2 Chapter 2: Bifrost!?

What would lure a bloody six-year-old into doing his bidding?! Candy?! Loki himself had not been a child for centuries upon centuries, so he didn't have much recollection of his own childhood other than sadness at never being good enough to make his father proud.

On that note, he had noticed that there were many similarities between him and the boy, Harry, whose name he had only learnt when the boy's guardians had finally decided to call him something over than "boy."

They were both orphans, though the circumstances were slightly different, Loki having killed his biological father whilst Harry's had been murdered, or at least that's what he assumed from the flashes of green light that plagued the boy's dreams.

Those flashes were easily recognisable as those of the Killing Curse, which Loki was quite impressed the humans had managed to learn.

Perhaps not all humans were hairless apes, just the vast majority.

They had also both been adopted by people who cared more for their other child, though the Dursleys were slightly more blatant in showing this, what with their locking in a cupboard, rather than just disapprovingly glaring at him with one eye.

Both of them were outcasts.

All of these combined with their slightly similar appearance would probably make it easier for Loki to manipulate Harry into seeing him as a father or elder brother figure.

If he had been in his physical form, Loki would have frowned. What exactly was his objective anyway? To return to Asgard? World domination? To rule Asgard? Universal domination?

For now, he would just have to wait for the boy to grow more powerful, an easier task than he had first expected. Loki could already feel his soul having an extremely slight impact upon the boy, his personality and physiology alike.

He supposed that one day, with a bit of influence from him, Harry would be completely Asgardian, or–gods forbid–Jotun instead of human.

This was if Loki's soul continued to change and warp him for years, and Loki hoped it would have a similar effect upon his personality. It wouldn't do to share a body with someone squeamish about killing.

He supposed he would have to start changing the boy at an early age, just as soon as he had enough power to actually talk to him.

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Harry let out a growl of annoyance as a yell filtered through his cupboard door, awakening him from a sleep for once uninterrupted by nightmares.

Nevertheless, he still opened the door of his cupboard and moved towards the kitchen, preparing to cook breakfast for his relatives.

He despised them, but what else could he really do? From what they had told him, this was better than an orphanage, but then again, they could be lying.

Still, he was fairly sure that if anyone found him they would just call the police and send him back here. That would only make Vernon even more angry than usual, and that was not a situation Harry wanted to be in.

School was the only way to get away from Vernon and Petunia, and even there they would know everything he did, and Dudley made sure to always impart their wrath upon him for when they couldn't.

Finishing his breakfast, Harry sighed as he made his way towards the garden, preparing to begin a weekend of chores.

"I guess I'll be here forever," he murmured as he exited the backdoor.

"Or perhaps not, Harry," an unfamiliar voice said in response and he shot around, looking for the source.

He was greeted by the sight of a tall, slim, and undeniably handsome man with black hair and green eyes slightly similar to his own.

What drew his attention, however, was not the man's face. It was his rather odd choice in clothing. He appeared to be wearing golden armour with a flowing green cape.

Being a six-year-old, Harry blurted out the first question to come to mind. "Are you my dad?"

For a moment, the man looked stunned, but then his expression transitioned into annoyance. "No! What would prompt you to think that?!" the man asked incredulously, any traces of his previous coolness gone.

Harry frowned. "Well, we look kind of similar, and the Dursleys always said my parents were weird..."

"Weird?!" the man demanded. "I am not weird!"

"Well," Harry sniggered. "You're wearing a cape..."

The man looked appalled to the point where Harry had to stop himself from bursting out laughing. "This is no mere cape; it is the pinnacle of Asgardian finery!"

Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Pinnacle? Asgardian?"

As if he was going to explain, the man opened his mouth before abruptly closing it again and sighing. "Your education can come later, for now, I must explain more crucial matters to you." He paused dramatically. "I am Loki Odinson, god of mischief, among other things."

Whilst there were other titles the mortals had bestowed upon him, he didn't exactly know which ones were correct, and were from actual oracles rather than false ones.

He had thought the mortals to be wrong about everything, but with his recent realisation that he was, in fact, a son of Laufey and that they had known this millennia before he himself had, he didn't know what to think anymore.

Harry blinked. "A god? Then why are you here?"

Loki had been expecting slightly more surprise than that, but decided to go with it anyway. "To be perfectly honest, I fell from the Bifrost—"

"Bifrost?" Harry interrupted.

Loki sighed again; explaining things to this boy was already annoying him. "A big rainbow bridge," he simplified. "Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted"–he looked pointedly at Harry–"I fell from the Bifrost and found myself stripped of my physical form. As a spirit, I, of course, needed a host if I sought to remain tethered to the physical world. Luckily for me, I happened to find a mortal with a spirit – one weaker than me – inhabiting their head. You."