It was not the unnatural silent that stirred Loki's slumbering mind. Like a steady ripple, his magic washed against his dangling consciousness. It awakened him, echoing distress and warning.

Quickly, his eyelids shot opened as if they were yanked by the hooks of a fisherman. A thick haziness covered his sight, eventually settling and clearing in seconds. Sitting up, a new surrounding greeted him. Gone was his glass prison, and in its place was a wonderful wreckage: empty wooden frames stretched out in the hundreds, while glass shards littered the ground chaotically.

Fingers grazing along those shards, he peered down into their gleaming surface. And reflecting back was a face not his own.

'Young,' was his unexpected first thought, 'too young.' His following thoughts were decidedly less than repose and bordering on the imaginatively obscene.

The physique he'd molded through centuries of training and battles was no more. A form belonging to a boy, barely in the cusp of adulthood, now contained his existence. It felt inadequately small, lacking muscles and worryingly thin; but most of all, it felt weak. Questions raced within him as he pondered on the possible causes. Yet, to his dismay, no answers came forth.

Frustration pounded heavily on him as he reached to explore his face. Dust and sweat covered a smooth and pale complexion underneath. A slight curiosity grew as he inspected his host's eyes below the round lenses – eyes so very similar to his own green hue.

Warily, Loki stood up and examined the rest of his annoyingly short stature. With distaste, he picked at the attire clothing his body. It was tattered and frayed, offering as much protection as a newborn babe. Due to that, Loki called on his magic to dissolve the garb and replace it with his armor.

However, nothing happened – not a spark or single glimmer. With a frown, Loki tried again. And once more, he was met with nothing. A daunting realisation gradually took hold as shock and dread mounted upon his heart.

His magic no longer responded to his will.

He reined his emotions in before they could run off. Forcing control over himself, Loki attempted to sense his magic, and what he discovered was quite alarming. His magical pathways had become confined; it was as though a wall had been enclosed around his power.

Simmering anger poured entirely over his chest. Loki knew no such enchantments or any beings in the nine realms responsible for his transformation. Nevertheless, he would rectify this one way or another. And once he regained his real form, the one responsible for this would suffer immensely – most preferably in blood.

Composing himself, he examined his surroundings with a keener eye. A round object soon caught his attention, resting amongst the rubble of shattered mirror fragments. Picking it up, Loki discovered it to be a glass sphere, small enough to fit in his palm. There was nothing particularly unique about it… other than the swirling white mist within its core.

Suddenly, the loud crunch of broken glass alerted him to the presence of a pale-blond man. He grimaced at his carelessness and studied the stranger approaching from his far left. Surprise hung in his breath as he detected a magical aura from the mortal.

"Potter," the man growled, the sound meant to be intimidating but falling short, "give me the prophecy now, or would you like to be blasted with another killing curse?"

Loki quickly took note of the wooden stick in the man's hand. Sensing a magical trace from the stick, he surmised the object to be some kind of focus. Such tools were hardly seen on Asgard since Aesir sorcerers could easily manipulate the flow of magic within themselves. However, it was apparently not so for this man and Loki suspected it was the same for his new body.

He watched the pale-blond man with veiled calm. Amusingly enough, the mortal fool flung plenty of useless threats at him and also went on to address him as 'Potter'. In measured movements, he held up the sphere and watched as the man tracked it greedily.

"You desire this… prophecy?" asked Loki.

"Enough of your evasions, Potter. Hand it over or I'll —"

"You may have it."

The mortal's eyes blinked in incomprehension at the simple acquiesce, but they soon narrowed in suspicion. "What?"

"I said you may have it," Loki enunciated each word in the same way one would speak with a dull-witted child, which seemed to aggravate the man further.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" the mortal gritted through his teeth. "Did your Gryffindor courage finally dwindle to nothing?"

Loki offered an elegant shrug in response as if the reason was irrelevant.

The man gazed at him with clear incredulity and wariness, but the need for the orb eventually won out. "Slowly walk forward, boy. And if I see you with your wand then that will be the end for you."

"Of course," he replied easily, stepping forward.

Truly, the man was like a puppy waiting for a treat, with the way he was eagerly eyeing the orb. When a short distance finally separated them, the mortal warned, "No tricks, Potter."

Loki abruptly stopped, and he couldn't help but smile haughtily at the command. "Tricks?"

"Yes," the man hissed, "none of your foolish heroics this time."

"Oh, you mean something like this?" Loki tossed the glass sphere and it flew through the air.

In a blind panic, the mortal dashed over to grab it. Just as the prophecy was caught, Loki lunged ahead and knocked the wand from the man's hand. The weight of his small body then slammed against the other, resulting in them tumbling to the ground.

Since centuries long training with Thor brought the experience of wrestling another person much larger than himself, Loki managed to pin the man to the floor with barely a hint of trouble. Straddling the man's waist, he snatched a jagged mirror shard nearby and held it against the mortal's throat. The man struggled futilely, urging him to dig the shard deeper, nearly drawing blood.

Leaning down, Loki's features shone with unhidden scorn. "You have made the mistake of underestimating me, mortal. And if you have no wish for a swift death, then all my questions shall be answered."

Realising the dire situation, the man finally ceased his movements. His captive's gaze then traveled desperately to where the sphere laid abandon. It was only a few feet from them, having been released in their struggle. Loki momentarily ignored it to mull over his questions.

"What is my name?" he chose to ask, seeking the identity of his host body. The mortal looked upon him as if Loki had gone mad. In response, he delicately sliced the skin, enough to see a hint of red.

With rage and fear, the man screamed, "Harry fucking Potter!"

Loki raised an eyebrow at that but continued on regardless. "And what is this place?"

"The British Ministry of Magic, you imbecilic brat."

The insult earned the man another thin cut. "No need to be rude," Loki said. "I've been quite lenient so far. Therefore, do try to control that tongue of yours."

The man swallowed visibly, unnerved with his light but deadly tone.

Loki then paused to consider his location. 'British' must refer to Britain – a Midgardian island from what he remembered of his early studies; although, he was unaware of the existence of a magical ministry. Merely piqued, Loki asked, "Now, was it you who brought me here?"

"I already told you, boy," the mortal said spitefully, "it was the Dark Lord; it was he who fooled you with false visions, luring you into this trap."

A trap? Loki frowned at that. Did his host body really succumb to such a pathetic ruse of illusions? Or perhaps this trap was actually meant for Loki himself and consequently the cause of his present dilemma?

As he glanced back at the glass sphere, a thought occurred to him. "I suppose the purpose of this trap was to collect the prophecy that's in my possession," Loki deducted. "The importance of that aside, I want to know about this 'Dark Lord' of yours. Is he strong enough to manipulate the minds and bodies of others across great distances?"

The mortal scowled in confusion. "The Dark Lord is the most powerful dark wizard of our time. I have seen him perform feats beyond the capabilities of any wizard, so such spells shouldn't be beyond his powers." The man's expression then changed to one of keen reverence as he continued on. "That is why we have chosen to follow him. You know he shall rule over all wizarding kind in the end, and eventually, the magical world will flourish under his control. And you Potter – you will die, begging for mercy at his hands."

"Hmm."

Loki's hum of disinterest silenced the mortal, who was clearly flummoxed at his reaction. He was hardly impressed. The Dark Lord's goals were sounding annoyingly too similar to his own objectives, and thus, another hurdle he had to work around.

Though most importantly, with the information he just heard, it could be a possibility the Dark Lord had planned to mess with Potter's mind – and somehow, inadvertently his – to attain the prophecy. Still, it was only a mere assumption for now until he could gather more knowledge.

Loki leaned in closer, impatient with his progress. "Why does your Lord seek this prophecy?"

"You already asked that question once, Potter. Becoming quite forgetful, aren't we?"

"Then explain yourself again." The mirror's sharp edge against the man's flesh emphasized his last word.

Despite the danger, the mortal's mouth bent in amusement. "As I said before, the prophecy was the reason why the Dark Lord went after you and your family. Unfortunately, the contents within are unknown, but what I do know, of course, are mere rumours."

"Such as…?"

"You see, Potter, in the first war, our side was gaining the advantage; just a few more battles and we could have won. We could only lose if the Dark Lord was defeated. It was also during that time when our master grew obsessed with finding a child.

"Most of us wondered why a child would garner such attention from the Dark Lord – such extreme fascination. A few thought the child would bring strength to our cause but most whispered how the child would be our downfall instead. We were proven correct on that fateful night when our master vanished, and the only one to survive the attack was you.

"We understood that whatever was in that prophecy involved you and the Dark Lord. We believed the prophecy foretold our master's defeat by your hands, and thus, the reason why he sought to eliminate you."

Loki marveled at the sheer idiocy of this Dark Lord's actions. It was a fool's endeavour to heed prophecies unless they truly wish to set it in motion. Although the Norns rule the destiny of gods and men, the threads of fate they weave presented more than one possible future. Not every spoken action or perceived course had to pass.

"If your Dark Lord wanted to avoid such an unfavourable outcome, then he should —"

"Harry!"

Loki's attention swiveled to the sudden male intruder – a novice mistake he would later berate himself for. His captive took that chance to slam a fist against his jaw, hard enough to stun him. Just as fast, the man shoved him away and rolled to his feet, dashing off towards the glass sphere. Scowling, Loki began to chase after him.

"Stupefy!"

That was all the warning he received as a spell of red light whizzed past him, intended for the pale-blond man.

Unexpectedly, Loki was able to feel the magical intent from the spell. Even though the magic was strange, its use was a familiar one: to incapacitate an enemy. It was an effective spell – effective only if it struck true.

Of course, the beam of light missed.

It crashed against a wooden frame, knocking it to the ground. Loki turned in time to see the pale-blond man with the prophecy in one hand and wand in the other. With an air of triumph, the mortal vanished with a loud crack.

Loki stood there in sheer disbelief, unable to comprehend the outcome. Slowly, he turned a deadly glare at the other man heading his way. The male intruder was disheveled in appearance and years of fatigue lined his face.

A string of vile and contemptible curses were at the tip of his tongue, ready to unfurl as the oaf reached him. Yet before he could unleash a syllable, the man engulfed him in a warm embrace, holding onto him with desperate relief. Loki froze at the contact, form stiff as a stone wall.

"Harry – thank Merlin you're all right," the man said in a sickeningly gentle voice. Rough hands held the sides of his face as grey orbs inspected him with concern.

An unwelcomed sensation slithered through his chest. It would be untrue to say the feeling was foreign or new; he was no longer very good at lying to himself.

The man then released him with a wide grin. "You're so much like your father, getting into such mischief like that!" A quick slap on his shoulder made him falter in his footing.

In that moment, Loki desired nothing more than to gouge this man's eyes out.

o-O-o

A/N: Sorry about the late update everyone. I've been dealing with some things, but hopefully, I can start writing again and updating my other stories.