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Professor Loki of Hogwarts	By : Scioneeris Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > General - Misc Views: 7292 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, nor any of the characters within it. I make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Professor Loki of Hogwarts
- 2-Taking Freedom
- 1
- 2
See chapter one for warnings and summaries.

NOTE: I have changed to present tense for this fic. Trying to write Loki and his kids in past tense was giving me a headache. I will probably write the rest of it in present tense as well. I'll try to fix that in the first chapter when I can spare the time. Apologies.

PREVIOUSLY: Loki freed himself after the All-Father sent him back to earth for S.H.I.E.L.D's punishment, by calling on his daughter, Hel. He decides he's had enough of everything and everyone, after it wasn't his fault that the Chitauri tried to use him to reach Asguard. He decides to hide on Midguard, in Hogwarts, with his children. On the way of putting together the necessary provisions, Loki spies little Harry Potter getting ready for his first semester and kills DADA Professor Quirrell, by accident.

Possession, Lady Loki mused when the day's actions and her own actions had caught up with everything. In a flicker of emerald fire, he returned to his male form. It had been a long day and he had not known what to do and where to begin, but yet, in the course of a day, he'd managed to change everything around.

There was no doubt that the idiot Avengers and their pathetic little Nick Fury would be screaming their heads off and causing havoc as they searched everywhere for him. She stifled a snort at that. And they have the nerve to say that I am destructive. Lady Loki settled herself into the comfortable niche along the rooftop and waited for the moon to fall and there was nothing else to bother her as she waited for the Moonlight to come.

It was strange to realize that the turbaned professor had been a man possessed. Of what, Lady Loki was not quite sure, but he was glad that it did afford him the ability to drop his look as the Lady Loki; it was sometimes difficult to remember that there were certain things he could and could not do, without having to cause too much trouble.

It had been an ugly, dark and evil entity that had resided within the man and something about it had set Loki on edge enough for him to interfere, he'd felt that it was well within his realms and rights to step in. Yes, more than well within it.

So he'd killed it.

Well, correction, he'd killed the vessel and hopefully banished the wretched spirit within it as well.

Loki sighed. He then straightened up and took himself off to the corner to practice what he would say to bring about the necessary comforts he wished to have ready for his children. This professor was currently single and stupid, but Loki would surely find a way around that. It was his area of expertise, after all.

Perhaps a clone or two, he mused. It would allow him to introduce himself as a friend and then make excuses for his children. Ah, yes, that would be best, at least, for the moment. And with that thought, Loki hummed happily to himself and began to settle in for a night of scheming.

"What do you mean, Loki escaped?" Tony Stark glowered at the image of Fury flickering and steadying on the large video screen in the Avengers tower. "I thought he was sent back to that Asguard place and whatever it was, thingy." He waved a hand toward Thor, who sat brooding and sulky in a corner.

The Thunderer could bring down the mood without saying a word when he put himself in such a temper. At the moment, storm clouds roiled overhead, but thankfully, no brash displays of lightening or watery torrents came raining down upon them.

Natasha was somewhat grateful for that. It meant using less hairspray. "How did he escape?" This, she had to know. The wretched excuse of a god was nothing more than a—and here, she quickly sliced off that train of thought. It would not do to become distracted during such a time. She frowned when Fury only heaved a sigh at question and waved a hand to have the video footage of the Trickster escaped played for all.

She squinted at the video, taking in every detail that her mind would allow. It was virtually flawless in its execution and she pressed her lips together, realizing that he had to have known.

"That's it?" Clint exclaimed. He stared as the video looped and replayed. "How are we supposed to get anything on-"

"Thank you JARVS," Tony snapped, "You can stop playing it now." He didn't like it any more than the others, but there was nothing to be gained from watching it over and over and over again.

The man was simply there one moment and gone the next. It was almost as if he planned it.

Tony frowned, no wait, he was there one moment and gone the next and—freeze—Tony stared at the frame he'd had JARVIS lock onto. He stared at the lean, tall and rather pale figure and felt the first stirrings of discomfort breed inside his stomach.

He swore softly to himself. What his mind was screaming at him did not sit well with the rest of him. He wondered, briefly, if anyone else had noticed, when he felt the Widow's piercing gaze razoring through him.

The billionaire gulped. Okay. Natasha knew. She always knew.

This could not go over well.

Thankfully, his fellow science-brain finally voiced an opinion.

"He can't get far without his magic, right?" Bruce interjected. He looked to the Captain who was frowning at the video footage as well. "They worked, didn't they? The cuffs? Until the other end was disturbed?"

"It should have worked regardless of what disturbance." Tony glowered. It was rubbing salt in a wound to say that one of his most prized inventions had failed in the moment where it had been absolutely put to the test. "And he shouldn't have—couldn't have been able to cast a spell with that on him. Impossible" He rubbed at his goatee a little too firmly and then scowled, darkly.

If he were to be honest with himself—something that was never to happen under sober circumstances—then given the current evidence, it might Loki could've been kidnapped.

Kidnapped, was certainly unusual but no less confusing as he found himself staring and wish and waiting and wanting nothing that would come.

Tony looked to Steve who frowned as if he'd come to the same conclusion on his own and didn't really like the answer that had come up. He sighed. This was going to be a really, really long afternoon.

His nighttime scheming had paid off beautifully.

So Lady Loki found herself standing patiently and calmly in the jumbled, cluttered office of one Albus Dumbledore, while his cloned version of the stuttering Professor Quirrel made the necessary introductions.

Lady Loki only listened with half an ear, not really caring to see how the other half of her wit would wrangle about the necessary end that she desired. Instead, she busied herself with bright green eyes that roved over every single item in the magicked office.

She stared back, guilelessly at the moving portraits, some that eyed her suspiciously, some that glowered in disapproval and some that stared back in happy curiosity. She favored those last ones with the most charming smile she could spare and the turned her attention to the rest of the office.

It was quite a lovely office.

Secluded, helpfully cluttered and with plenty of magical artifacts stashed about in every corner, albeit somewhat haphazardly. Lady Loki tucked that away for later thought as she counted up the items in the room, noting that some were light, some were dark and some were in between.

How very, very curious.

Her last snippet of attention arrested itself when her questing gaze finally turned back to the cluttered desk where her clone and Dumbledore continued to converse in angry whispers. It was the shifting, ashy mound beneath the hideous golden pet perch, that drew her gaze.

The clump of smoky dust puffed and moved away to show a very naked, very pale and very tiny little bird.

Lady Loki stared in a mixture of interest and somewhat horrified fascination. Her mind sifted through the centuries of knowledge, searching for what the creature ought to be. She glided forward, dropping to a crouch, eyes level with the little, naked thing, when dark, black eyes winked open.

Green met black.

Lady Loki felt herself smile before she could check the emotion.

The fledgling surveyed her, the black eyes growing mildly wider with interest.

A tiny cheep interrupted the heated, whispered argument and Dumbledore turned about, fiercely. He softened, almost at once, catching sight of the newly molted avian. "Ah, Fawkes." He said, tenderly. "I had forgotten it was your burning day."

"Fawkes?" Lady Loki inquired, rising to her full height and towering easily over the seated wizard and the golden perch.

"My familiar." The wizened old wizard looked her up and down with a decided frown on his face.

"Ah. Of course. What is it, may I ask?" Lady Loki inquired, politely.

"My Phoenix, Fawkes." Dumbledore said, stiffly.

Lady Loki allowed another smile—making a mental note of it—and tipped her head. "Thank you." She murmured, but the smile was more for the little thing than for the white-haired Dumbledore.

The whispered argument seemed about to restart itself when Lady Loki whirled on them both. "Quirrell, that is enough. I shall handle your class and any other necessary duties until your return. Take as long as you like and answer my messages promptly when I send them." Green eyes narrowed, meaningfully. "As such, in a gesture of goodwill, I shall have my children transfer here. As long as they are provided for and content within the walls of this academy, then I shall remain. The moment I wish to leave and you have not returned-" Here, the emerald eyes darkened considerably. The clone Professor Quirrell gave a rather undignified squeak. "I shall simply leave and it will be upon your head." Lady Loki turned sharply to Dumbledore. "And yours, sir." She snapped. "I assure you, I am well acquainted with the necessary tools and skills for teaching young-" and here, Lady Loki bit back the term 'mortals' and substituted "children. I have my own, after all, and I think you will find my presence to be—invaluable."

Helplessly, cloned Professor Quirrell threw up his hands.

The disgruntled Dumbledore gave a grudging nod.

"Thank you." Lady Loki said, regally. "I will have some requests that I demand be fulfilled."

"Demand?" Dumbledore said, tightly. "I am afraid that demands are not something that-"

"Family quarters, for myself and my children." Lady Loki continued, smoothly, as if she hadn't heard a thing. "We are all very close and it would be in your best interest, as my children require a firm hand and my immediate presence. Rest assured that they shall be well-behaved and on their best behavior, but private quarters remain a concession that will provide a substantial reward in the long run."

Here, Dumbledore bristled, quite visibly, but before he could argue on those points, the door to the office swung open and a stern-faced witch strode in, clad elegantly in well-made robes of dark, forest green.

"Albus." She said, stiffly. Her own green eyes glittered meaningfully as they swept over her fellow colleague and his guest. "I wasn't aware you were occupied." She folded her arms into the voluminous sleeves of her robes. "Quirrell." She gave a curt nod to the stammering fellow who practically cringed away from her.

"Lori Aldricson." Lady Loki gave a faint nod. "I was merely attempting to impress upon your headmaster the importance of family quarters for myself and my children."

"Family quarters…?" Her voice trailed off.

"Now, Minerva, there is nothing-"

"Nothing, Albus?" The fierce witch glowered at him. "I believe we are long overdue for a very short conversation." She smiled thinly. "Your business is now concluded-" she pointed to the door and Quirrell scuttled forward. "You may wait outside. I will settle it for you."

Lady Loki—Lori—opened her mouth, then shut it. "Thank you, Madam." She murmured and trotted down the stairs behind her clone.

It was several minutes before Minerve came down the curved stairway, smoothing back invisible strands of silver hair into her bun as she readjusted her pointed hat. "Ah, Lady Aldricson."

"Lori, please." Lady Loki murmured. "Madam…?"

"Then it would be, Minerva." The elderly witch allowed. "Lori, then. How many children do you have?"

"With me, at the moment?" Lady Loki hummed thoughtfully. "Four. Three sons, one daughter."

"Quite wonderful." Minerva gave a dismissive wave. "I'm afraid they shall have to be sorted into the appropriate houses and to live in the dorms. They are welcome to visit you in your quarters on the weekends or after dinner hours."

Lady Loki blinked. "Pardon?"

"Children need to learn and grow during these formative years. I do not doubt that you have raised them well, but family quarters are simply out of the question right now and-"

"I…see." Lady Loki frowned, deeply. "This is troubling."

"A mother always worries." Minerva huffed. "Fear not. If any are sorted into my house, they shall be well looked after."

There was a snort of disbelief.

Minerva turned, feeling a sudden prickle of unease in the way that hairs at the back of her neck began to stand on end. There was an eerie glow to Lori's vivid green eyes as she seemed to have frozen on the spot, a few feet away.

"It was not the children I worried for." Lori's words are weighted and measured. "It was for your own sakes." With that cryptic phrase, the pale face lifts upward and the mysterious witch glided forward with a distinct chill in her wake.

His plans are simple and wrought with the kind of care he has come to phase together as necessity. Loki prowls his makeshift lair—a rented room at the Leaky Cauldron—and decides on what to do next. He knows time is limited and the best course of action is simply to retrieve his children and vanish.

He knows that Hogwarts will shield them. She is a charming castle that sympathizes with his need to live peaceably and protect his children. She will agree—she already has. Until he is settled, Loki knows that he will not search out the avengers nor that wretched S.H.E.I.L.D agency.

If they grow close to him, he knows Thor's thunder will warn him. They may have argued and practically killed each other every other century or so, but Loki knows that Thor is his brother—no matter how much he wishes to deny it—and Thor has never deliberately hurt him.

The skies are clear, so Loki knows that it is safe for now.

That is good.

Hel, my darling daughter… he calls out to her.

She answers in a heartbeat as his neck gives a sickening twist and snap. The physical body lingers on the floor for a few seconds longer and then vanishes altogether.

Loki woke in her arms—again—this time to her bony fingers feathering around his aching neck. There is a glower to rival all other glowers on her face and her thin, dry lips have pursed into a pout.

"You did not have to snap your neck to see me." She informed him, darkly. Her hands give a vicious twist and Loki winces as his head—and consequently his neck—shift back into their usual places.

"Sleipnir." Loki reminds her, but he allows her fussing for another moment, before he sits up.

"Did you have to send that poor man?" Hel waits until he stands over her and then accepts his hand to rise. She brushes off wisps of darkness from the shrouded cloak that is her velvet mantle. "He was possessed you know."

"I know." Loki leans sideways enough to brush their shoulders together.

Hel smiles. "A strange sort." She allows. "Only a portion of his soul." Her brow furrows together. "That is cheating." And her hackles are up again.

Loki frowns. "Cheating?" god of mischief is one thing, but he does appreciate honesty in the proper moments and places.

"A mortal by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle." Hel's pert nose half-wrinkles in disgust. "His soul is split into seven pieces."

Something explodes and bursts into vivid, dark flame, several feet away. Hel's guardians shift restlessly around the edges of her crumbling palace of ruin. She pays no mind to them. Her temper is riled and will not be soothed any time soon.

"seven pieces, Father!" She scowls. "I ought to wrench his wretched-!"

And here, Loki quickly covers her mouth, before he can hear the rest of her colorful vocabulary. He loves his darling daughter with all of his heart. But he also does not have that same heart to tell her that she can outswear a sailor and beyond.

She glowers at him for good measure and then straightens her shroud, primly. "I am not sure I can leave just yet."

Loki frowns. He does not want to leave her behind. Odin will certainly come to check for her once his other children begin to vanish. He has methods for leaving dopplegangers in place, but it is a risk and one cannot know if Hiemdall will know the difference or not.

"Can you not send a reaper?" Loki suggests. He is not entirely sure what to do, as all matters of death and darkness are often reinvented in the face of Hel's ire.

"Perhaps." She allows. "I suppose that is an option if not—oh." She stops in her tracks, green eyes growing wide. "Hogwarts. That is the school where you wish to stay, yes?"

"Mmm." Loki nods.

"He was once a student there." Hel hums to herself. "There. I shall come after all, but" and her head rolls to the side with a very loud, audible crack. "I shall hunt during the nights." There is a sinister smirk on her face. "I shall extract every sliver of his soul in the most painful of ways imaginable and then, only then, will I grant him an audience."

"An audience?"

"Then I will deny him." Hel's eyes gleam wickedly. "It shall be marvelous." The darkly glittering gaze fixes itself on her father. "You will not interfere, Papa." The endearment is used to ensure her father's cooperation.

"I would never tell you do otherwise." Loki says, smoothly. "Shall we?"

Hel's nearly nonexistent eyebrows arch upwards. "You are wonderful." She informs him. Though it is no surprise that he would have already seen to the necessary preparations. Her father is brilliant and powerful.

And she cannot wait to dig her fingers into the mortal world.

Her spells are known for illusion and stealth. It is why Loki has come to her first. He lends her his own magic to mix with her inherent talents and a marvelous mask is crafted in a stuttering heartbeat.

It is pitch black, against her creamy complexion and there are scrolls of silver and gold and bronze adoring it. She cuts out a chunk of the upper left side, to show a quarter of her face. The rest is molded exactly to her features and she allows her father's nimble fingers to fasten it over her.

He presses a kiss to the masked portion of her cheek and then to the exposed left eye. She winks and giggles. He returns the wink. He watches with a careful eye as she transforms her clothes into suitable Hogwarts attire.

Her suit is decidedly different from the standard schoolwear as everything of her choice is the darkest black and richest material she can conjure.

"Beautiful." Her father approves. Then bristles. "If any should dare to-"

"I am not interested in boys, Father." Hel gives a dismissive wave of her hand. Not at the moment, anyway. They require too much effort to maintain. "Do not kill any for simply looking. I haven't the patience for more paperwork."

He glowers at her.

She gives him The Look.

He relents with a sigh that only an aggrieved father can produce. "Shall we?" He says, mournfully, arms open.

"To Jörmungandr?" Hel steps close. She can never step out of Nifelheim. Not the way that she has always dreamed of. But her father has always promised her that a day will come when she can roam freely outside, in her physical body instead of her astral form.

Today seems like that day.

Fear and excitement war within her for equal measure.

She wants this.

Wants it so very badly.

"Are we going now?" Her voice sounds small to her own ears and not at all like the way the Queen of the dead should sound.

But Loki doesn't seem to notice. He still holds his arms out, waiting. What is unsaid between them is already known. "Immediately." He answers.

That is all she needs to know.

So Hel throws her arms around her father and nestles her masked face in his stomach. There is the familiar yank and pull, before they both disappear and then the shadowed, decayed depths are silent again.

Loki's transportation spells are wonderful, but not as good as Jörmungandr's who seems to have a particular knack for them.

Hel is glad she kept her arms around her father's thin figure, for it helped with the slightly rough landing when the portal spat them out. She holds on for a moment longer than necessary before she releases him.

If Loki notices, he pretends that he doesn't.

Hel will not call him on it.

"Jörmungandr!" Loki's voice rings out with authority and pride.

It is scant seconds before the scaly head of Hel's brother, breaks through the watery depths. He surfaces with a loud, pleased roar and all of his eyes flutter in contentment as he rinses the venom from his mouth and heaves his dripping form halfway over the island.

"Jor!" Hel praises as she runs to meet him, careful with her steps in the sand.

He snorts happily, spraying her with a fine mist as she approaches to hug his face.

Jörmungandr. Loki greets silently. We are ready. Is there anything you have left undone?

The great scaled head gives the faintest of shakes, careful not to dislodge his sister from her position where she attempts to hug the end of his snout.

"This may hurt." Loki warns. It has been years since he has tried to call forth his son's alternate form. "Hel, stand back please. Maintain my wards."

And Hel does. She is an expert at that and the magic flows freely from her velvet gloved fingertips.

Loki calls on the old, ancient magic he hasn't touched in eons. This is the magic than he can use that will never be traced back to him. It is one of his few, dark, secrets. It is special and because it is special, he claims it is dark. For it is something to be loved and admired in secret.

It is something he will never tell anyone.

Even Thor.

Or Frigga.

The ancient magic spills through him and into Jörmungandr's serpentine form. It draws a screech of agony from his third son, but Loki presses harder, urging and forcing the energy to do as he bids.

With much movement, magic and sheer will, Jörmungandr's great form begins to shrink and twist. It is several long minutes before he stands in wonderment before his father and sister, staring at pale, white fingers and his lightly scaled skin. There are three eyes, one in the center of his forehead and two where there ought to be two. There are double pupils in each eye. All three are alarmingly red.

"Hel?" Loki turns to his daughter.

She is studying Jörmungandr as if he is a soul about to be devoured. But her brother is too amazed with his new form to take notice of it. She will think of a way to conceal his serpentine traits and third eye.

He takes experimental steps in the sand and throws himself into his father's arms as soon as he is close enough. He shivers when they come into contact and Loki worries, briefly, if it is his Jotun nature.

"Missed you." Jörmungandr mumbles. His voice is rusty from lack of use and Loki realizes that his son is crying. The shaking is not shivering, but rather, trembling.

The god of mischief drops to his knees in the sand and clutches his precious child to his chest, burying his face in the blue-almost-black strands of hair and breathing in the scent of salt and sea. The tears Jörmungandr cries are hot and wet. Loki's are cold as ice. He squeezes that frail form as tightly as he dares and murmurs promises in languages he has almost forgotten how to speak.

Jörmungandr clings to him in silence broken only by his sniffles of agreement to each verbalized oath. He does not want to move—ever. It is lonely, so very lonely to be the Midgard serpent.

Hel pretends not to notice. But she continues to maintain the wards. She has had her turn and so she will let Jörmungandr have his moment.

And then she will smother him in a hug herself.

Jörmungandr is sensitive to the cold, but Hel is able to conjure warmer clothing for him. Loki works to affix spells for warmth and fluidity for his third son, so that the garments are somewhat more comfortable.

There are gills in the sides of his neck. They close as he stands on land and flare open to life when he ducks his head under water. He admits that he will miss the water.

Loki tells him there is water all around the school.

Hel turns his shirt into a turtleneck top.

It is a gesture that almost makes the serpent-boy cry again.

Hel scolds him for a lack of manly tears, but her voice is barely more than a whisper when she does. The siblings cling to each other as Loki casts the enchantment to make it appear as if Jörmungandr has never transformed and left.

It is a very convincing doppleganger.

Hel and Jörmungandr crowd around their father as Loki ties off the spells and buries them into the very heart of the island. He will use the earth's natural magic to anchor and feed this spell. It will never break, lest he wishes it to.

When they prepare to leave, Jörmungandr casts the threads that transport them to Fenrisúlfr's haunt.

By the time they arrive—for Jörmungandr has taken the scenic route with his transportation spell—he can walk and talk properly. He is a quick study, picking up mannerisms from his father and language from his sister.

Colorful language from his sister.

Loki scolds them both for it.

Jörmungandr blushes.

Hel pouts.

Loki sends a prayer to the skies for the sake of his sanity.

Fenrisúlfr is waiting for them when they arrive.

Someone has been to check up on him.

Loki can tell, as the giant sword that had once pierced his son's mouth and jaw, resulting in the streams of saliva that turned to rivers, is back again. It angers him.

But Hel holds him back.

Jörmungandr's eyes bleed back to red, from their former hue of pale blue to almost white. He is angrier than his father and no one is holding him back. He alters his transformation with a burst of unnatural power and grows in size to tower over his older brother.

With a wordless snarl, he snatches up a stone from the ground and grinds it to dust in his mouth. His powerful jaws work, crushing and crunching until he opens his mouth and stands over the wretched chains.

Venom pours out in a vicious, hissing stream. It is filled with the hate and injustice that Jörmungandr feels. It is made from the love in his heart to see his sibling freed.

It melts the chains.

It is like acid, eating away at the links and dissolving all it comes into contact with.

The moment Fenrisúlfr is free, the weapon in his mouth turns to ash. The angry red wounds on his furred body heal as the minutes tick by and his magic returns to him. He greets them all with happy yips and howls.

Loki is released from Hel's grip and he hurls himself at the great wolf.

Jörmungandr and Hel gather around to hug all that they can of the thick black fur and panting beast.

Fenrisúlfr's tongue lolls happily above them.

It takes little effort for Loki to cast the spell to bring his second son into an acceptable, two-legged form. He is immediately tackled to the ground afterward and grunts as Jörmungandr and Hel join in the dogpile.

Loki cannot keep the tears from spilling over as his children happily clamber over him. Aged by centuries, yet acting still, like the children that they are to him.

Fenrisúlfr snuggles into his father's side, breathing hard, happy to be able to hold him and touch him. He hides his tears in the hollow of his father's neck.

No one comments.

Hel informs them that they must move quickly. She reminds them there will be time for catching up later. But they can all hear the reluctance in her voice as she admits that she is merely becoming too distracted to hold up the illusion spells.

Loki quickly takes over.

The magic he uses produces such a lifelike reproduction of Fenrisúlfr that he can't believe it. His siblings laugh at him, but he soon joins the laughter as well.

Jörmungandr transports them all to the All-father's stables.

Sleipnir waits.

Loki's eldest son and first-born child is the least demonstrative of them all, standing patiently and calmly as he is freed.

It is Fenrisúlfr's brute strength that wrenches off that awful enchanted bridle that Odin uses to tame him enough to ride. He then channels his magic to his father so that Loki can complete the necessary doppleganger.

There is a fiery, golden burst of magic that follows immediately afterward and Sleipnir transforms himself.

Loki approves.

Jörmungandr is mildly impressed and somewhat jealous.

Hel whacks them both for no reason at all.

The mismatched family leaves at once.

Asguard remains silent and unknowing of what it has lost.

A/N: Thanks for reading! (and the many kind comments and reads.) Yes, Quirrell did die. Sorry about the confusion there. There should be snippets of Harry next chapter, and Loki and his kids will settle in and be sorted, along with complete descriptions on their human forms. :)

~Scion

Crossposted on ff.net
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Professor Loki of Hogwarts