The Royal Medical Wing of Asgard's palace stretched before them like a temple dedicated to healing itself—walls of translucent crystal that seemed to pulse with their own inner light, floors inlaid with runes that hummed with restorative magic, and the air itself suffused with energies that eased pain and promoted natural healing. It was a place where the very architecture conspired to mend what had been broken, where even the shadows seemed softer and the light more golden than anywhere else in the Nine Realms.
Lady Eir moved between the patients with the fluid grace of someone who had spent millennia perfecting her craft. Tall and elegant with silver-white hair that seemed to float around her shoulders like captured moonbeams, her winter-sky eyes held the kind of ancient wisdom that came from healing wounds both physical and spiritual across countless centuries. Her hands glowed with healing magic as she assessed each patient with clinical precision, her touch as gentle as morning dew despite the cosmic forces she commanded.
"Cruciatus exposure," she murmured as she examined Frank and Alice Longbottom, who lay on beds of crystalline healing stone that adapted to their bodies' needs like living things. The beds themselves seemed to pulse with sympathetic warmth, responding to their occupants' pain with increased magical output. Both Aurors were still experiencing the telltale tremors that came from prolonged exposure to the Unforgivable Curse, their nervous systems overwhelmed by magically induced agony that went far deeper than mere physical torture.
Frank tried to speak, his voice coming out as barely more than a croak despite the healing energies surrounding him. His dark hair was matted with sweat, his usually sharp brown eyes clouded with pain and confusion. "Neville... is Neville...? Please, I need to know—"
"Your son is safe," Frigga assured him gently, settling beside his bed with the maternal warmth that had comforted children across the Nine Realms for millennia. She had traded her formal queen's robes for simple healing garments of soft blue and silver, and her presence alone seemed to ease the worst of his trembling. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple braid, and her kind eyes radiated the sort of unconditional love that transcended species and realms. "Lady Sif is with him in the children's healing suite. He was frightened but unharmed. She's currently teaching him proper sword stance, which he seems to find quite fascinating."
Alice's blue eyes filled with tears of relief, though she couldn't yet trust her voice to speak. Her usually immaculate blonde hair was disheveled, and her face was pale with the lingering effects of magical torture, but the spark of fierce intelligence that had made her such a formidable Auror was beginning to return. The magical trauma ran deeper than the physical—Cruciatus didn't just attack the nervous system, it assaulted the very essence of what made someone themselves, trying to break them down into component parts of pain and despair until nothing else remained.
"The mortal magical healing traditions are... adequate," Lady Eir continued with the diplomatic tact of someone who had observed countless civilizations' attempts at medicine, "but they lack the subtlety needed for complete neural restoration. What your dark wizards have done is crude but effective—like using a hammer when precision instruments are required."
Across the chamber, Sirius Black sat on another healing bed, though his injuries were of a different nature entirely. The dementor exposure had left him pale and shaking, his usually vibrant gray eyes dull with the lingering effects of having hope and happiness systematically drained from his very soul. His long dark hair hung limp around his face, and his hands trembled as he tried to process the impossible reality of his situation.
"The shadow-wraiths of your realm are particularly unpleasant," Lady Eir observed as she ran diagnostic spells over him, golden light dancing between her fingers as she assessed the psychic damage with the thoroughness of a master craftsman examining flawed work. "They feed on joy itself, leaving behind only the cold echoes of despair. Fascinating in its cruelty, though I disapprove of the methodology entirely."
"Dementors," Sirius managed, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and trauma, though there was still a hint of his characteristic dry humor threading through the pain. "They guard Azkaban prison. Make you relive your worst memories over and over until you forget there was ever anything else. Charming creatures, really. Wonderful conversationalists." He looked up at her with something approaching wonder, his gray eyes beginning to focus properly for the first time in hours. "But this... this healing magic. I can actually feel it working. The cold is retreating like fog before sunlight."
"Asgardian healing addresses not just the physical form, but the soul itself," Lady Eir explained with professional pride, her hands continuing their diagnostic work as golden threads of magic wove themselves around Sirius like a protective cocoon. "What your dementors damage, we can repair—given time and proper care. Though I must say, your realm's approach to criminal justice is remarkably barbaric."
"Tell me something I don't know," Sirius muttered, then actually managed a weak smile. "Though I have to admit, cosmic healing beats the hell out of whatever passes for medical care in magical Britain."
It was then that the massive doors to the healing wing opened with a whisper of displaced air, and several figures entered in quick succession. Thor led the way, his red cape billowing dramatically behind him as Mjolnir sang softly at his belt, the hammer's enchantments recognizing the sacred nature of the healing space. His golden hair caught the crystalline light, and his blue eyes swept the room with the protective instincts of someone who had spent millennia defending the innocent.
"Brother!" he called out cheerfully to Loki, who had been standing in contemplative silence near one of the observation alcoves. "How fare our mortal guests? And please tell me you haven't been experimenting on them while no one was looking."
"Your faith in my restraint is touching," Loki replied dryly, though there was genuine warmth beneath the sarcasm. His black hair fell in perfect waves around his sharp features, and his green eyes danced with the kind of mischief that had gotten him in trouble across multiple realms. "Though I must admit, their magical system is fascinatingly primitive. Like watching children play with forces they barely comprehend."
Behind Thor came the Warriors Three—Volstagg with his magnificent red beard and booming laugh that seemed to make the very air vibrate with good humor, Fandral with his perfectly groomed blonde mustache and the kind of rakish grin that had broken hearts across nine realms, and Hogun with his dark, contemplative eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. They moved with the easy camaraderie of warriors who had fought together for millennia.
"Healing wing!" Volstagg declared with characteristic enthusiasm, his deep voice echoing off the crystal walls. "My favorite place in all of Asgard! Well, after the feast halls. And the training grounds. And the libraries, come to think of it. But definitely in the top five!"
"Your priorities are showing, my friend," Fandral observed with a theatrical sigh, adjusting his cape with practiced flourish. "Though I must say, the ambiance in here is quite romantic. All that soft golden light and mystical healing energy—very conducive to intimate conversations."
Hogun said nothing, but his slight nod toward the patients conveyed more respect and concern than a dozen speeches. His dark eyes took in every detail of their condition with the analytical precision of someone who had seen too many battlefields.
Lady Sif entered last, her long dark hair braided for battle and her armor gleaming despite having spent the morning with a traumatized child. Her fierce beauty was tempered by genuine compassion as she surveyed the healing patients, and there was something almost maternal in the way she assessed their progress.
"The boy is remarkable," she reported to the room in general, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had trained warriors for centuries. "Quick to learn, brave despite his fear, and absolutely fascinated by proper weapons maintenance. He's currently napping in the children's suite, exhausted but safe."
"Thank the Norns," Alice whispered, her voice finally strong enough to carry across the room. "I was so afraid... when they took him, I thought we'd never see him again."
Frank managed to push himself up slightly, his brown eyes focusing with growing clarity. "Who are you people? I mean, I know we're in Asgard—hard to miss that—but you're all talking about us like we're important somehow."
"You are," Thor said simply, his voice carrying the absolute conviction of someone who had never learned to doubt his own judgments. "Any who stand against the forces of darkness are welcome in the halls of the righteous. Besides," he added with a grin that was pure sunshine, "my sister seems quite fond of you all."
It was then that the main doors to the healing wing opened again, this time with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested someone with a serious sense of theater was about to make an entrance. Aldrif swept into the room wearing the full regalia of an Asgardian princess, and the transformation from Lily Potter to divine royalty was so complete that for a moment, even those who knew what to expect were struck speechless.
She wore armor that seemed to be forged from captured starlight—silver and gold that flowed like liquid metal across her form, inlaid with gems that held their own inner fire and pulsed with cosmic energies that made the air itself seem to shimmer. Her copper-gold hair fell in an elaborate braid that incorporated actual threads of light, each strand seeming to burn with its own inner flame, and a circlet of crystalline fire rested on her brow, marking her as both princess and Phoenix vessel. The sword at her hip was clearly of divine manufacture, its blade singing with harmonics that spoke of cosmic forces barely contained within mortal-forged steel.
But it was her eyes that stopped them cold—still the emerald green they remembered, but now blazing with cosmic fire that seemed to see through flesh and bone to the soul beneath. This was not Lily Potter, Hogwarts student and young mother. This was Aldrif Odinsdottir, Princess of Asgard, in all her divine glory, and the very air around her seemed to bend to accommodate her presence.
"Well," Sirius said after a long moment of stunned silence, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and his characteristic irreverence, "when you said you had something to tell James, I was expecting maybe a secret about your family's money or that you'd been holding back on your Transfiguration marks. Not that you were an actual, literal princess of the gods." He paused, then added with a grin that was pure mischief, "Though I have to say, the outfit is a significant improvement over Hogwarts robes."
Alice managed to lift her head slightly, her blue eyes drinking in every impossible detail of the sight before her. "Lily?" she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion and residual trauma. "Is it really you? You're so... you're so beautiful. So powerful. I can feel the magic radiating from you like heat from a fire." Her voice grew stronger with wonder. "It's like looking at the sun, but instead of burning, it's... it's healing somehow."
Frank was staring with the expression of someone trying to reconcile two completely incompatible pieces of information, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. "We thought you were dead," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of genuine grief. "We mourned you. I was preparing to give a speech at your memorial service about how you died protecting your son, died as a hero facing impossible odds." His voice gained strength as he spoke, the healer's magic allowing him to focus more clearly. "But you didn't die, did you? You won. You destroyed him completely. We could feel it—every dark magic user in Britain felt it when Voldemort was erased from existence. Like a great shadow lifting from the world."
"I won," Aldrif confirmed, her voice carrying both the warmth they remembered and new harmonics that spoke of cosmic forces beyond mortal comprehension. The Phoenix Force's presence was visible as a faint aura of golden fire around her, and when she spoke, it was with the authority of someone who had touched the fundamental forces of creation and destruction. "But the cost..." Her expression grew soft with grief, and for a moment she looked exactly like the Lily they'd known—young, vulnerable, heartbroken by loss. "James is gone. He died protecting us, and nothing I can do will bring him back."
*He died as a hero,* the Phoenix Force added gently, her voice emanating from Aldrif but clearly separate, carrying tones that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of reality itself. *His sacrifice was not in vain. The love he showed, the courage he displayed in those final moments—it became part of the magic that protects your son. Death is not the end of all things, merely the end of this particular chapter. His story continues in ways that transcend mortal understanding.*
Sirius struggled to sit up straighter, his healing-enhanced senses picking up the cosmic resonance in that voice like a tuning fork responding to perfect pitch. "That's... that's not you talking, is it? That's the Phoenix Force. The cosmic entity itself."
"I am," the entity confirmed with something approaching pride, and the golden fire around Aldrif intensified slightly. "I have dwelt within Aldrif since she was an infant left to die for her father's pride. Through her, I have learned what it means to love, to sacrifice, to protect without condition. Your James Potter was a remarkable man, Sirius Black. It was an honor to know him through her memories, to witness the depth of love that drove him to stand against impossible odds."
"He would have loved this," Sirius said, and despite everything—the trauma, the healing, the impossibility of the situation—he was actually smiling, the expression lighting up his face in a way that reminded everyone why he'd been considered one of the most charming men of his generation. "The cosmic joke of it all. He spent seven years trying to impress Lily Evans, never realizing he was courting an Asgardian princess possessed by a cosmic force of nature. The poor bastard would have been either completely terrified or absolutely delighted."
"Delighted," Aldrif said with certainty, her own smile breaking through the divine majesty like sunrise through clouds, and for a moment she was purely Lily again—young, in love, remembering better times. "He would have spent days coming up with increasingly ridiculous titles for me, would have insisted on formal introductions to the Phoenix Force, and would probably have asked Loki to teach him proper pranking techniques worthy of divine royalty."
"I would have been delighted to oblige," Loki said with genuine warmth, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Though I suspect his natural talent would have required very little instruction from me. The way he managed to ask you to marry him using nothing but enchanted flowers that spelled out increasingly ridiculous poetry was quite impressive."
"He enchanted the entire Gryffindor common room," Aldrif laughed, the sound carrying harmonics of cosmic joy that made everyone in the room feel inexplicably lighter. "Every flower in the castle was involved by the end. McGonagall was furious, but she was also trying not to smile."
"Speaking of complications," Loki said, his expression shifting to something more serious as he gestured toward one corner of the healing wing, "we need to discuss our... problematic... prisoner."
All eyes turned to where Bellatrix Lestrange sat in a specially prepared containment area, surrounded by barriers that glowed with Asgardian binding magic. The containment field was beautiful in its complexity—layers of silver and gold light that twisted around each other in patterns that seemed to shift and flow like living things. She had been cleaned and given fresh robes of deep blue that complemented her dark hair and pale skin, but her behavior remained deeply unsettling.
Currently, she was examining her own hands with the intense fascination of someone discovering fire for the first time, her dark eyes wide with an almost childlike wonder that was completely at odds with her reputation as one of the most dangerous dark witches in Britain.
"Such interesting fingers," she murmured to herself, flexing them experimentally as if testing their responsiveness. Her voice carried that hypnotic quality that had become so familiar, but there was something almost innocent in her tone. "I wonder what they've done. They feel like they've done terrible things, but I can't quite remember what. Like trying to remember a dream that slips away the moment you wake up." She looked up as she noticed the assembled group watching her, and her face lit up with a smile that was both beautiful and deeply disturbing. "Oh, hello! Are you all here to stare at the broken doll? I don't mind—I quite like being looked at. Though I must say, some of you are much prettier than others."
Her gaze swept across the assembled Asgardians with obvious appreciation, lingering on Thor's impressive physique before settling on Loki with laser intensity that made the air itself seem to heat up.
"Well, well, well," she purred, her voice dropping to a register that was pure seduction, "and what do we have here? A god of mischief, all dressed in black and green like a particularly delicious sin." She licked her lips slowly, her dark eyes drinking in every detail of his appearance with shameless hunger. "I do so love a man who knows how to cause trouble. Tell me, beautiful, do you live up to your reputation? Because I can think of several interesting ways we could... explore... your particular talents."
Loki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting between amusement and wariness. "My lady, while I'm flattered by your... enthusiasm... you are rather indisposed at the moment."
"Oh, but that just makes it more exciting, doesn't it?" Bellatrix laughed, the sound carrying an edge of manic glee that sent chills down everyone's spines. "All these magical barriers between us, all this delicious tension. I could tell you exactly what I'd like to do to you if we were alone, but there are children present." Her eyes flicked toward the other occupants of the room with mock consideration. "Well, emotional children anyway."
"That's quite enough of that," Sif said firmly, her warrior's instincts bristling at the inappropriate behavior, though there was something almost pitying in her expression as she looked at Bellatrix.
"Oh, the pretty warrior speaks!" Bellatrix clapped her hands together with delight, her attention shifting to Sif with the mercurial speed of someone whose thoughts followed no normal patterns. "I do love a woman who knows how to handle a sword. Though I prefer my weapons a bit more... intimate." She winked outrageously, then turned back to Loki with renewed focus. "But you, my darling god of delicious darkness, you understand the appeal of the forbidden, don't you? The thrill of dancing on the edge of acceptable behavior?"
"I understand many things," Loki replied carefully, his analytical mind already working on the magical bindings he could sense surrounding her psyche. "Including the fact that you are not entirely yourself at the moment."
"Aren't I?" Bellatrix tilted her head with bird-like curiosity, her expression shifting to something more contemplative. "How would you know? How would anyone know? I feel like myself. Well, I feel like someone, anyway. Whether that someone is who I'm supposed to be is a different question entirely."
Her gaze fixed on Aldrif with sudden, startling intensity, and for a moment her expression shifted to something approaching recognition. "You... you're important, aren't you? There's something about you that makes my head hurt in the most delicious way. Like trying to remember something vital that's been locked away behind doors I can't quite find the keys to." She leaned forward as much as the containment field would allow, her dark eyes blazing with sudden hunger. "Have we met? I feel like we should have met. Like there's a conversation we were supposed to have, words we were meant to exchange."
"We have not met," Aldrif said carefully, studying Bellatrix with the analytical precision of someone accustomed to complex magical problems. Her emerald eyes glowed with Phoenix fire as she examined the layers of compulsion and magical reconstruction with senses that transcended normal perception. "But I know what's been done to you. The question is whether it can be undone."
Loki stepped forward, his expression grave with the weight of what he was about to reveal. "The magical bindings are unlike anything I've encountered before," he began, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had studied magic across multiple realms for millennia. His hands moved in complex patterns as he cast diagnostic spells, silver and green light dancing between his fingers as he mapped the extent of the damage. "Layer upon layer of compulsion and personality reconstruction, each one reinforcing the others, all of it tied to her very life force. It's... masterful in its cruelty."
"How so?" Thor asked, his blue eyes focusing with the intensity he usually reserved for battle situations.
"Imagine," Loki continued, his voice taking on the tone he used when explaining particularly complex magical theory, "taking a tapestry—something beautiful and complete—and carefully unraveling it thread by thread, then reweaving it into something entirely different while keeping the original foundation intact. The new pattern uses the same materials, but serves an entirely different purpose."
"That's..." Frank said slowly, his healer's training allowing him to understand the implications, "that's not just torture. That's architectural reconstruction of someone's entire personality."
"Precisely," Loki confirmed, his green eyes dark with anger at the sophistication of the magical abuse. "And if we attempt to remove the false patterns incorrectly..."
"She dies," Aldrif finished, understanding immediately. "Or worse—she lives but loses everything that makes her herself, becoming a blank slate with no memories, no personality, no essence of who she was meant to be."
"Now that," Bellatrix interjected with a laugh that carried no real humor, "sounds absolutely terrifying. Much more frightening than death, really. At least death is definitive—oblivion is honest. But to exist without existing, to be alive without being... that's the stuff of nightmares."
"You understand what we're discussing?" Alice asked, surprised by the lucidity in Bellatrix's response.
"Oh, I understand more than you might think," Bellatrix replied, her voice shifting again to something more serious. "The artificial personality they've constructed understands that it's artificial, you see. It knows it's a mask worn by something else, a role played by an actress who can't remember her real name." She looked at her hands again, but now her expression was one of confusion rather than fascination. "These hands remember doing things, but the memories don't feel like mine. Like watching someone else's dreams while wearing their skin."
*She's fighting it,* the Phoenix Force observed with amazement, her cosmic perceptions able to see the battle taking place within Bellatrix's psyche. *The original personality is stronger than they anticipated. It's been locked away but not destroyed, and proximity to cosmic forces is allowing it to surface temporarily.*
"Proximity to what now?" Bellatrix asked, her attention snapping to Aldrif with sudden clarity that was completely different from her earlier scattered focus.
"The Phoenix Force," Aldrif explained gently. "A cosmic entity that exists partially within me. It can perceive... layers of reality that normal senses can't reach."
"Cosmic entity," Bellatrix repeated slowly, her dark eyes widening with something that might have been hope. "Something powerful enough to reach past all these magical locks and chains they've wrapped around my mind?"
*Perhaps,* the Phoenix Force replied, her voice speaking directly through Aldrif but clearly separate from the princess's own thoughts. *But it would require your complete cooperation, and the process would be... unpleasant. You would have to experience every moment of horror, every act of cruelty, every instant of pain as the artificial personality is burned away and your true self is restored. You would remember everything the false personality did, understand the full weight of actions that were never truly yours.*
"That would be torture," Alice whispered from her healing bed, her voice thick with horror at the implications.
*Yes,* the Phoenix Force confirmed sadly, golden fire flickering around Aldrif like visible grief. *But it would also be freedom. The question is whether she's strong enough to survive the knowledge of what she was made to become.*
"Oh, I like her," Bellatrix said suddenly, her attention fixed on the Phoenix Force manifestation with genuine interest. "She's honest. Brutal, but honest. I appreciate that in a cosmic entity." She turned back to Loki with a grin that was equal parts seductive and manic. "Rather like you, actually. All that beautiful darkness hiding a core of unexpected truth."
"You're deflecting," Loki observed with the insight of someone who had spent millennia perfecting the art himself.
"Of course I'm deflecting," Bellatrix laughed, but there was pain beneath the mirth. "Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to have someone offer to give you back yourself when you're not even sure you want to know who that person is? What if I discover that the real me was someone horrible? What if this artificial personality is actually an improvement?"
"That's not possible," Sirius said firmly, speaking for the first time since Bellatrix had begun her flirtation with Loki. His gray eyes were filled with the kind of conviction that came from childhood memories. "The Bella I knew as a child was... she was brilliant, yes, and fierce, but she was also kind. She used to sneak food to injured birds, used to cry when she accidentally stepped on flowers in the garden."
Bellatrix stared at him with sudden, desperate intensity. "You remember that? The birds?"
"I remember all of it," Sirius said softly, moving closer to the containment barrier despite the obvious magical danger. "I remember you teaching me how to braid daisy chains, remember you standing up to your parents when they tried to punish me for some prank or another. I remember you being the best person I knew."
"But I tried to kill you," Bellatrix whispered, her voice small and confused. "Multiple times. I remember wanting to hurt you, wanting to make you scream. How is that possible if what you're saying is true?"
"Because that wasn't you," Sirius said fiercely, his hands pressed against the barrier between them. "That was what they made you into. What they stole your face and voice and body to create."
For a moment, Bellatrix was completely still, her dark eyes filling with tears as she stared at her cousin. Then, suddenly, she was laughing again, but this time the sound was broken and desperate.
"Oh, this is perfect!" she gasped between fits of hysterical laughter. "They didn't just steal my life, they made me try to destroy everyone I actually loved! It's like the worst kind of cosmic joke—turn someone into a weapon and then aim them at their own heart." She wiped tears from her eyes, though whether they were from laughter or grief was impossible to tell. "No wonder I feel like I'm constantly at war with myself."
"The magical construction is designed to create maximum psychological damage," Lady Eir observed clinically, though her voice was soft with compassion. "Forcing someone to act against their fundamental nature while retaining enough awareness to suffer from the contradiction. It's... diabolically clever."
"Clever," Bellatrix repeated, her voice taking on that manic edge again. "Yes, I suppose it is clever. Horrific and soul-destroying, but definitely clever. I'd almost admire the artistry if it wasn't being performed on me." She looked around the room with sudden focus. "So the question becomes: are you all brave enough to try saving someone who might not be worth saving?"
"You are worth saving," Frigga said firmly, her maternal authority brooking no argument. "Every soul has value, child. Every person deserves the chance to be themselves."
"Even if myself turns out to be boring?" Bellatrix asked with a crooked smile that was more genuine than anything they'd seen from her so far.
"Even then," Aldrif confirmed, and the Phoenix Force's presence flared around her like visible determination. "Though somehow, I doubt boring is a word anyone would use to describe you."
"If you can save me," Bellatrix said, looking directly at Aldrif with desperate hope and bone-deep terror warring in her dark eyes, "if you can burn away what they made me and let me remember who I was meant to be, then I'm willing to endure whatever it takes. I'd rather suffer the knowledge of what this false self did than continue to exist as their weapon."
She paused, then added with a return of her earlier humor, "Though I do hope the real me appreciates attractive men as much as this version does. It would be a shame to lose my excellent taste entirely."
"I suspect," Loki said dryly, though there was warmth beneath the sarcasm, "that appreciation for beauty is one of the few things that transcends artificial personality reconstruction."
"Oh good," Bellatrix grinned, and for a moment her smile was purely mischievous rather than manic. "Then I won't have to pretend not to notice how absolutely magnificent you look in those leather pants."
"Bellatrix," Sirius said warningly, though he was fighting back a smile.
"What? I'm potentially about to undergo cosmic personality reconstruction. If I can't be inappropriate now, when can I be?" She winked at Loki again, then grew serious. "But truly, all of you—thank you. For seeing past the madness to whatever might be worth saving underneath."
Aldrif looked around the room, taking in the faces of everyone present—Sirius's desperate hope, Frank and Alice's growing understanding of the true scope of what had been done, Thor's protective determination, the Warriors Three's readiness to help despite not fully understanding the situation, Sif's warrior's compassion, Loki's fascination with the magical complexity of the problem, Lady Eir's professional assessment of the risks involved, and Frigga's maternal certainty that every life was worth fighting for.
"How long?" she asked the Phoenix Force.
*Hours, not days. The magic is complex but not infinite in scope. With proper preparation and Asgardian healing magic supporting the process, we could begin within the day. Though I must warn you—the screaming will be considerable.*
"Mine or hers?" Aldrif asked with dark humor.
*Both, most likely. What we're attempting has never been done before, not at this level of complexity. We'll be rewriting reality itself to restore what should have been.*
"Well then," Bellatrix said cheerfully from her containment area, "I suppose I should prepare for the worst pain imaginable. How wonderfully dramatic. It's like something out of a particularly morbid fairy tale." She looked at Loki with renewed interest. "You know, if we're going to be spending time together during my cosmic reconstruction, perhaps afterward you could show me some of that mischief magic I've heard so much about. I feel like I might appreciate it properly once I remember how to be myself."
"We'll see," Loki replied, though his expression suggested he was already intrigued by the possibility.
"And the risks to everyone else?" Aldrif asked, ignoring Bellatrix's continued flirtation.
*To her? Significant but not insurmountable, especially with Asgardian healing magic supporting the process. To us? Minimal—this is exactly the sort of work the Phoenix Force was designed for. Burning away what should not be, nurturing what should exist, bringing life from the ashes of destruction. To everyone else in the vicinity? They should probably evacuate to a safe distance. Cosmic forces can be... unpredictable.*
"How safe a distance?" Thor asked practically.
*Several realms, ideally.*
"Right then," Volstagg declared with characteristic enthusiasm, "sounds like we're in for quite an adventure! I'll alert the kitchens—we'll want a proper feast prepared for afterward. Nothing like a good meal after cosmic personality reconstruction!"
"Your priorities never cease to amaze me," Fandral observed with fond exasperation.
"Food is important!" Volstagg protested. "Especially after traumatic magical experiences. The body needs sustenance to process what the soul has endured!"
"He's not wrong," Lady Eir agreed. "Magical healing of this magnitude will require significant physical recovery time as well. Proper nutrition will be essential."
Aldrif nodded slowly, then looked at Bellatrix with the compassionate authority of someone who had faced cosmic forces and emerged stronger. "Then we'll try. Not just try—we'll succeed. No one deserves to be trapped in a prison made of their own hijacked mind."
"Thank you," Bellatrix whispered, and for the first time since they'd encountered her, she sounded completely, recognizably human. "Thank you for seeing me under all of this artificial madness."
"Besides," she added with a return of her characteristic inappropriate timing, "if it doesn't work, at least I'll have spent my last coherent moments in the company of some absolutely spectacular examples of divine masculinity. There are worse ways to face oblivion."
"Bellatrix," Sirius said again, but he was definitely smiling now.
"I'm just saying, cousin dear, if I'm about to lose myself entirely, I want to appreciate the view while I can. And the view," she looked meaningfully at Loki, then Thor, then back to Loki, "is quite exceptional."
*In the golden halls of Asgard, under the light of artificial suns and the watchful eyes of gods, one of the most complex magical healings in recorded history was about to begin.*
*The Phoenix Force had burned away false deaths and artificial endings before, but never had it attempted to reconstruct a personality that had been systematically dismantled and rebuilt by hostile magic. The challenge was unprecedented, the risks significant, the potential for failure very real.*
*But in the face of a cousin's love, a friend's hope, and a victim's courage—however inappropriately expressed—failure was not an option.*
*The healing would begin at dawn, and by sunset, Bellatrix Lestrange would either be restored to her true self or lost forever to the forces that had enslaved her mind.*
*In the meantime, the House of Odin had gained not just refugees and allies, but a mission that would test the very limits of what cosmic forces could accomplish in the service of love, justice, and the fundamental right of every soul to be themselves.*
*The real work was just beginning.*
*And somewhere in the depths of a magically reconstructed mind, the real Bellatrix Black was preparing to fight for her own existence—while maintaining her appreciation for well-fitted leather pants and the particular way certain gods smiled when they thought no one was watching.*
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