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Mischief's Child - Extra and Deleted Scenes

Chapter Text

Of all the places in the Nine Realms, it is surprising to learn that Loki had been spending his time in Midgard.

In truth, Odin was much more aware of Loki’s comings and goings than he let on. There was much that Huginn and Muninn saw. As such, Odin was not ignorant to Loki’s many schemes despite what his youngest son might have assumed. Yet, most of it was harmless enough that Odin had no reason to involve himself; even if he did not understand Loki’s need to risk his safety merely to have some secret revenge on a diplomat who had done something to offend. Odin reasoned that if he confronted Loki about his more questionable activities, his child was talented enough to find a way to hide himself from even Heimdall’s sight. Thus, so long as the peace of the Realms was not endangered, Odin was agreeable to allowing Loki his penchant for mischief.

But when the Allfather asks Heimdall to report on Loki’s activities on Midgard, the gatekeeper abashedly reports that his sight is somehow unable to pierce through the weavings Loki has made. The revelation that Loki has learned to hide his presence from Heimdall coupled with his frequent disappearances of late is troubling.         

Odin sends Huginn and Muninn under the cover of his strongest enhancements so that his spies may remain hidden from Loki’s sight.

The news they had brought back is quite unexpected. By his ravens’ account, Loki is visiting a mortal child. Odin’s first thought is that Loki has foolishly fallen in love with a mortal and gotten her with child, that didn’t quite make sense. Surely, he would have claimed the baby by now if that were the case. No child of the royal bloodline would be left on such a primitive planet to be raised by mortals. It was baffling.    

Still, Odin does not feel compelled to order Loki to cease as these acts do not violate his decree of non-interference and do not threaten war. The Allfather shakes his head. Huginn and Muninn have more important missions to attend. Besides, how much mischief could surround a Midgardian child?

Chapter Text

Harry’s never really thought much of music. The Durselys didn’t particularly like any kind of music. In the car, they listened to talk radio so they could complain about whatever was going wrong in the world. The music curriculum at his primary school might was practically nonexistent. When lessons on the subject were given about once a month, they were dull at best. How anyone could find learning about dead composers and then having to listen to music that said dead composers made even remotely useful for anything was baffling.

But when he hears Draco play the strange silver instrument, it feels like something inside Harry awakens. Harry had been curious to know what sound it made when he spotted it in Draco’s room – it looked like two horns fused together. He didn’t expect the sound to be so rich and vibrant. The melody Draco is playing is fast and exciting and his fingers seem almost a blur as they fly over the valves.  

It draws him in.

All of a sudden, bright green balls of lights appear and start floating about the room. Harry’s eyes want to track them all as they spin and dance along to the music. His heart starts to pound with excitement as the music gets even faster and more frantic. There are so many notes. It makes Harry think of galloping horses. And then his whole body remembers what it was like to race along the grounds of the Odinson Estate for the first time on a horse. Freedom, he realizes, the song is like the sound of freedom. That feeling that’s been growing inside him since coming to stay with the Odinsons. Harry feels like he’s about to burst as the song crescendos.

The song ends and Draco is winded from the effort of playing such a complex and fast-paced piece.

“Well? What did you think?” the blond boy asks him.

“Brilliant!” Harry says with a huge smile. “What is that instrument? What was that song?”

“The song is called The Elf King and this instrument is the horkenhorn!” Draco answers brightly. “It’s from, well, where my family is from. It’s very rare and hard to play.” his friend preens. Such boasting would have made Harry think bitterly of Dudley just a couple weeks ago, but he’s gotten to know Draco so much better since that day they first met at the robes shop. Unlike Dudley who was a brat about things he did nothing to earn, Draco was prideful about things with good reason. Harry had no doubt that the very complicated looking instrument was difficult to play and that Draco had probably practiced thousands of hours to become so skillful at it.

Harry’s grown to really appreciate Draco’s ostentatious demeanor and admire his friend’s boundless confidence. It makes him feel confident too.

Chapter Text



Hermione had no idea why she was being dragged up to North Tower -- more than halfway up the Divination Stairwell -- before the sun had even risen properly. The walk up the winding stairway was dizzying enough when she had her full faculties about her, this early in the morning it was almost dangerous.

“Ginny, I wish you’d given more of an explanation of what we’re doing so early in the morning on a day when we don’t even have classes,” Hermione grumbled in annoyance.

“I told you, Hermione! It’s a very important matter in pursuit of inter-house unity!” Ginny says cheerfully. Faint echoes of what sound like excitement fall from higher up in the tower and Hermione slows as she tries to make out what is being said. Ginny huffs and gives a light push from behind her, “We need to hurry though. We’re already late!”

“Late to what exactly?” Hermione asked, her irritation growing by the second at not knowing what was going on. Ginny wouldn’t even let her grab a cup of tea and she can’t imagine anything being so urgent.

“Well, it’s really just best if I simply show you. You’ll see!” Ginny teases in a sing-song voice.   

After several more minutes, they reach their destination near the top of the stairway where several girls from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw are already assembled. They are giggling uncontrollably as they pass around a pair of old spectacles and take turns looking out of a window. Ginny clears her throat loudly and is handed the enchanted object immediately.

She takes them in hand and looks back at Hermione, “It was my idea, so I get my turn as soon as I get here. Since it's your first time, you’ll be after me.” Ginny explains.

“I don’t understand. Turn for what?” Hermione demands, patience nearly run.

Ginny puts the old-fashioned looking pair of reading glasses on without acknowledging her and sighs, “Oh my, today is looking brighter already!” she says dreamily. Ginny’s wearing a manic grin that Hermione’s never seen on Ron’s little sister. It’s a bit unnerving. She’s still contemplating this and trying desperately to figure out what is going on when Ginny suddenly grabs Hermione's arm and pulls her over to stand closer in front of the window.

Wordlessly, Ginny passes the silver framed glasses to her. The expectant looks on the other girls’ faces give rise to a sense of suspicion as Hermione puts it on. Hermione assumes that it’s probably got some sort of magnification charm since whatever they are all gawking at is outside. The only thing that lies in that direction on the grounds is the Whomping Willow. Surely, nothing the tree is doing can be that exciting. Hermione blinks as her eyes refocus and then gasps in surprise at the sight suddenly before her.

Draco Odinson is dodging the branches of the Whomping Willow with breathtaking grace and a carefree smile on his face… He's sweaty and shirtless… lithe muscles gleaming in the early morning light.

Hermione’s brain stutters.

At any given moment, she is usually thinking about several things at once, so it’s quite the odd sensation to have all her thoughts abruptly stop.

“D-did you honestly… bring me all the way up here our classmates?” She manages to choke out, hoping that her offense at the situation is conveyed. Hermione can’t help her stutter, but not because of what she’s seeing. Of course not. She’s just so shocked that this group of girls is engaging in such appalling behavior.

“Not to oggle just any classmates!” Lavender Brown corrects. “To oggle Draco Odinson specifically.” A pause. “And sometimes Harry Potter.” she clarifies while wiggling her eyebrows shamelessly. At least that’s what Hermione imagines she’s doing because she’s heard Lavender use that tone of voice before and the girl has a habit of wiggling her eyebrows when talking about boys.

“This... this is indecent!” Hermione cries. Ginny mumbles something to the effect that no matter how offended Hermione might sound, she’s not doing anything to take off the glasses. Hermione nearly rolls her eyes at that because Draco is leaping about and someone with sense should be watching to make sure he doesn't hurt himself. No matter how stunningly he moves, it's still a dangerous situation. Honestly, she’s just trying to watch out for her friend. 

“Those muscles are what’s indecent!” Susan Bones exclaims lasciviously and the group of girls erupts into giggles. “This is even better than watching Cedric Diggory’s quidditch practices last year!”

“How a pair of fourth-year boys can be so bloody fit is beyond explanation.” Angelina Johnson remarks.

“Draco always wakes up before dawn and needs to run around.” Luna Lovegood’s calm and disaffected voice explains, a contrast to all the tittering. “He's been doing this sort of thing since he was a child.”

“Has Draco got his shirt off already? Ooohh, let me have a look next!” Padma Patil pleads.

“Your behavior is appalling!” Hermione chastises, her fingers coming up to grip the hinges on either side of the enchanted spectacles in anticipation of Padma’s grabby hands. Really, she’s simply trying to protect them all. Hermione is not taking any pleasure in watching a shirtless Draco stretch his unusually defined arms across his startlingly chiseled chest. Hermione is in no way distracted by the definition of his stomach or the way his pants loosely hang, showing off a fascinating jutting of his hipbones. Any minute now she’ll think of some argument to appeal to the girls’ sensibilities. Absently, she notes that she's never seen Draco wear his hair in a high tail like that. Usually, it's tied neatly at the nape of his neck. It's rather wild looking this way. Rather appealing really... Hermione’s treacherous thoughts start before she can reign them in.

“Did I miss much?” a new voice asks. Hermione freezes as she recognizes it as belonging to the most vicious girl in their year.

“Is that… Pansy Parkinson?! What is she doing here?” Hermione asks in shock but does not turn around. She trusts that the other girls would keep her from getting hexed while her back is turned. And she can’t quite look away yet -- Harry has just run up to Draco, looking to be out of breath so she should probably keep looking to make sure he’s okay. Not at all because he might be taking off his shirt too.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I’d pegged you as too much of a prude to partake in these kinds of festivities.” Parkinson answers smugly. “Besides, even if they are your friends, those are my housemates who are on offer for entertainment. It’s my duty as a fellow Slytherin to monitor the situation. Very closely.”

“I brought her,” Ginny responds in answer to Pansy’s question. “Although, maybe I shouldn’t have seeing as she doesn’t seem keen on passing along the spectacles.”

“Always the quiet ones.” Pansy remarks.

Chapter Text


“Your plan was for us to be outnumbered and outmatched?” Blaise sneers skeptically. “Had I known, I would never have agreed to accompany you. I hate being on the losing side.”

Odinson had dragged them all to the quidditch pitch during the first Slytherin Team practice with the promise of gaining the opportunity to try out for the team this year. It wasn’t as if Blaise had any desperate desire to be on the team, however, second years were hardly ever considered to make the teams and so Blaise was intrigued. He had come to appreciate that Odinson had a mind for strategy during their first year and was curious as to how he would try to convince Marcus Flint -- who was single-minded in his strategy of brawn over brains -- that second years could be of any value to the team.

Blaise was absolutely mortified when Odinson boldly declared that the Slytherin Team (which had won the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup for the last 3 years) was weak because they relied too much on brute strength and had no actual skill. He knew exactly how to provoke Flynt in order to get the Captain to agree to this ridiculous farce of a match, goading him into accepting the challenge of 4 second years who were tiny in comparison to the regular 7-person Slytherin Team lineup.  

“Nevermind losing. We’re going to wind up in the infirmary because of Odinson’s hubris.” The fourth member of their ad hoc team growls. Millicent Bulstrode was perhaps the closest in size to the sixth and seventh years whom they were matched up against. If she was thinking along those lines, then they were all truly doomed. Blaise was ready to laugh it all off as some kind of prank to try and get out of this mess when Odinson grabbed his arm and hauled him in for a huddle.

“We are not going to lose this battle!” Odinson exclaims and then starts laying out his plan. “I’ll play goalie and striker, Harry will play chaser and seeker, Zabini will be the 3rd chaser, and Mils will be the other striker. Zabini, all you have to do is avoid their smashers and pass the skyball to Harry on occasion.” Blaise relaxes slightly at hearing his role in this insanity explained and knows exactly what Odinson wants him to do -- Blaise will be spending the game dodging bludgers and looking helpless so that no one will expect the quaffle to be passed to him.

Blaise looks at Odinson and makes a show of frowning disapprovingly at his use of American terms. Honestly, he doesn’t even like quidditch that much but he finds the foreign terminology incredibly irritating. He can’t imagine what the quidditch fanatics make of it. No doubt, that is half the reason why Odinson uses it.

“Oh, and be yourself. Loudly.” Odinson adds and gives him a pat on the shoulder.

Ah, so Blaise is expected to complain loudly and be a distraction as well then. I can channel Mother easily enough for that role, he thinks. In fact, it might prove quite therapeutic.

“Harry, you’re going to be focusing on scoring while keeping an eye out for the snitch. Flint will try to block you, but I’ll be hitting the smashers your way to try and provide cover and clear the way for you. They won’t expect that and will think I’ve got terrible aim. Make a big fuss about it so that we--”

“Make them think we’re fighting each other.” Potter finishes Odinson’s thought. “Perpetuate the illusion of weakness,” the green-eyed boy says with a knowing smirk. Blaise has to grudgingly admit that so far everything Odinson has said sounds like the makings of a decent plan. He’s never seen anyone better on a broom than Potter and he’ll be faster and more maneuverable than the older boys they’ll be up against.

“Mils, you’re at least as strong as I am and they won’t be expecting a girl to hit the smashers so hard.” He pauses to give her an apologetic look. Bulstrode’s expression remains fixed in its perpetual grimace, but she nods in agreement. “They will underestimate you, so you’ll be able to get in close. Focus on upsetting their goalie. Bletchley is their weakest player.” Bulstrode grunts approvingly.

“They’ll underestimate us all and we’ll win .” Odinson finishes explaining and gives them all a fierce grin which is all teeth. It reminds him of the night they first met. Blaise still doesn’t know what Odinson had meant by his offer of “true friendship” but he knows that Odinson routinely defies logic.

Odinson and Potter had turned Slytherin House on its head last year. Blaise had heard that Odinson actually made one of the dungeon portraits faint with his outrageous ideas. And the things Potter would try in Potions. Beyond mad. More than a few in their House complained that the two had been mis-Sorted and that their recklessness was more suited for Gryffindor. But Blaise knew that Odinson and Potter simply reveled in taking calculated risks. The bigger the risk, the more potential for reward , Odinson had said. The duo had lost their House almost as many points as they won. He was constantly torn between praising them and wanting to strangle them. Most of all, it had frustrated Blaise to feel like he was always one step behind them.  

But now, here he was... right alongside them in one of Odinson’s mad plans.

Blaise is suddenly struck with the realization that he could be part of the story that would be told instead of just someone who hears it after the fact.

Against all his better instincts telling him to run, there’s something in him that wants to be part of this scheme that seems in equal parts likely to get them grievously injured or be envied by everyone in their year.

Blaise suddenly bursts into a fit of laughter he can’t control. He thinks distantly that this must be why Odinson is constantly laughing -- it’s the only proper response to such lunacy. He takes a deep breath to try and regain his composure and puts a shaking hand over his face. His heart is beating so frantically that it feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest.

“Bloody hell . Fine. I can’t believe I’m going along with this. I’ve finally lost my mind.” he manages to say. Blaise’s hand slides away from his face, but he can’t quite open his eyes to the reality of the situation quite yet. He’s never willingly agreed to be a part of something with such terrible odds before and a large part of him still wants to run.

He feels a cool hand on the back of his neck and his eyes snap open. Odinson is doing that thing he’s seen him do with Potter and looking into Blaise’s eyes with such intensity that he almost takes a step back.

Blaise .” Odinson says and he startles. It’s the first time Odinson has ever called him by his first name. “Thank you for standing with us.” He feels himself smile in response to the other boy’s words despite the panic in his veins.

Odinson turns to Bulstrode and says “Thank you for lending your strength to this battle!” She rolls her eyes, but her eternal scowl has softened somewhat.

Potter speaks before Draco can address him next, “No need to say anything, Draco. We’re shield-brothers.”  

“Aye. Come on then, glorious battle awaits us!” Odinson declares boisterously.

“Heimdall, this will be brilliant!” Potter exclaims with glee.

Once they take their positions in the air, Blaise makes his final request: “If I die, please tell my Mother that I died beautifully.”



Chapter Text



Helga Hufflepuff was magnificent.

Loki had been stunned the first time he saw her and thought for a moment that he had met another traveler from Asgard. With beauty equal to any Aesir maiden, she stood a head taller than her companions and carried herself with the confidence of a warrior. Yet, she was also strangely exotic. Instead of pure gold, Helga’s hair was reddish blonde. Her sharp eyes were a pale blue that was several shades lighter than he was used to seeing. The light dusting of freckles on her cheeks was fascinating after being so accustomed to the blank skin of the Aesir.

Loki loves sparring with Helga. He’s engaged in contests of pure hand-to-hand strength, he’s tested his séðir against other sorcerers, and he’s matched his daggers against all manner of weapons in the training yard. But he’s never had anyone who wanted to use all these skills together in a practice bout. Helga fought with ruthless precision and grace, wielding a spear she had engraved with runes of all manner to give her an edge in battle. He was particularly impressed by the runes which obscured the length of the spear. It made it so that Loki was nicked even when it appeared that he would narrowly avoid the blow. The first time it happened he had been shocked as such an illusion on Asgard would be called cowardly. As soon as he realized what she had done he laughed so hard and so long that they had to stop their spar.

He takes to calling her his victorious one - Sigyn, in the tongue of her ancestors

Loki could sometimes forget that he was on Midgard when they would drink into the night with Helga. She ate heartily and sang songs of battle with him. Her protectiveness over those she called hers was ferocious and knew no limits. Loki felt as if she was the very embodiment of a spirit of loyalty. It was jarring whenever he would realize that he wasn’t actually back home in the company of some fierce shield maiden with pale blue eyes. Helga wouldn’t be out of place at all in the Golden Halls of Asgard.    

He gives her a golden cup from Asgard and it looks perfectly natural in her hands.

The softness in her eyes as she teaches her students takes his breath away sometimes. Helga is complex and filled with contradictions. A warrior so devastating in battle and yet so unfathomably kind. She had a strength of spirit that made Loki feel wanting yet made him feel accepted.  

He writes a poem that he never shows her.     


He’s grown surprisingly fond of the mortals he’s met during his time on Midgard. The incredible pace at which they changed and the ease with which they embraced new ideas was so alien. The people of Asgard were comfortable and resistant to anything that would upset the way things had always been done. It was why Loki’s tendency for mischief was so disdained; because chaos in a realm eternal was an anathema. His time among them has had an unexpected impact on him and a strange understanding of these short-lived mortals. Truly, he would have scoffed at the idea not too long ago. What would be the point of befriending one of a race so short lived? Loki did not expect to find friendship here. But most of all, Loki did not expect the beginnings of something that he dares not name.


After nearly 2 Midgardian years, he knew that the time to indulge his curiosity about this realm was soon coming to an end. Loki had other places to see and experience in the window of time he’d been granted for his studies outside of Asgard. He’d yet to visit the libraries of Alfheim, or learn from the scholars in Xandaror, or have a drink in Knowhere. Loki was still fairly young, only about 100 years old by Midgardian measure and thus barely past adolescence for an Aesir. And Helga, at 23 years of age, was relatively older than he in a strange sort of way.   

He would take his leave and his Midgardian friends’ lives would continue on at that rapid, fleeting pace that afflicted them. Just as the Aesir were longer lived than most, the mortals of Midgard were shorter lived than most. Even if he did promise to come back, their lifetimes would pass in what seemed like a blink of an eye for him.


”You will not return to us,” Hegla says, eyes full of sadness and understanding when Loki’s day of departure arrives.

“I know not where my journeys will take me,” Loki’s voice catches in his throat as he tries to get the words out and is startled by it. “I will not make any oaths I cannot keep. But I…” He falters.

He wants. He dreams. He dares.

Loki kisses Helga on the forehead and says his farewell to someone who will always hold a piece of his heart. “I know we meet again, my victorious one. I’ll find you in your dreams. I’ll search for you in the next world if I must.”

The breeze carries the whisper of the final words Helga says to him, “In Valhalla, then.”   


One of his poems make it into the pages of the Konungsbók and Loki knows that a part of his victorious one will live on with him forever in tales of Loki and Sigyn.