Four Golden Lines

Chapter FOUR
Words: 6 368

Upon hearing the telltale sound of the Bifrost, Harry interrupted his breakfast. Rising from the kitchen table, he mentally composed the note he'd send to the Ministry to explain his absence. This was bound to take a while. At least, he wanted it to take a while. He wanted news informing him that he was wanted in Asgard and if that were the case, he wouldn't be returning home any time soon. Shrugging on a coat, Harry went out into the dark February morning, heading to the spot in the backyard where he'd called out for Heimdall countless times. There he found Thor already striding towards him, snow crunching under his booted feet.

It had been over two months since Harry had last seen him. It'd been when he'd asked Thor to give Loki the Pensive. Harry hadn't been in Asgard since. Knowing that Loki didn't want him there, and respecting that wish, Harry had thrown himself into work at the Ministry to keep from thinking about what had happened too much, falling into his old habit of suppressing any unpleasant soulmate related thoughts, trying to be too tired to stew on past mistakes, and using more bottles of dreamless sleep potion than was advisable. And then Christmas had provided him with a welcome distraction, though the holiday had been a double-edged sword sending him careening between happiness when he was with people and melancholy when he was alone. Now everything he'd tried to avoid came bubbling up to the surface. Longing. Worry. Guilt.

"Harry," Thor said.

"Hi." The smile Harry scrunched up was shaky. "How are things going with… everything?"

Thor's answering smile was just as weak. "My search has not yet yielded anything. The universe is vast, and though objects as powerful as the Infinity Stones make big ripples when used, I've not discovered anything indicating their presence. But that's not what you're truly interested in, I don't think. Come, let us talk inside." Thor put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving a light push, not accepting any argument.

Nothing further was said until they were seated at the kitchen table, mugs of steaming coffee available to occupy restless hands.

"The thing you left for Loki has helped," Thor said.

Warmth spread through Harry. He grinned. "That's great!"

Thor didn't smile. Rather his mouth twitched into the beginnings of a grimace of regret. "Though not as much as you might have wished."

"Oh?"

"Eir has told me little. She thinks I wouldn't understand, and she would be right. I do not understand the intricacies of the mind and how it might mend. Still, I know my brother. He's as stubborn as he's always been, proud, thinking that he must do all by himself, reluctant to ask for assistance before all other options are exhausted, and it was only today that he asked for help in mastering the tool you provided."

"So, we've lost a bit of time, that's all. He's asked for help now and I can come with you straight away." Harry was up from his seat before he'd finished talking, thinking of the things he'd need to bring with him to Asgard. Clothes other than what he was wearing, not Muggle ones and not his Ministry Uniform. Armour was for the best. It would help him blend in and if things didn't work out… well… On that note, he'd also need the strengthening solution and the quickness drought. He had some bottles that should do the trick. They wouldn't have gone bad yet. The shelf life was a couple of years. And—

"Harry."

Thor's voice stilled him, hand hovering in the air by the handle to his potion cupboard. As silence hung over them, Harry turned to meet Thor's gaze.

"Part of the request was that you not come. He wanted help in some other way, help not directly given by you."

"Oh." Harry deflated and berated himself for hoping too much. Of course, Loki didn't want his help, not after having been betrayed. Harry hadn't acted as a soulmate should. The first time had been forgiven. The second. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. "I should never have agreed to your plan," he whispered. "I should never have agreed to lie to him!"

"We didn't know that he wasn't himself."

Harry rounded on Thor. "That's not the point! It was the wrong thing to do, and now he doesn't want—"

"Stop it and listen to me. What did I say? He's stubborn, yes, but there is more to it. His reluctance to see you won't last forever. He'll change his mind. That he used something you provided is evidence enough. He's too clever not to grasp the opportunity to grow strong once he has settled on the price being worth the cost. We have to have patience. And you told me that he admitted to having lied to you as well."

"Two faults don't make a right!"

"No, they don't, but it means that he cannot fault you without also faulting himself. We all share the guilt. Blaming each other now won't help anything. We did what we had to do. All evidence pointed to that he was set on being contrary and that he would not care if the world burned. Lying was necessary to get him to talk. You know I'm right. We had to find out what he knows. We still do. The difference is that now we know waiting will yield results. Before we had no way of knowing. It'll take more time than I'd like, yes. If I could shake him and get my answers, I'd be well pleased, but getting him to open up is taking time and I have to accept that. Now we've made progress, if of a different kind than we anticipated, and we must take heart in that. I'll gladly take this stubborn, slowly healing Loki, who may one day stand at my side again over one who on the surface seems fine but has his mind filled with poison. Our actions, regardless of their questionable morals have led to a good outcome. I'll never be sorry about that, and you shouldn't be either."

"Yeah." Harry slumped. "Yeah, I can't regret that either."

"Then we shall not dwell on the past, but move forward." Thor's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Though, there is one thing that I've not asked. What made you press him? You were patient before, waiting for him to change and want to open up. You never agreed when I urged you to hurry, to trick him into speaking. What happened that made you confront him?"

Harry clenched his teeth. Fire flickered in his mind, igniting as soon as there was a spark of remembrance. "I've been having these dreams. They started around that time. I told Loki about them, trying to see if he knew what they meant, but he deflected, so I found out what they were on my own, and when I did and confronted him about it, I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't wait for him to help us. I snapped."

"What do you see in these dreams?"

"Ragnarok."

A boom of thunder rolled through the sky, long and loud. Thor was on his feet, lightning sparking on the head of Mjolnir.

"We need to speak with my father."

- Four Golden Lines -

The end of the universe was frigid and dark. The cold was something Loki knew only on an intellectual level. The manifestation of the memory produced by the Pensive was utterly void of temperature, and he was blissfully spared from experiencing it anew, free from the sensory input dragging up a bone-deep fear and desolation born from abandonment. The darkness was there though, as foreboding in the memory as it had been in truth, the sky black apart from the weak glare of a nearby star and a few streaks of rust that stretched across the expanse.

In the early days of Loki's sojourn in this place, this Sanctuary, when he had begun his transformation, he'd looked at the nebulae and the bright spots that littered their bloody wombs and thought of himself like them, a star waiting to be born. Not a first generation star though. No. It would be rebirth following one of the universe's most violent explosions. A megastar burning out too quickly, a supernova turned to dust, left waiting for gravity to assist in coalescence into something new, something better. Experience had done to him what immense pressure did to light elements, creating more advanced building blocks from which rich worlds could form.

His self-perception had been naive and shared by no one. He'd been the only one on Sanctuary to compare him to something as beautiful, natural, and magnificent as a star, even if it was a comparison to a dead one. To the Black Order, he was scraps of rare, but tainted ore, needing purification and smelting, needing additions of other elements to make a stronger alloy, needing to be bent into shape, hammered and tempered to form a weapon that may be wielded by their Father. To the Other, he had been even less, broken beyond fixing, but perhaps possible to beat into performing for a short time. And to Him… Well, that was one question he didn't have an answer for. His memories were contradictory.

Spending days and days wading through the memories had not taught Loki who was right or what was true. If anything, he'd become less certain about the answers to his questions, an additional alternative emerging: the possibility that all he knew was wrong and that the truth was well beyond recovery or even nonexistent, a beautiful illusion, a fairy tale told to children to help them understand the world and make it less freighting as any parent would want to protect their child from the meaninglessness, the inconsistency, and the chaos of the universe, lest it overwhelm their young mind and plunge them into madness, protecting them from his fate.

Loki stood at the side of his memory-self, watching him lay with his back in an unnatural bend, not having moved from when he fell onto the rocky ground. He was pale with anaemia, his unblinking eyes dull because of dehydration, his skin stretched tight over bone where fat reserves had wasted away. He was barely alive. His breathing, shallow as it was, wheezed laboriously in the thin atmosphere.

This was not this part of the memory that Loki was interested in. The part he wished to see would come later. How long it would be before something changed, he didn't know. When the memory had been in his mind, this part had been fuzzy. Now that he could see the state he'd been in, he was surprised that he had remembered anything at all, that his brain had been able to salvage any sensory input and store it. It was disgusting how little strength and dignity the creature before him retained.

Growing tired of seeing himself weak and helpless and pathetic and lost, Loki willed the memory to progress rapidly. It was easy enough to control a Pensieve Memory. As Potter had written, it took no more than will for it to happen, a thought.

Apart from being able to watch back his memories and discover more about them, he'd reaped several other significant benefits from using the Pensive. By dumping memory after memory into the stone bowl, he'd been able to preserve his memories for later retrieval, and Eir had without fear of hurting him been able to heal the scar tissue on his brain. He no longer suffered from the remembered pain, and he was better able to concentrate. It was not relief without cost, however. The process of moving the memories had been intolerable, the necessity of remembering without filter leaving him shaking and bathed in a cold sweat, and while he preferred not being controlled by the emotions tied to the memories, to not suffer from the remembered pain and connected emotions, he had been left numb, a fraction of himself.

By now, he had regained some sense of who he was, reabsorbing some memories, but the road back to health seemed like it was infinite and he'd reached a point where making further progress with this method was out of his reach. Discovering if a memory was false and twisted or merely enhanced by the Pensive's magic eluded him and his lack of understanding was infuriating. Potter had said that watching the memories as strengthened by the Pensive would help him see the manipulation, but he'd refrained from saying how one would be able to tell. Perhaps he'd deemed it obvious or simple to deduce. It wasn't. Loki couldn't tell what was meant to be true. The only discovery he'd made in that line of questioning was that he had more than one set of memories for the same period of time, but he couldn't for the life of him tell which was the original one and which had been influenced by the use of the power source in the sceptre.

His lack of mastery with this magic had been enough to send him into a fit where he'd broken most things in his room. He'd lashed out and had been restrained and consequently forced to endure Thor's company. He'd requested aid from Midgard in equal parts because he was sick of his condition and to send Thor away. The manipulation should have been glaringly obvious, far removed from the fineness he'd used to take pride in, but it mattered little as long as it produced results and Thor had gone as bidden, earning Loki a blessed respite from his worried glances and insipid words of comfort.

For the first part of the memory he was viewing, there was no divergence in memories, no dual set, nothing for him to look out for other than the content. The matter was clear, a single branch. He wanted to learn what a solid memory looked like to better be able to understand the difference between such ones and the other kind. If only he could pinpoint the exact point of divergence, he might be able to progress.

The Chitauri arrived, and Loki slowed the memory to a regular pace. The creatures came crawling across the rocks, chattering and scuffling. They prodded at memory-Loki, who let out a soft groan, and gathered him up without care, toting him away. Loki followed through the memory, climbed hurriedly over the rocks to match their pace. Shortly, the procession came to a stop before the Other. The hateful figure was clearer here than how Loki recalled him, the translucent quality of his skin and the bloodstains on his lips producing a remembered stench. It was rancid and so strong that it turned into a sensation of taste. The Other said nothing to his servants about the thing they'd brought him, but a twisted smile stretched the line of his mouth as he touched deceptively gentle fingers over memory-Loki's face. Standing on the sidelines, Loki recoiled in recompense for that he'd not been able to do so when it had happened to him.

Pain cut through Loki's head and he saw double. He blinked and his vision stabled. He paused the memory, went back a second and, success. Two semi-transparent versions of the Other parted from each other, splitting as Loki's memory became divided. He paused the memory and squinted, circling around one shape and then the other, trying to see if there was anything setting them apart, anything about one of them that wasn't genuine. The shades and highlights were the same. The solidity equal. He was missing something. There had to be something he was missing. A light, a sound, a sign. He had to discover what in blazes it was.

"Loki." The voice came from outside, from reality. Loki pulled out of the memory at once. He would not stay in the Pensive if someone was in his room. Especially not someone whose voice he didn't know.

He straightened his back and whirled on the person who'd intruded, wilfully ignoring the vertigo that came from withdrawing from the memory.

"Ah," he said, taking in his visitor. Though he didn't know her by voice, he recognised her. Potter had shown him pictures of his friends as part of his effort at bonding.

"Not what you had in mind when you asked for help?" Hermione Granger said.

"I had a book in mind," he agreed, "but you're not so different from a book, are you?"

The insult tightened the skin around her eyes, but her lips formed a placid smile. "If it makes it easier for you to think of it that way, sure."

"Very gracious of you."

"Since you asked for help, I hope that you'll be gracious in return and accept the help I can give you."

"I would never dream of being anything other than gracious."

"Then you won't mind telling me what the problem is?"

"Well…"

"Yes?"

He clasped his hands behind his back. "One problem I've been thinking about quite a bit, one that I can't seem to do anything about is that each morning when my food arrives, it's been allowed to grow cold. The servants don't care about my comfort to that degree, you see." He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, moving to crowd her. "Then there's the thing about being robbed of my freedom, locked away and left to rot, unable to control my future, having my will infringed upon multiple times by multiple people through multiple means. And there's also the little thing with the people who call themselves my family lying to me all my life, and my soulmate entering my life only to continue their legacy and do the same, and oh, yes," he looked down his nose at her, "I now have to content myself with being pestered by a woman who thinks herself far more knowledgeable than anyone who's perception of reality has been limited to one world and who's only lived through a handful of decades should have any right to. That should about cover it."

She raised her eyebrows and followed it by also raising her wand, tapping the point against his chest. Loki's shoulders tensed. For all the texts he'd devoured on Midgardian magic, he had no practical experience defending against it, and his chosen wand was only grudgingly allowing him to use it. He'd been able to move quickly enough not to get caught by Potter that first time, but he'd not been this close to him when their fight started.

His defensive reaction was unnecessary. She walked around him and directed her wand at the pensive, mouthed a string of words as she moved it in several complicated patterns, producing sounds, and lights and effects without discernible meaning. She interpreted them readily.

"There's nothing wrong with the Pensieve," she said. "You've done no damage to it, though I'm thinking you might be damaging yourself as full of memories as it is. Is there anything left in your head?"

"Plenty. I'm not a pitiful mayfly such as you. I have forgotten more than you can begin to fathom."

"And the definition of graciousness is clearly one of the things you've forgotten. Duly noted." She picked up Potter's note. It'd been left on the table next to the Pensive. "And Harry never learned it in the first place," she muttered. "What was he thinking? This tells you nothing!"

Loki's first instinct was to protest. To defend. To say that his soulmate had done no wrong and that the confidence placed in him, the certainty that he would be able to understand it himself was flattering and also not a miscalculation. He would be able to understand it in due time and what Potter had told him had been very helpful in allowing Eir to help him. To think well of Potter had become the natural state, an instinct. The rift between them had not changed that, and he had to stop the words from escaping his mouth, close it and being anew. "What would you have told me?"

"Well," she lowered her shoulders. "I suppose, to be fair, that I would have started with something similar. It's not wholly terrible, simply insufficient. It says nothing about the history of the Pensive, or its limitations or any of the many subtle things you can use it for. He's not even bothered to say how you know a memory has been tampered with! That was the whole point of using the Pensive, wasn't it? Letting you understand what has been tampered with."

"And how would one tell if tampering has occurred?"

"The most obvious signs are jumps and shifts. Everything can go blurry as if the space the memory takes place in is filled with dense mist. The volume of the sound can shift, going low or high. If the witch or wizard who meddled with the memory is particularly skilled, not that that applies to you, the signs will usually be the same ones, only more subtle. You have to pay close attention to the mist or the sound. Simpler than that, you can use spells or potions directly on the memories stored in the Pensive and sort them without viewing them."

"That information would have been useful several weeks ago."

"Yes, of course, it would have, but expecting Harry to think of practical things when he's emotionally invested is bound to set you up for disappointment. Right, no use crying over spilt potion. I've brought some books for you to read and a larger selection of wands. How well did the ones Harry give you work?"

"Do you think another would serve me better?"

"Most powerful wizards, and you definitely fall into that category, have peculiar relationships with their wands. Your power allows you to work with a lot of different wands, but finding a perfect match is difficult, so yes. Statistics say that from a selection of ten you're unlikely to find a wand that'll suit you properly. The best would be to let you find one in the company of a wandmaker who knows what to look for and can help you shorten the search, but if a wand approves of you, it'll let you know loudly. Now, if I'm to guess, you'll want time alone to read through the books I brought you. I'll leave and return to fill in any gaps and oversee your progress. Something a book cannot do." She smirked.

Loki's own lips twisted in response. He didn't like accepting help. Not from a person. He had to admit something though. He needed it. He could certainly use her. And well: "I like you, Granger. I'll accept your help."

"Good, cause I wasn't about to give you the opportunity to say no. I'm doing this for Harry. You're lucky he's your soulmate, you know."

"I know no such thing."

She regarded him silently. "Maybe not now. We'll fix that."

- Four Golden Lines -

"I hope you have a good reason for demanding this meeting on such short notice."

None of the vulnerability Harry had witnessed during their first meeting was to be found anywhere in Odin's expression or stance. His kingly stature put Harry on edge, and he stood tensely, hands behind his back, feeling every bit the Auror recruit who wasn't allowed to slide by on his name, who was instead held to a near-impossible standard by the senior law enforcers, put through unforgiving paces.

Thor didn't share Harry's discomfort. "We have a good reason. We've spoken before of my dreams of Ragnarok."

"Yes, and as I've told you, the Twilight of the Gods is inevitable. Nothing can last forever. Not even we. Not even Asgard"

"Yes, and I had to remind you that it was you who taught me that destiny wasn't real, that the future is not written in stone, that no Norns sit at a well at the World Tree's roots weaving the strands of fate. If what you once told me remains true, no fire giant need lay waste to Asgard. The dreams can remain dreams."

"Shall we recite the entire conversation for the mortal's benefit? Very well. It is not destiny that makes Ragnarok inevitable. It is my knowledge that leads me to proclaim it. All things must die."

"Someday, aye. I would have Asgard's death postponed to the far future."

"As would I. Which is why I have given you leave to hunt down Surtur. Why you've not yet done so and eased your worrying is not for me to answer."

Thor inclined his head. "That is on me, and the day I will face him draws closer, but there's something more to this." Thor pressed his hammer against Harry's chest, urging him to take it, and Harry grabbed it awkwardly, holding it by the head. "Harry shares my dreams, Father. I think it must be because he can hold Mjolnir. The enchantment you cast on it when you banished me, it bound my powers to it, perhaps some of that lingered."

Odin's expression changed. His eyes gained a new glint, attention fully focusing on Harry. "It is possible."

"Wait. That doesn't make sense," Harry said. "Wouldn't Vision have the dreams too, if that were the case? He's held this too."

"It might be that this being that you call Vision could not be receptive to the might bestowed by the enchantment. He's an artificial construct. The amplified connection can mayhap also have something to do with the time you borrowed Thor's form. Only more time will tell to what degree you are affected. As long as it's limited to dreams, we should not be concerned."

"Are you sure we shouldn't be worried?" Thor asked.

"We mustn't invent strife where none is to be found. Deal with Surtur as you desire and be rid of these dreams and you shall both sleep easier for it. Any other consequences we shall have to wait for and handle as they arise. That is my final word."

Thor glowered and Odin smiled. He also sighed. "I see that you are not satisfied, my son. Very well. Let me then also say it out loud as to smooth you if my previous words were not clear enough. As soon as there are any developments with your young friend, I urge you to once more come to me. I shall not ignore it should things turn dire."

"Thank you, father."

"Ah, Thor." He looked long at his son, then glanced at Harry and shook his head minutely. "We've seen you too little in Asgard of late. There are people who would enjoy your company, and Harry Potter should be afforded the hospitality we've yet afforded him. Show him our home. Go, now. Enjoy the day and dwell not on your dreams."

- Four Golden Lines -

Loki swirled his wand in the Pensive. The new one he'd gotten from Granger's selection was nothing like the first. Where the last one had sometimes agreed to work with him, the new one was an extension of him, eager to do his will, as easy to control as a hand or a leg. It had given him a new appreciation for Midgardian magic and he foresaw many days when he'd explore the depths of its application. That future was far off though. For now he had still to write the ending paragraphs of his memory mastery.

He drew up the memory he'd just viewed, a silver wisp at the end of his wand, and placed it to his temple, sighing as he reabsorbed it. It was one of the very last. Only half a dozen memories remained inside the Pensive. And he knew what he would see when he examined them. It would be the same thing he'd seen in all previous memories of his youth. Two very similar recollections. One true. One tainted. One showing him the closest thing to reality that this type of magic could produce, kindness, cruelty, pain and happiness all there, mingled, not enhanced, not biased. The other twisting all things bad things to worse and all mundane words to scorn. Showing what had been a passing glance as a glare, and a happy smile as a sneer. Some of those changes had been the work of the Other, done with the Sceptre and through torture, some had been a product of his own bitterness.

Use of the Pensive had opened his eyes to all influences and allowed him to see what lay beneath.

His mother hadn't been cold and aloof. She'd merely thought it prudent to give him more space so that he could grow into a man. She'd loved him and done what she thought was best for him. It had been a miscalculation on her part. It was disappointing to see her faults. She had only a person.

Thor had not hated him. He'd been blind and foolish, stubborn and prideful, brash and hot-headed. It was bad character traits that had lead to Loki resenting him. Yet now he'd seen that the wrongs between them had never stemmed from wilful maliciousness on his Thor's side. There was as much love between them as there were misgivings.

It wasn't perfect. It was messy. It was real, and it was wholly different from what he'd thought. It was a difference for the better. A difference that made it possible for him to let go of his hatred. Unburdening himself of that cornerstone had left him wrung out, tired beyond all reason. Yet he was pulling through, taking it one day at a time. He was cautiously looking forward to mending things with his brother. The chance to do so was a gift he mustn't squander, which was why he must wait a while longer. He wasn't ready to do it right.

Then there was his father. Odin was static. He was so close to the same in both sets of memories as for it not to matter. He had made the choice to be a king and anything to do with parenthood had been left by the wayside. At least when it concerned Loki. Thor was the chosen heir and there the two duties coalesced. A man worthy of kingship needed a father, and a king had to train his heir, and so Odin had found the time needed to be a father to Thor. He'd not been good at it though. He'd failed Thor as much as he had Loki. If he'd paid proper attention to his favoured son as he would have, he would have seen what Loki had. Thor hadn't been ready. He'd been pampered to ruin.

No. As much as Loki had wanted to be proven wrong about Odin when he was proven wrong about Frigga and Thor, he hadn't been. It left him unable to forgive and forget. He couldn't see things in a new light.

And neither could Odin, it seemed.

Loki remained a prisoner. The rooms in the healing wing of the palace where he resided had been extensively modified to suit his needs. Furniture, knickknacks, books and anything else he desired had been added without restrictions. He was free to practice magic. He was free to take visitors. What he wasn't free to do was leave. Odin had not absolved him of his crimes because of extenuating circumstances. He'd not visited either. They'd not said a word to each other since his trial so long ago now. Perhaps that was for the best. Loki might not be able to keep his words conversational or his voice at an acceptable volume. He might not even be able to stay his hand, and did he do something now when healed of his lack of rationality, he would in truth earn imprisonment.

There was a knock on his door. He startled, and snapped his head up. He sent probing magic with his wand to learn who was waiting outside and tensed further.

That was right. That was happening today. He had agreed to see Potter.

His soulmate was another person he'd been able to get a new take on. Everything after Sanctuary had been as tainted as what had come before. If in a different way. His perception had been off. The corruption had been in the moment, not part of a post-production. Potter was complicated. Loki had wanted so much, had fought all the conditioning to get it and he'd suffered for it. Everything had turned sour. A lot was left unsaid between them. Clearing the air was the purpose of meeting Potter now.

Loki hesitated. Talking would be difficult, awkward, sure to lead to more hurt. He knew he wasn't ready to talk with Thor. He'd thought he was ready for Potter.

He could change his mind. He didn't have to let Potter inside. Potter would understand. Would understand that he was weak. Pathetic. Wretched. Would give up on him. Would tire. Loki clenched his eyes shut, forced himself to stop the stream harsh words he directed at himself.

He turned his arm, looked at the sleeve where it hid his mark, placed his hand over it, zeroing in on the warmth of it. He drew up the sleeve and looked at the golden lines. Oh, how he wanted, though. He wanted the return of the ease he'd grown to feel in Potter's company before truth had darkened it. He ached with longing for what had been. For what should be.

Again, there was a knock. Loki went to answer it, his legs heavy at first. His steps grew lighter as he approached the door. It pendulated back with his hand growing heavy as he reached out to touch the handle. Then it was easy to open the door. And once more it was difficult. He didn't look at Potter. He turned away and walked to one of the windows, keeping his eyes on the view. The trees were in bloom. People were walking under the heavy boughs, not a care in the world. Free of worry and strife.

"Hi," Potter said.

Loki nodded his reply.

"How are you today?"

Loki snorted an inaudible laugh. So that was how it was going to be. They were going to avoid the matter at hand. Potter might have the right idea of it. He could play along. "I'm well, thank you."

"Good. That's good."

"And you?"

"I'm fine."

"Good."

"Yeah, good." Fabric whispered as Potter sat down, and it continued as he fidgeted.

Loki couldn't take the first step. He stared blankly and listened hard. Potter breathed steadily. The chair creaked under him when he adjusted his position. Wind made the curtains flutter. The healers moved about in the adjacent rooms. The sand in the hourglass he'd turned earlier to not let his memory work continue endlessly continued to trickle to the base.

Potter's breath changed. He was about to speak. Loki clenched his hands around the edge of the windowsill, nails digging into the stone.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

This time, Loki's snorted laughter wasn't silent. "Weren't you told? I'm still a prisoner." He pushed his hand at the open window, came into contact with the barrier there, illuminating the hidden grid.

"What? No. Why?"

"Why indeed?"

"This isn't right."

"Isn't it? You should be the first to say that it's right, or weren't you the one who delivered me to my cell?"

"Yes, but that was before."

"Before. After. It was me all the same."

"No. It's not the same."

"How do you know? How do you know I wouldn't do the same things again given the chance? They've told you about Thor's failed coronation, have they not? There was no thrall on my mind then. There was only me. The same me."

"You were hurting."

"And does that reason hold up in your courts? Are wizards so quick to forgive attempted genocide on account of personal turmoil? Can a monster change its nature? Can you tame a beast?"

"Why are you doing this?"

The question stabbed through him, poking at the cold spot in his chest. "Perhaps I fooled Granger. Perhaps I merely acted sane. Perhaps all her reports to you are useless. Perhaps I'm mad still."

"Stop it." Potter rose from his seat and walked towards Loki. "Stop pushing me away. I won't let you. You let me in here. I'm not leaving, and I don't believe what you're saying. I don't believe in monsters. There are people and reasons for their actions."

Potter grabbed Loki's hand. The hold was hard, enhanced by potions, impossible for him to be free off without a fight. Potter used the grip to force Loki around, to look him in the eye. He opened up their connection, pushing at Loki with his mind, drawing him back into his own.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Some bigger than others. I've seen beyond yours. And I have evidence that there is more to you than that. More than the hurt and the lashing out. More than nature or nurture. The evidence is branded on my soul. Hurt doesn't hold up in court. You're right about that, but I'm not your judge or jury. I'm your soulmate, and I will never deny that again, never deny you."

The connection between them told Loki of Potter's sincerity. There was no escaping the truth of his words.

"I've missed you. I regret how things have been between us. I'm so sorry about that. Please let me in again. Forgive me for putting the world before you. Forgive me, and I'll never do it again. It'll be you first. Always."

Harry's grip on him slackened. Loki was free to move. He didn't. He stayed where he was, absorbed in the connection, in the skin to skin touch. In the touch of mind to mind. Soul to soul. Knowing Harry's thoughts and feelings, knowing how close a mirror they were to his own was solace. It was absolution. They shared guilt, hurt, fear, and hope.

"All right," Loki said. "All right." He covered Harry's hand with his own. "Let's start over."

End Chapter FOUR

A/N 7th May 2019

You think it was End Game that got me to update after nearly a year what with the movies having been catalysts before? Think again. This time the credit goes to Cas_tellations who has written one of my favourite Harry Potter/Loki stories, Collateral Damage. An update and an announcement that the sequel was discontinued made me think that I can't do the same with my story, at least not until I have a sequel started. So here we are :)

Hope you liked the chapter. The more you let me know what you thought, the more motivation and inspiration I get for the next one. Just so you know ;)