The sky above Asgard was cloudless, but inside the golden palace, a storm was raging.
Odin Allfather, ruler of the Nine Realms, stood in the middle of his private chambers, his fists clenched and his single eye blazing with fury. His voice, ancient and terrible, echoed down the marble corridors of the royal palace.
"THOR!"
The air trembled with the force of it. Servants scurried like frightened mice, unsure whether to run or bow. One particularly unfortunate attendant rushed into the chamber, half-panicked, robes flapping as he crossed the gold-engraved threshold.
"Sire!" the god said breathlessly, his head bowed so low his nose nearly brushed the floor.
Odin whirled on him, his cape sweeping behind like a violent wind.
"Where is Thor?" he roared.
The servant flinched. "My—my lord, I believe Prince Thor is... drinking with his companions. At the northern edge of the city."
Odin's nostrils flared. "Bring him. Now."
The servant didn't hesitate. He turned and ran, boots thundering down the long, gleaming hallway, chased by the echo of the Allfather's fury.
Left alone once more, Odin's gaze shifted.
He turned slowly toward the western wall of his chamber, where the tapestry hung—woven from golden threads, set within a shimmering, rune-carved frame. It was the Æsir Bloodline, the living family tree of the House of Borr.
The tapestry shimmered faintly with runic magic, the names shifting like starlight, always updating, always accurate. It had once begun with Búri, the first of their line, and traced through Borr, then to Odin himself.
It showed his children.
Thor Odinson—golden-haired warrior and heir to the throne.
Loki Laufeyson—foster son, adopted yet bound by blood through ancient oaths.
And Hela Odinsdottir—his firstborn, sealed away in Niflheim.
But it was not these names that drew Odin's eye now.
No.
His gaze was locked on a new thread. One that had not been there the day before.
From the name Thor Odinson, a line had branched downward. Connected to a name Odin did not recognize.
James Potter.
And below that, woven in silver and gold, bold and shimmering:
Harry Potter.
Odin's brow twitched. His frown deepened.
James Potter? The magic recognized him as one of the mortal parents... but the name—it was clearly masculine. Did Midgardians now name their daughters after their men?
"Impossible," Odin murmured.
The magic did not lie.
This was no false name. No trick of prophecy or illusion. This was blood. This was binding. The threads of lineage were immutable—woven by fate, sealed in divine truth.
Thor had fathered a son.
With a Midgardian.
Without Odin's knowledge.
His eye narrowed as he reached out, brushing the new name. Beneath each thread was more than a name—there was location, spiritual resonance, even traces of power. All family members were marked by the tree in real-time.
"Thor…" he whispered.
How? When? Why had Heimdall not reported this?
With a sudden motion, Odin waved his hand, summoning a floating projection from the tapestry. Threads of golden light twisted into a smaller orb, visualizing the realm connections.
He could see where every one of his bloodline resided.
Thor – Asgard.
Loki – Asgard.
Hela – Niflheim.
Harry – Midgard.
But there was no record of Thor leaving the realm.
No use of the Bifrost. No clearance from Heimdall.
Either the guardian of the rainbow bridge had kept secrets... or something far older, far darker, had enabled Thor to break through the veil and plant a seed upon Midgard.
Odin's voice was low and quiet now. Dangerous.
"Who are you, Harry Potter?"
And more importantly—
"What have you done, Thor?"
The Golden Hound, nestled near the edge of Asgard's merchant district, was Thor's favorite drinking hall—a massive, thunderous place lined with shields, spears, and banners won from a hundred skirmishes. Its rafters were hung with dragon-hide flags, and its stone floors were frequently stained with ale... or blood, depending on the night.
Laughter roared like battle drums as dozens of Asgardians celebrated their latest victory—mugs clanking, voices raised in song, and the occasional crash of fists meeting jaws. A bar brawl here wasn't just accepted; it was expected.
At the heart of the hall, seated on a bench wide enough for four men, sat Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, heir to the Nine Realms—and completely unaware that his father was preparing to unleash divine wrath upon him.
Ale sloshed over the rim of his massive tankard as he laughed heartily, regaling a crowd of warriors with a tale of battle and triumph.
"So there I was—surrounded!" Thor boomed, swinging his mug for emphasis. "A dozen filthy, armor-clad space pirates, all armed with plasma blasters and ugly tattoos!"
The Asgardians around him roared in approval.
"They had the gall—the gall!—to claim they'd hold the skies near Asgard hostage!" he said, leaning forward as if to whisper, though his voice was anything but quiet. "One of them had this ridiculous helmet shaped like a squid! A squid! I almost died laughing before I crushed it under my boot!"
More laughter. Someone shouted, "Tell them about the ship!"
Thor grinned, eyes shining with pride.
"Their flagship! Twice the size of the Bifrost chamber, armed with stolen Vanaheim cannons. I looked to Volstagg—who was already halfway through his second roasted boar—and said, 'Let's make them regret being born!'"
"AND WE DID!" roared Volstagg, raising his own tankard.
"There was fire, debris, a plasma explosion! Sif cut through their captain like a sword through mutton, and then—" Thor lifted Mjolnir from beside him and slammed it onto the table. The thunder crackled and the hall shook lightly, a flare of lightning dancing across the walls.
"—I called down the storm," he said, voice low now, dramatic. "And in one glorious strike, the heavens answered. Lightning tore the hull in two, and what was left of their fleet turned tail and ran."
The table erupted in cheers. Another mug of ale was passed to Thor, who drank deeply, foam coating his beard.
"TO THOR, SLAYER OF SPACE VERMIN!" shouted one warrior.
"TO THE STORM!" shouted another.
As the chants rose and the celebration surged, none of them noticed the thin, pale-faced attendant push through the crowd, his robes drenched from the spilled mead and his heart pounding with dread.
He reached Thor's table at last and bowed hastily.
"Prince Thor! The Allfather summons you—urgently!"
Thor, mid-drink, blinked over the rim of his mug. "Eh?"
"He... he shouted your name. Loudly. In the royal quarters. His wrath shook the palace, sire."
The thunder god froze.
A moment passed. Then two.
Mjolnir hummed faintly under his hand.
Thor slowly rose to his feet, the weight of centuries in his shoulders. The hall quieted slightly at the shift in mood.
"Do you have any idea why he is angry," Thor asked, his voice different now. Measured.
"I—I know not, my prince. Only that he was furious."
Thor exhaled slowly, placing Mjolnir back at his side. His stormy blue eyes darkened, and for a brief second, lightning flickered behind them.
"Then I suppose," he said grimly, "the truth has reached him."
The laughter had faded. The warriors watched in silence as Thor strode from the hall, cloak trailing behind him like a storm front moving in.
He knew what Odin had seen.
Loki rarely ventured to his father's chambers unless summoned. And even then, he preferred to send a well-crafted illusion in his place.
The Allfather's favoritism toward Thor was no secret—it was a blade that had cut at Loki since childhood. Every victory of his was met with doubt. Every failure of Thor's was brushed aside with laughter and pride. It had long since grown old.
But today?
Today was different.
Word of Odin's rage had spread like wildfire through the palace. Servants whispered in the halls, guards exchanged uneasy glances. And now Thor—golden-haired, ever-grinning, shield-bashing Thor—was on the receiving end of that divine wrath.
Loki wouldn't miss this for anything.
He strolled beside Thor with a glimmer in his eyes, long green robes trailing behind him, his steps graceful and unhurried. "It must be serious," he said lightly, "for Father to scream like that. I think I saw one of the maidens weep."
Thor ignored him, jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward. "This isn't a game, Loki."
"Oh, I know. That's what makes it so delightful."
The doors to the throne room stood wide open. As they approached, guards stepped aside quickly, as if the very air was tense with crackling energy. Thor passed through without hesitation, his boots echoing on the polished floor. Loki followed, hands tucked behind his back, like a scholar entering a lecture hall.
Odin was already there—standing at the foot of his throne, eye blazing, arms crossed over his chest. His presence filled the chamber like a thundercloud waiting to burst.
"I know you are angry, Father," Thor said immediately, slowing his pace as he stepped into the golden light of the throne room. "But I assure you, it was done for a good cause."
Odin blinked.
For a moment, the fury vanished behind sheer confusion.
"A good cause?" he repeated slowly.
Loki arched a brow and tilted his head in amusement.
"What... exactly," Odin said with strained calm, "do you believe I am angry about, Thor?"
Thor hesitated. "The ships."
"What ships?"
"The ones we took from the space pirates," Thor said, voice more confident now. "I sold them. I thought—since they were mine by right of conquest—it would be wise to use the coin to buy an establishment for the crew. A place of celebration. For future victories."
Loki coughed, clearly fighting a laugh. Odin, meanwhile, stared at Thor with disbelief.
"You—" Odin pinched the bridge of his nose. "You thought I summoned you here, in fury, over a drinking hall?"
Thor glanced to the side. "I did take three entire ships. And a portion of their vault."
Odin exhaled slowly, as if willing himself not to smite his son where he stood.
Loki smiled innocently. "Well, I must say, I am a bit offended you didn't name it after me."
Odin turned then, lifting his head with slow menace. The golden glow of the great tapestry shimmered behind him on the far wall, its runic threads alive and restless.
"Let us dispense with games," the Allfather said, his voice regaining the force of command. "Who is James Potter?"
Thor blinked. "Who?"
"Do not play the fool with me, boy!" Odin thundered. "Do you know a James Potter?"
"No," Thor said firmly. "The name means nothing to me. It sounds Midgardian."
"You are certain?"
Thor's gaze was steady. "I swear it."
Odin's eye narrowed.
"Then how," he said slowly, dangerously, "do you explain this?"
With a flick of his hand, the tapestry's threads twisted and shimmered, casting golden light across the hall. Lines unfurled in midair—ancestral links, bloodlines.
From Thor Odinson, a glowing line extended downward.
James Potter.
Harry Potter.
Thor stepped back, genuinely stunned. "That—this is some error. I have no son. I have no idea who James Potter is."
"The tapestry cannot lie," Odin said grimly. "Blood binds it. Magic older than any spellbook. It cannot be forged."
Loki now stepped forward, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, well," he murmured. "This is unexpected."
Thor turned to him. "You think this is funny?"
Loki's smirk faded. "Not funny. Intriguing. The tapestry only records truth. And you, dear brother, seem to have acquired a child without knowing it."
"That's impossible," Thor snapped. "I would know."
Suddenly, the golden doors of the throne room opened again with a faint hum.
Frigga, Queen of Asgard, entered with her usual composure, the quiet dignity of her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. Her emerald robes shimmered faintly under the soft light, and she carried no sense of urgency—only calm awareness.
"Oh, dear," she said as she descended the steps toward them. "Is this all because of the tapestry?"
All eyes turned toward her.
Odin's voice came sharp. "You knew?"
Thor looked confused. "Mother?"
Frigga stopped beside the throne, glancing once toward the golden wall where Harry Potter's name still glowed beneath Thor's.
"I did," she said simply. "Though I didn't expect it to appear. It never has before."
"What do you mean?" Odin's voice rumbled.
Frigga gestured to the tapestry. "This is not the first time the ritual was performed. The family behind this—Midgardians called the Blacks—were among our oldest and most loyal devotees. Long ago, they were entrusted with a sacred rite. An Asgardian adoption ritual. A binding spell capable of altering lineage."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "You mean to say they've used it before?"
"Yes," Frigga said. "Many times. The Blacks passed it down through generations. Whenever they feared one of their descendants was weak in magic, they would invoke the ritual and graft part of an Asgardian's essence into the child's bloodline. But the human body is not built for such power."
She looked back at the tapestry.
"Every prior child who received the ritual barely retained more than a fraction of divine energy. The result was insignificant—harmless, even. And because the bond was so thin, it never registered on the tapestry."
Thor stepped forward. "But this one did."
"Yes," Frigga said. "This child—Harry Potter—has integrated the essence of Asgardian blood far beyond anything previously recorded. The ritual succeeded at a level that has never occurred before. Somehow, he absorbed enough of your lineage to trigger the tapestry's divine recognition."
Odin's face darkened.
"That means this child is no longer just part mortal."
"He is your son," Frigga said, turning to Thor. "By magic and blood."
Thor stood silent, eyes locked on the tapestry. Harry Potter's name shimmered below his own, undeniably bound by the old threads of truth.
"I never met this James Potter," Thor said at last, voice low. "I never gave consent."
Frigga's tone remained neutral. "Consent was not part of the design. The ritual was built to reach through realms and connect to power. They chose you, and your essence responded."
Loki's expression twisted into curiosity. "So the magic bypassed your will entirely. How crude."
"Crude or not," Odin said coldly, "it worked. And now, for all the Realms, a mortal carries the blood of Thor Odinson. The boy is officially of Asgard."
"And by extension," Loki added with a sardonic smile, "our nephew."
Odin gave Thor a long, unreadable stare.
"This is not a personal matter anymore. The tapestry binds law and truth. Whatever this child is… his existence now concerns the throne of Asgard."
Thor did not answer.
He simply stood, eyes on the wall, where a name he had never known now declared itself his blood.
Harry Potter.
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