutched a letter, and written in green ink, smudged but partially legible, were the words 'The Dursley Family'.

Vernon was beside his wife in an instant, staring down at the child in her arms in contempt. He recognized the babe immediately; he snatched the letter from the folds of the blanket and tore it wide open in his haste to see what it contained.

His rage grew and grew with each word. Those freaks expected them to take care of this thing because it's parents went and got themselves blown up? What responsibility was it his to let it into his house, wasting precious resources? What happened to those bloody freak friends of the man's? Weren't they supposed to be stuck with the little monster?

"It's theirs," Vernon hissed, "that bloody sister of yours got herself killed and they expect us to take care of their devil spawn!"

Petunia's face was contorted into a look of horror and an unreadable emotion. "W-What? Lily...she's dead?"

"That's what I said woman, don't make me repeat myself!"

Petunia let out a squeak and clutched Harry tighter to her chest, the babe squirming in her hold and letting out soft whines of discomfort; Vernon turned his glare on the baby, and Petunia shuddered at the look in his eyes.

"Give it here, Pet."

Without waiting for her to respond, he snatched Harry from his blankets and held him up at eye level, fat fingers clutching the baby beneath the arms. "It's going to end up like that sister of yours, I just know it. Ruin our lives it will. I have every mind to throw the little monster's spawn into the bins!"

"Vernon, he's only a child!" Petunia was petrified at the idea, her heart patterning in her chest as the man she called her husband held her nephew in such a threatening manner. She picked up the crumpled letter from the floor that Vernon had dropped in his haste to hold her nephew. She read over the letter quickly, and turned to her husband with a hope that she might dissuade him. "Can't we just do as the letter says? If we keep him, then we'll be protected from their kind!"

"At the cost of keeping one of their kind in the house anyway!" Vernon's face purpled, his lips pulled back in a sneer. "We have no reason to protect ourselves in Little Whinging. It's safe enough without them around in the first place!"

Harry stared unflinchingly at Vernon, and Petunia found the intensity in the child's gaze unsettling ; she spoke to Vernon in hope that he would neither notice and hopefully would change his mind. "But what if he isn't like them? I'm not, and yet my sister could go about as a freak , coming from a family so normal. Perhaps it skips a generation, what would you say then? How would you feel if you tossed him only to find out he was as normal as any of us may be?"

Vernon's color began to settle, but his eyes still held their anger. "...Pet. You best be right. The first sign that he's like those odd-parents of his - any sign of strangeness and I'll best give him a beating. Nothing a good beating wouldn't cure, my father always said." Vernon turned his beady eyes to Harry, who had begun to whine. "Hear that boy? Any sign of strangeness and I'll give you the beating of your life. I might even kill you. Sounds like a plan."

Vernon quite nearly threw Harry into Petunia's arms, and waddled his way back into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and returning to the paper as if nothing had ever happened.

The telly was a buzz in the background, Harry's soft crying becoming almost non-existent as Petunia stood there stunned at her husband. It felt like she barely knew him anymore.

Petunia turned her watery eyes down to her nephew, Harry, who had gone silent, staring up at her with his large green eyes, Lily's eyes. Her poor poor sister, oh what would become of her son? Oh Lily, Petunia thought as she gazed upon what was left of her sister's life, what will I do?

Harry Potter was an extraordinary boy, living his existence in a normal cupboard, in a normal house, owned by a normal couple, with a seemingly normal son, on an extraordinarily ordinary street. The Dursleys consisted of Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley, and Dudley Dursley – and Harry had no part of this family but as a problem in which they dealt with in a perfectly acceptable way.

Harry lived within his cupboard, and he would believe that the rest of the world didn't exist as he only ever saw the inside of the home and yard – and that was only while completing his list of chores. When finished, he would be returned to his cupboard to lay in the dark beneath the creaking floorboards and display of spider webs.

The cupboard, as well as the beatings he received, were all just punishments. "For what," you ask? For being a freak, of course. Freakishness has no place in an ordinary family

Rusty nails sprung from the splintered wood beneath the stairs, and it was a surprise that Harry was able to avoid serious injury and infection with all the cuts he had accumulated. At age six, Dudley pushed him through the opening of the closet in his haste to greet Vernon at the front door, and Harry ended up piercing his palm on a protruding nail. Instead of telling the Dursley's and further enacting their wrath, he stemmed the blood and wrapped it with a strip he tore from the filthy hand-me-down blankets. Cooking their meals was difficult with the makeshift bandage; Petunia wrenched it from his hand in a fit to reveal unblemished skin and, after prompting from Vernon, proceeded to hit him once over the head with a frying pan for ruining the only sheet they ever cared to give him.

His bedding was made from Dudley's old moth-eaten baby blankets with a newspaper stuffed pillow case to cushion his head at night. During the summer, the cupboard became humid and damp in the night ; and with the winter would come the biting frost that lulled Harry to sleep each for those few nights where the cold permeated the house, keeping the rest of it's inhabitants awake. The cold never particularly bother him, in fact, it was more comforting than anything he had ever experienced - but the thought that it was another strange thing in his life that made him more of a freak scared him, and the thoughts of what the Dursleys would do if they discovered this new strangeness scared him into silence.

Harry's alcove was far from unbearable, though, when taking into consideration the pain inflicted on him each day. The bruises never seemed to fade, possibly because new ones would replace the yellowing damage beneath his sickly, pale skin as soon as he was healed. Open handed slaps across the face, the occasional kick to the ribs, and cigar burns lining his forearm and collarbone. They always healed extraordinarily quickly, and Vernon would remind Harry of this with each strike he gave the boy.

Vernon was always proud of the marks he gave Harry; the speed in which they healed was a large part of why the beatings were so frequent.

Before he grew accustomed to the pain, Harry would cry himself to sleep - throat clogged with mucus and eyes burning with suppressed tears. If he were to make a noise, he was sure to be the object of Vernon's anger. Learning early on in life that waking the Dursleys in the night with his sniveling would only bring more harm. Stifling his cries at night were nearly as painful as the aches he would attempt to sleep away.

His chores ranged from various tasks all the way from cooking to pressure hosing the patio . Whatever gave them the idea that allowing a five year old the responsibility to handle heavy machinery was anybody's guess - but he did his work, and did it well; well enough of course that he wasn't punished any more than usual.

He learned all he could from Dudley's castaways - Harry collected books and broken toys that had been shoved into the bin alongside the rubbish. Petunia caught him one morning, taking a juice-soiled book, but ignored his actions; something he was grateful for.

Petunia was not as harsh to Harry as her husband; occasionally she was even somewhat motherly towards him. She only ever hit him when she was justified to do so, and only ever in Vernon's presence. Sometimes, when she believed Harry wasn't looking, he could see the longing in her gaze, as if she had lost something and would never get it back.

Dudley's first day of primary school was a day of celebration, and Harry was kept at home with a list of chores so that he would not dampen the mood - and he would have stayed there too if it weren't for Mrs. Sinfire , their overly nosy neighbour, who contacted the police about his non-attendance for an entire month. Vernon managed to slip his way out with an excuse, saying that Harry had simply played hooky for those days, and the police believed his every word.

Thus started his reputation in primary school as a troubled child with behavioral issues and a penchant for skipping. The only reason Harry would remain at home was forced by Vernon - especially those days where the beatings were much too rough for him to recover in time for school the following day. Vernon tried to avoid casting suspicion upon himself due to the bruising that covered Harry's body, and actively sought to hid Harry away, unseen and unheard ; thus Harry's reputation was a key factor. Harry would miss days upon days of school, until only the visible injuries had been healed, and would return to school to meet the judging gazes of his teachers, who never questioned his absences, only thought of them as what they weren't: the result of a delinquent child. Vernon relied heavily on that; and even if suspicions grew, Vernon would think up another lie on the spot - he was cunning in that respect.

However, Vernon's endeavors would prove fruitless when, on a day just as normal as any other, he would meet his match in the small boy he treated so thoughtlessly.

Fryrir - first, before, in front of, until.

einga - It means 'only' in Old Norse. There is probably a better word I could use (or perhaps one meant for lovers) but this fit well enough.