The tension in the chamber was thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Loki stood at the center, his emerald-green cape draping elegantly over his shoulders, the golden accents of his armor glinting under the enchanted candlelight. His piercing gaze swept over the assembled group—Dumbledore, the other headmasters, Ludo Bagman, the Aurors, and the Asgardian contingent. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something far more calculating.
Dumbledore, his twinkling blue eyes tempered by a hard edge of wisdom, clasped his hands together, leaning slightly on his staff as he regarded the Trickster God. "Prince Loki," he said, his voice calm but firm, "what have you discovered?"
Loki turned his head slowly, as if savoring the moment before delivering his response. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, deliberate, laced with an undeniable authority. "Dumbledore," he drawled, "what I have uncovered is knowledge meant solely for Asgardian ears."
A ripple of discomfort spread through the room at his cryptic reply. The gathered officials exchanged uneasy glances, some bristling at the exclusion, while others—particularly the Aurors—narrowed their eyes in suspicion. Even Ludo Bagman, ever the eager opportunist, shuffled awkwardly.
Dumbledore's brows lifted slightly, but his expression remained composed, a picture of patience honed over a century of dealing with enigmatic beings. "I see," he murmured, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "A revelation of such weight that even an old headmaster must be kept in the dark?"
Loki's lips quirked at that, the barest hint of amusement flickering across his sharp features. "Oh, Dumbledore," he mused, "if you knew the things that lurked just beyond your perception, you might reconsider that ever-present twinkle in your eye." He paused, letting the words settle like a heavy fog before smoothly pivoting the conversation. "For now, there is something more immediate that requires our attention."
Turning his gaze to Haraldr, Loki's expression softened, though it did not lose its intensity. "Haraldr," he said, his voice shifting to something almost brotherly, "take your friends and the other champions back to the room where you were first gathered. Use the time wisely—get to know each other." His eyes flicked to Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric, assessing them briefly before returning to Haraldr. "You will soon be facing each other in the tournament, but that does not mean you must be strangers."
Haraldr met Loki's gaze and gave a small nod, understanding that there was more to this than simple camaraderie. "Understood," he said, his tone firm yet respectful.
Loki inclined his head approvingly. "Good. The headmasters and I will join you shortly to discuss the details of the first task, the dueling competitions, and the Quidditch matches."
A murmur of interest ran through the room at that—Quidditch was an unexpected addition, and even those who had been on edge found themselves momentarily distracted by the intrigue of the upcoming events.
Haraldr turned to his friends, as well as the other champions. "Come on," he said, ushering them toward the door. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at Loki and Dumbledore before stepping out, leaving the air behind him thick with anticipation.
As the doors closed behind them, Loki turned back to the room, his playful smirk making a brief return. "Now," he said, clasping his hands together, "shall we discuss the true nature of the storm that is brewing?"
—
The waiting room was spacious, lit by floating candles that hovered overhead, casting soft golden light over the assembled champions and their companions. A thick silence settled over them, thick with anticipation and unspoken thoughts. Some watched one another with curiosity, others with wariness.
Haraldr stepped forward, breaking the silence with a warm smile. His emerald-green eyes flickered with an easy confidence as he extended a hand to the nearest champion. "I'm Haraldr," he said, his voice rich and steady. "Since we'll be competing together, we might as well get to know each other."
A strong, calloused hand clasped his. Viktor Krum's grip was firm, his dark eyes studying Haraldr carefully. "Viktor Krum," he said in his deep, heavily accented voice. "I play Quidditch for Bulgaria." His tone was blunt but not unfriendly.
Haraldr grinned. "Nice to meet you, Viktor. Your flying skills must be legendary if you represent your country at such a young age."
Viktor gave a small nod of acknowledgment, but the barest ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.
A soft, melodic voice cut in next. "I am Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons," the blonde Veela-witch said, stepping forward. Her silvery hair shimmered as she moved, and her piercing blue eyes studied Haraldr with quiet interest. "Eet is a pleasure to meet you all."
Haraldr inclined his head slightly. "The pleasure is mine."
The last of the champions stepped forward. Cedric Diggory, tall and broad-shouldered, smiled as he extended his hand. "Cedric Diggory," he said in a smooth, confident voice. "Hufflepuff. It's good to finally meet the champion of Asgard."
Haraldr shook his hand, nodding. "Likewise, Cedric. I've heard great things about you."
Cedric chuckled. "Hopefully, they're all good."
Haraldr turned to the rest of the group. "And these are my friends—" He gestured around as he introduced them. "Susan, Neville, Hannah, Draco, Luna, Leif, Astrid, Bjorn, Sigrun, Viggo, Skadi, and Tonks."
Susan Bones stepped forward with an easy smile, her red hair catching the light. Her blue eyes sparkled with warmth as she greeted each champion in turn. "It's great to meet all of you. I've always believed competition is more than just winning—it's about respect and testing our limits." There was a quiet confidence in her tone, her presence commanding attention even as she spoke with effortless kindness.
"Bit sappy, don't you think?" Draco Malfoy smirked, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp features and platinum-blond hair made him look every bit the aristocrat he was. But there was a glint of amusement in his silver eyes.
Susan shot him a sideways look. "Shut up, Malfoy."
Draco just smirked wider.
Luna Lovegood stepped forward next, her wide, dreamy blue eyes gazing at Fleur with fascination. "You have a very bright aura," she said in a soft, melodic voice. "Like moonlight on water."
Fleur blinked, tilting her head. "Zat is… an interesting observation."
Luna smiled serenely. "Thank you. I like to think I have an eye for these things."
Hannah Abbott, soft-spoken yet determined, gave a friendly wave. "I can already tell this is going to be an intense competition," she said. "But I hope we can all enjoy it too."
Neville Longbottom, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. What she said," he added, looking slightly nervous but managing a small smile.
Tonks, with her shoulder-length bubblegum-pink hair, rolled her eyes playfully. "Come on, Longbottom, you don't have to sound like you're giving a public speech."
Neville flushed. "Right, sorry."
Viggo, towering and broad-shouldered, leaned toward Viktor. "What do you think the dueling competition will be like?" he asked, his deep voice calm but eager. "I've read about wizard duels, but I've never seen one up close."
Viktor shrugged, his dark eyes sharp. "Dey can be intense," he said, his Bulgarian accent thick. "You need to be qvick vith your spells and alvays aware of your opponent's movements."
Astrid, her long golden hair braided over one shoulder, smirked. "Sounds like my kind of challenge."
Bjorn, his red hair wild and untamed, chuckled. "If only we could use axes instead of wands."
Sigrun rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Yes, because the best way to impress a wizarding crowd is to start swinging a battle-axe like a barbarian."
Bjorn just grinned.
Cedric turned back to Haraldr. "So, how have you been preparing for the tournament?"
Haraldr shrugged. "Bit of everything—spellwork, physical training, mental exercises. I imagine we'll need all of it."
Cedric nodded approvingly. "Same here. I've been focusing on endurance and spell versatility. The tasks are bound to be unpredictable."
Susan, still standing close, joined the conversation. "It's going to be an interesting competition with so many different elements. I can't wait to see what the first task is."
Fleur, overhearing, nodded. "Oui, ze anticipation is ze worst part. Once we know what we are facing, we can focus on our strengths."
Luna, still watching Fleur with a curious expression, added, "You should be careful around salamanders. They might mistake you for one of their own."
Fleur stared. "Pardon?"
Luna just smiled dreamily.
As the conversations continued, the room gradually shifted from quiet tension to easy camaraderie. Laughter broke through the initial awkwardness, and even Draco and Viktor exchanged a few thoughts on Quidditch tactics. Fleur and Luna, despite their vastly different personalities, found themselves bonding over magical creatures, while the Asgardians shared tales of their homeland's legendary warriors.
The competition was still ahead of them, but for now, they were simply young witches and wizards, sharing stories and learning about one another. The tournament would test their skills and push them to their limits—but perhaps, just perhaps, it would also forge unexpected friendships.
—
The waiting room fell into a hush as the heavy wooden doors swung open. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the polished stone floor as the headmasters entered, their robes billowing with the movement.
Dumbledore led the group, his keen blue eyes twinkling with the weight of centuries, yet his face was lined with quiet solemnity. Following him was Igor Karkaroff, his long, silver-streaked beard immaculately groomed, sharp features carrying a mixture of arrogance and barely concealed impatience. Beside him, Madame Olympe Maxime, towering and regal, her dark eyes watchful, moved with effortless grace.
And then there was Loki.
Draped in green and gold, Asgard's trickster god strode in with the confidence of a man who knew he owned the room. His emerald gaze swept over the gathered champions, his lips curling into the barest hint of amusement, as though he already knew how this tournament would unfold—but wouldn't spoil the fun.
As they took their places at the front of the room, Loki's voice, smooth as silk and just as dangerous, broke the silence.
"Champions," he said, his tone carrying a lilt of mischief, "the time has come to reveal the nature of your first challenge." He let the words linger for a moment, his gaze sharp, as if testing their resolve. "This task is designed not only to test your magical prowess but also your courage and resourcefulness."
The champions sat up straighter, their focus sharpening.
"The first task will take place on November 24th," Loki continued, pacing slowly. "Until then, you will have only your wits and instincts to prepare. You will not know the exact details of the challenge until the moment you face it." His smirk widened. "Consider it… a lesson in adaptability."
At this, Karkaroff let out a short, derisive snort. "More riddles," he muttered under his breath, his thick Eastern European accent laced with irritation. "This is a tournament, not a theater production."
Loki merely quirked a brow. "And yet, Igor, isn't all great competition a form of spectacle?"
Karkaroff scowled but said nothing.
Dumbledore stepped forward then, his long fingers clasped together as he surveyed the champions with a gentler, yet no less formidable, presence. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of authority.
"Beyond the first task," he said, "there will be additional challenges—dueling competitions and Quidditch matches, designed to test not only individual skill but teamwork and strategy." His gaze softened slightly as he looked over the young witches and wizards. "The Triwizard Tournament has always been a measure of skill, bravery, and character. It is not only about winning but about proving to yourselves what you are truly capable of."
A murmur rippled through the room as the champions absorbed the information.
Madame Maxime gave a nod of agreement, her French accent thick as she added, "Zis is not merely a contest of strength. You will need intelligence, adaptability, and endurance." She lifted her chin slightly, her dark curls swaying. "And, of course, a bit of style nevair 'urts, non?"
Fleur, standing with arms crossed, smirked at that. "Bien sûr."
Karkaroff waved a dismissive hand, his lips curling. "You speak of teamwork and sportsmanship, but make no mistake—there will be a victor." His cold eyes flickered toward Viktor, his favored champion. "And Durmstrang has been preparing for victory from the moment we arrived."
Susan Bones scoffed under her breath, folding her arms. "Oh yes, because being a sore winner is such a great look."
Eirlys Potter—Lily reborn, now known by the name she had taken in this life—chuckled softly from where she stood near Haraldr. The firelight reflected off her auburn hair, her sharp green eyes glinting with amusement. "Sounds like someone's already measuring for a crown," she murmured, voice laced with both mirth and warning.
Karkaroff's gaze snapped to her, and for a brief moment, his features tightened as if he recognized something in her—but he dismissed it just as quickly.
Loki, watching the interplay, laughed quietly. "Oh, I do love when mortals get competitive." He turned back to the champions, his expression once again unreadable. "You have your timeline, your additional competitions, and your warnings. Now, it is up to you to prove whether you are truly worthy of the title of champion."
Dumbledore gave a final nod. "We wish you all the best of luck."
The room remained silent as the weight of the tournament settled on them. The first challenge loomed, unknown yet inevitable.
One by one, the champions met each other's eyes.
There would be rivalries.
There would be friendships.
There would be battles fought not just with magic, but with wit, willpower, and determination.
And soon—very soon—they would all learn what it truly meant to be a champion.
—
As the heavy doors creaked shut behind the last departing champion, the room fell into a quiet stillness. Only the Asgardian contingent remained, standing before Loki, who exuded an air of effortless command. His sharp emerald eyes flickered over his students, reading their expressions as easily as if they were pages in an open book—excitement, determination, and a touch of curiosity.
The candlelight danced across his sharp features as he clasped his hands behind his back, his rich green robes trailing like a shadow. "My dear students," he began, his voice a measured blend of authority and warmth, "for the duration of this tournament, we will be residing here at Hogwarts. Temporary quarters have been arranged for you within the castle itself."
There was a ripple of excitement through the group.
Haraldr's eyes brightened at the prospect, and beside him, Astrid—her golden hair catching the light—exchanged a quick glance with Skadi, whose piercing blue eyes shone with intrigue. Viggo crossed his arms, his muscular frame radiating quiet confidence, while Leif and Bjorn smirked at each other like two warriors already plotting their next adventure.
Sigrun, with her fiery red hair cascading over one shoulder, leaned slightly toward Haraldr. "Do you think they'll give us rooms with views of the Forbidden Forest?" she murmured, a playful edge to her voice.
"If they know what's good for them," Haraldr replied with an easy grin.
Loki arched a brow, amused. "I will make arrangements befitting Asgardian royalty soon enough," he assured them. Then his tone softened, carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom. "Until then, make the most of this opportunity. Mingle with your peers. Learn from them. This is more than a competition—it is a chance to expand your understanding of magic beyond the borders of Asgard."
There was a moment of thoughtful silence before Susan Bones, her fiery red hair a stark contrast to her Hufflepuff robes, tilted her head. "So you actually want us to make friends with each other," she mused, her voice carrying that mix of skepticism and openness that made her uniquely Susan.
Luna Lovegood, who had been absently twirling a strand of her long, honey-colored hair, blinked dreamily. "Oh, that makes sense. The best alliances are often formed in unexpected places. Did you know Nargles only infest mistletoe because they're lonely?"
Draco Malfoy, leaning lazily against a pillar with his arms crossed, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Please tell me we're not expected to take life lessons from mistletoe parasites." His steel-gray eyes flickered with faint amusement, though he tried to mask it under his usual cool demeanor.
Hannah Abbott, always the peacemaker, shot Draco a look before turning back to Luna with a small smile. "I think what Luna means is that forming bonds now could help later in the tournament. Right?"
Neville Longbottom, standing a little straighter than he once did in years past, nodded. "Yeah. Even if we're competitors, we can still learn from each other."
Tonks, her bubblegum-pink hair shifting to a playful lavender, threw an arm around Susan's shoulders. "See, now that's the kind of thinking I like. We don't have to hex each other to win—well, not unless things get really interesting." Her mischievous grin widened.
Viggo chuckled, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. "A warrior must always be prepared, even in friendly competition."
Leif clapped a hand on Bjorn's shoulder, the two of them grinning like battle-hungry Vikings. "And we are always prepared," Leif said.
Bjorn's red beard twitched as he smirked. "Speak for yourself—I just want to see how many wizards I can outdrink."
Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Let's try not to embarrass Asgard within the first week, shall we?"
Loki watched them with the fond exasperation of a father who knew his children were capable of both greatness and disaster. He let them banter a moment longer before raising a single hand.
"Remember this," he said, his voice soft yet commanding enough to draw them all back to attention. "Strength is not measured by how many foes you defeat, but by how well you adapt to the unknown. This place is a crucible, and you will be tested—not just by the tasks, but by the people you meet. Do not squander this chance."
Haraldr nodded, his expression earnest. "We won't, Uncle Loki. We'll represent Asgard with honor."
Loki's gaze held his for a long moment before he gave a small, approving nod. "Good." He gestured toward the doors. "Now go—embrace this opportunity to build friendships and alliances."
As they turned to leave, the energy in the room had shifted. The excitement remained, but now it was tempered with purpose.
Haraldr, Astrid, Skadi, and the rest of their Asgardian companions stepped forward into Hogwarts, knowing that this was more than a mere tournament.
It was the beginning of something far greater.
—
The Gathering Storm
As the heavy doors groaned shut behind Haraldr and his fellow students, silence settled over the chamber like an oppressive mist. Loki's sharp emerald gaze shifted to the assembled Asgardian adults, his expression betraying none of the tempest raging beneath his composed exterior. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured yet unyielding, each word precise, each syllable laced with gravity.
"I have confirmed," Loki began, allowing the weight of his next words to settle over them, "that Haraldr's name emerging from the Goblet of Fire was orchestrated by Voldemort himself."
The air grew thick with unspoken tension. Thor's jaw clenched visibly, his fists curling at his sides, while Eirlys—her auburn hair ablaze in the dim candlelight—exchanged a wary glance with James. Amelia Bones exhaled sharply, her striking features tightening with controlled fury.
Bellatrix, standing like a statue carved from obsidian, narrowed her piercing green eyes, her expression a storm of barely contained violence. "So the Dark Lord plays his games again," she murmured, voice edged with something lethal. Beside her, Narcissa remained eerily still, though a glimmer of ice-cold calculation flickered across her face.
Sirius Black—leaning casually against the nearest pillar, arms crossed, his dark, windswept hair casting shadows over his sharp features—let out a mirthless chuckle. "Well, isn't that just fantastic?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his stormy eyes burned with barely restrained anger. "First, we deal with Azkaban's finest making themselves at home here, and now Voldemort's got his fingers in this tournament? Anyone else feeling nostalgic, or is it just me?"
Remus Lupin, standing just to his right, ran a hand through his tousled brown curls, his keen, weary eyes betraying the full weight of his thoughts. "It's more than a game," he said quietly, voice calm but firm. "If Voldemort went through the trouble of forcing Haraldr's name into the Goblet, it means this tournament is just the opening move. There's a bigger plan in motion."
Hagrid, looming over them all like an ancient sentinel, let out a low, thunderous growl. His great hands curled into fists, and his thick brows furrowed. "That snake-faced bastard ain't layin' a finger on the boy," he rumbled, his deep voice vibrating through the room. "Not while I'm here."
Tonks, standing off to the side, her bubblegum-pink hair shifting subtly toward a deep violet, cracked her knuckles. "Right, so we know He-Who-Needs-a-Haircut is scheming, but what's the play here?" she asked, her sharp blue eyes flicking toward Loki.
Loki inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her question. "First, we secure Haraldr's safety," he stated, his voice steady yet resolute. "Voldemort's interference suggests a deeper scheme. We must gather intelligence, uncover his motives, and ensure that no further threats breach our ranks."
Sif, standing tall in her Asgardian armor, nodded once, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of her sword. "I will lead a team to patrol the grounds," she declared, her voice sharp as steel. "No assassin, no dark force, will reach the boy without meeting my blade first."
Volstagg, his usual jovial demeanor tempered by the severity of the situation, crossed his massive arms. "And I shall rally our warriors," he added, his voice a low rumble. "Let them be ready should we need to fight."
Fandral, ever the strategist, smirked slightly as he adjusted the cuffs of his tunic. "Perhaps it would be wise to reach out to Dumbledore," he suggested, arching a golden brow. "An alliance, after all, could prove useful."
Loki's expression darkened ever so slightly as he turned to face him. "No," he said sharply. "Dumbledore's vision is clouded by his obsession with 'the greater good.' He will act in accordance with his own designs, not ours."
Hogun, silent as ever, nodded once, his dark eyes betraying his agreement.
Sif exhaled slowly, casting a knowing glance toward Loki. "You believe he would get in our way," she observed, her voice neutral but understanding.
"I know he would," Loki countered, a wry smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "He would see Haraldr as a chess piece on his board, rather than the heir of Asgard he truly is."
James Potter, who had remained silent until now, ran a hand through his dark hair and exhaled. His deep, contemplative gaze settled on Loki. "So, we handle this our way," he murmured, his voice low but firm.
Eirlys, standing beside him, nodded in agreement, her green eyes—so reminiscent of her son's—shining with fierce resolve. "We will confront this threat on our terms."
Bellatrix, a slow, predatory smile curling her lips, hummed approvingly. "Good. I do love a challenge."
Narcissa merely inclined her head, her icy demeanor unreadable. "Then we prepare accordingly."
Thor, who had remained silent, suddenly spoke, his deep voice carrying across the chamber like distant thunder. "This enemy will not wait for us to act," he reminded them. "We must strike first."
Loki's lips twitched slightly, his smirk never quite fading. "And we shall," he promised, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous. He turned to the assembled group, his voice once again filled with quiet command. "Prepare yourselves. Our course is clear."
The storm was coming. And they would meet it head-on.
—
The air inside Hogwarts was thick with magic and tension as four figures strode down the ancient corridors, their footfalls muffled by centuries of dust and whispered secrets. Sirius Black, all roguish charm and reckless confidence, moved with the natural grace of a man who owned every room he walked into. His long coat billowed behind him, and a knowing smirk played at his lips—because, naturally, he was back in the castle and about to help save the world. Again.
Beside him, Remus Lupin walked with a quiet intensity, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn coat, his sharp gaze scanning every shadow like a man who had long since stopped believing in safe places. He still managed to radiate warmth, though—like he'd apologize before stabbing you. Probably twice.
Loki, elegant in his dark attire, moved like a ghost among mortals, his piercing green eyes calculating every possible outcome. He exuded the aura of someone who had mastered the fine art of looking both amused and deeply unimpressed at all times.
And then there was James Potter, who had the air of a man who had just returned from the dead—because, well, he had. He carried himself with the easy confidence of a born leader, dark eyes alight with determination. This was his fight as much as anyone's.
And at the moment, his fight was against complete disbelief.
"So let me get this straight," James began, gesturing between the three of them. "Voldemort decided that one soul wasn't nearly enough, so he went ahead and split himself into seven? Like some kind of megalomaniacal cockroach?"
"Essentially," Loki confirmed, voice smooth as silk. "A particularly dramatic cockroach, mind you."
"Merlin's bloody beard," James muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "And we're down to two now?"
Sirius grinned. "Yeah. Just a sentient snake and a cursed piece of jewelry stand between us and total victory. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Why would you say that?" Remus groaned, shooting Sirius an exasperated look. "Have you met us?"
Loki let out a small, knowing chuckle. "You are not the ones I worry about, Lupin."
"See?" Sirius gestured wildly at Loki. "He gets it."
Remus rolled his eyes but turned back to the conversation at hand. "Nagini is going to be a problem. She's protected, and we don't exactly have an army at our disposal. But the diadem? That we can handle right now."
"Right," James exhaled sharply. "Where is it?"
Loki's lips curled into something between amusement and approval. "Hidden within a hidden place. Very poetic. The Room of Requirement."
James blinked. "The what of what now?"
Sirius clapped him on the back. "Oh, Prongs, you're in for a treat."
—
James stood before the nondescript stretch of wall, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "So you're telling me," he said, voice thick with skepticism, "that this room just... knows what we need?"
"Yes," Loki confirmed, his voice laced with a patience he absolutely did not feel. "It will manifest whatever we require."
"And this has always been here?" James asked, looking at Sirius and Remus with open betrayal. "And you never told me?"
Sirius put a hand over his heart, expression entirely unapologetic. "Look, mate, we were very busy setting up elaborate pranks and making Snivellus' life miserable. Priorities."
"Unbelievable."
Remus, ever the peacekeeper, stepped forward and exhaled. "Alright. Let's focus. We need to find the diadem." He closed his eyes, concentrating. The wall shifted, stone dissolving into a doorway.
James' jaw went slack. "That is—"
"—brilliant?" Sirius finished, looking way too pleased with himself.
James shook his head, awe coloring his voice. "Yeah. That."
Inside, the room was a labyrinth of forgotten things. Towers of books, broken wands, ancient robes—centuries of Hogwarts history lay abandoned in heaps. And sitting on a pedestal, gleaming ominously beneath the dim light, was the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw.
Loki's amusement faded, his expression darkening as he stepped forward.
"It's a shame," he murmured, fingertips ghosting above the cursed artifact. "Rowena Ravenclaw crafted this diadem to embody wisdom. And yet, Voldemort twisted it into something foul."
Sirius leaned against a pile of old cauldrons. "That's what he does, isn't it? Takes beautiful things and ruins them. Just like he did with you-know-who's family."
James' fists clenched. Remus put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Loki exhaled, a strange mix of sorrow and resolve flickering in his eyes. "Then let us ensure he never does so again."
Sirius cracked his knuckles. "Alright, Professor, how are we blowing this thing up?"
Loki raised a brow. "A Killing Curse should suffice. I could use Fiendfyre, but I doubt the castle would appreciate it."
James, arms crossed, smirked. "You talk like you know the castle personally."
Loki simply smiled. "Perhaps I do."
Remus, ever the voice of reason, cleared his throat. "Let's just do this before we start swapping Hogwarts ghost stories, yeah?"
Loki stepped forward, raising his wand. The others tensed.
"Avada Kedavra."
A rush of green light struck the diadem. The air shook, and an ear-splitting screech tore through the room. The artifact trembled, cracks splintering through its intricate metalwork. Dark energy coiled around it, writhing like something alive—and then, with a final, shuddering crack, the diadem broke.
Silence.
Then Sirius let out a long, impressed whistle. "Damn. You sure you haven't done this before?"
Loki dusted off his sleeves, smirking. "You could say I have experience with destroying things that shouldn't exist."
James let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "One down, one to go."
Remus nudged him. "Ready for round two?"
James tilted his head, grin sharp and determined. "Are we ever?"
Sirius laughed, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Now that is the Prongs I remember."
Loki's expression turned thoughtful as he surveyed the broken diadem. Then he turned on his heel, his coat swirling behind him. "Come. The serpent awaits."
And with that, the four men strode from the room, ready to end what had begun so long ago.
For Haraldr. For the world.
---
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