Haraldr awoke slowly, the first rays of dawn creeping through the thick curtains, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The warmth of the bed was comforting, but it was the presence of Susan and Skadi beside him that made it feel like a home—a feeling he had rarely experienced. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the two women who were nestled against him, their steady breathing filling the quiet of the room.
Susan's hand was gently resting over his chest, her fingers warm against his skin. Her face was peaceful in sleep, her soft brown hair cascading over her pillow like a veil of silk. Skadi, with her wild, dark curls, lay on her side, her head nestled comfortably against his shoulder, her breath warm against the skin of his neck. Haraldr's heart swelled with affection, a contented smile curling his lips. Last night had been unlike anything he had ever experienced—tender, intimate, a slow dance of connection that had left him feeling more seen, more understood, than he ever thought possible.
As he lay there, his mind wandered back through the evening, the laughter they'd shared, the way Skadi had looked at him, the softness in Susan's voice when she'd whispered his name. The bond they were building felt like something eternal, something that transcended the present moment and stretched into a future he had never allowed himself to believe in.
Susan stirred beside him, her eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, she just looked at him, her gaze soft and filled with affection, as if taking in the man lying beside her, as if seeing him for the first time all over again. Her lips quirked into a gentle smile, and she propped herself up on one arm, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice low and warm, thick with sleep but somehow still as enchanting as always.
Haraldr smiled back at her, a quiet joy lighting his features. "Good morning," he replied, his voice just as soft. He reached up to brush his fingers along her cheek, the simple touch filled with tenderness.
Before they could linger in the moment, Skadi's eyes fluttered open as well, and Haraldr's breath caught for a split second as their gazes met. There was something in Skadi's look—something fierce and yet vulnerable—that made his heart race in a way he hadn't anticipated. Her lips parted slightly, and then, with a slow stretch, she lifted her head off his shoulder, blinking away the remnants of sleep.
She didn't speak right away, instead gazing at him and Susan, a quiet understanding in her eyes, as if she was still absorbing the weight of the night. When she did speak, her voice was husky, tinged with emotion. "Last night was…" she trailed off, unsure of how to describe it.
Susan smiled softly, lifting her head to meet Skadi's eyes, her fingers brushing over Haraldr's chest in slow circles. "...special," she finished for her, her voice laced with a tenderness that matched Skadi's. It was clear to Haraldr that Susan had found her own words for the night too.
Skadi gave a small, thoughtful nod, her fingers brushing through her tangled hair. "I've never… never felt anything like this before." Her voice was thick with sincerity. "With you two. It's like… it's like I've known you for longer than I really have, like we're meant to be here, together."
Haraldr's chest tightened with emotion, and he found himself lifting his hand to caress the back of Skadi's head, his touch a silent promise. "I feel it too," he said quietly. "We're building something rare. Something… real."
The three of them shared a brief, serene silence, the kind that only those who are truly in sync could understand. No words were needed to describe what they were feeling. They could feel it in the warmth of their bodies, in the tenderness of their touch, in the shared, silent space between them.
Susan reached up, her hand soft on Haraldr's chest, and she traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "I never imagined we'd end up here," she said, her voice soft, but laced with wonder. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a sweetness that made his heart clench. "With you. With both of you."
Skadi mirrored Susan's movements, gently intertwining her fingers with Susan's. "I couldn't have imagined this either. But... I can't imagine it any other way now," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes never leaving Susan's.
Haraldr swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat as he looked from one woman to the other. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and something deeper, something that couldn't be described in mere words. "I'm so grateful for both of you," he whispered, his voice filled with an intensity that seemed to make the very air around them vibrate. "You've brought something into my life that I didn't even know I was missing."
Susan leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, a gentle peck that sent a jolt of warmth through him. Skadi did the same, her lips lingering just a moment longer, sending a wave of heat through him. "We're in this together," Susan murmured against his skin.
Skadi smiled and nestled closer, the warmth of her body a comforting presence. "Always," she agreed, her voice filled with a quiet strength.
They remained there, tangled in their shared embrace, reluctant to leave the cocoon of their closeness. The light outside grew brighter, the warmth of the room more pronounced as the sun climbed higher in the sky. But none of them moved, caught in the peaceful stillness of the morning.
"I don't want to get up," Susan admitted softly, her voice muffled as she pressed her face against Haraldr's chest. "Not yet."
Skadi chuckled softly, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Susan's arm. "A little more time, then," she said, her tone teasing but affectionate.
Haraldr chuckled too, his fingers brushing through both women's hair in slow, gentle strokes. "A few more minutes, and then we'll face the day."
But even as the reality of the day ahead began to settle in—the preparations for the Wand Weighing Ceremony, the looming interview with Rita Skeeter, the weight of the Triwizard Tournament—none of it seemed as pressing as the bond they were forming, the connection they shared. It was a bond of trust, of intimacy, of quiet understanding.
"We'll face it together," Haraldr said, his voice steady and resolute. "Whatever comes."
Susan and Skadi both nodded, their eyes filled with the same quiet determination. "Together," they echoed, the word resonating with a promise that nothing could break.
And for a while longer, they lingered in the warmth of each other's arms, fortified by the love and connection that had grown between them. No matter what challenges awaited them in the days ahead, they knew one thing for sure: they would face them side by side.
Eventually, they began to stir, the sounds of the world outside creeping into their bubble of comfort. But as Haraldr kissed them both once more—softly, lingering, a reminder of their connection—he knew that whatever lay ahead, they would handle it, as they had always done—together.
"Let's face the day," he murmured, his voice filled with determination.
And with that, they rose, ready to take on the challenges of the day, knowing that they had each other to rely on.
—
The door to Haraldr's suite opened with a soft creak, and they emerged into the light of the morning, met by a chorus of teasing remarks from their waiting friends. Draco leaned against the doorframe, his smirk wide and mischievous. "Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence," he drawled, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable.
Neville, usually the shy one, couldn't help but chuckle, nudging Leif beside him. "I hope you three managed to get some sleep," he said, his voice laced with friendly amusement.
Hannah, always quick with a witty remark, glanced at them with a raised eyebrow and a playful wink. "Or at least a bit of rest." Her voice carried a light, teasing tone, though her eyes softened as they locked onto Susan, her friend.
Luna, as dreamy as ever, tilted her head thoughtfully, her expression distant. "The stars were quite bright last night, weren't they? A sign of things to come, perhaps. Beware of scales and fire in the first task." Her voice carried an eerie, whimsical note that made the hairs on the back of Haraldr's neck stand on end. He exchanged a glance with Skadi, who shrugged, her brow furrowed in mild confusion.
Before he could ponder Luna's cryptic words any further, Leif stepped forward, flashing a grin that lit up his face. "Looks like someone had a good night," he teased, his voice light but playful.
Sigrun, who had been standing quietly nearby, let out a laugh that was warm and genuine, nudging Haraldr in the ribs with an exaggerated movement. "Lucky you, Haraldr. Must be nice to be the prince," she teased, though there was no malice in her words, just the kind of jovial ribbing that came with friendship.
Viggo and Astrid exchanged glances, a silent understanding between them. Viggo, with his usual dry humor, chimed in, "Just make sure you're ready for the Wand Weighing today. Can't let those good vibes distract you." His voice held the same tone as someone imparting advice they knew from experience.
Bjorn, ever the quiet observer, offered a subtle smile and a brief nod. He didn't need to say much; his expression conveyed that he was in on the joke and shared in their amusement.
Loki, the ever-watchful god, couldn't resist joining in. "Quite the eventful evening, I gather," he said, the smirk that tugged at his lips unmistakably mischievous. "I trust you're all feeling... rejuvenated?" His eyes sparkled with humor, clearly enjoying the opportunity to make the young group squirm.
Eirlys, with a sly grin, raised an eyebrow and let out a quiet chuckle. "You know, we could hear some of your... bonding from the hallway. Very impressive, my son." She was impossible to embarrass, and her teasing only made the situation more hilarious.
Susan blushed a deep crimson, her cheeks burning, while Skadi laughed heartily, her voice light and carefree. Haraldr, however, took it all in stride. He rolled his eyes, though his lips quirked into a small smile. "Alright, alright, enough of that. What's on the agenda for today?"
Loki's smirk faltered, but his tone shifted to something more serious. "Today is the Wand Weighing Ceremony for the champions, followed by interviews with Rita Skeeter," he announced, as if the very mention of her name wasn't enough to send a chill down everyone's spine.
The group groaned in unison, with James muttering under his breath, "Oh great, the human Quick-Quotes Quill."
"That woman wouldn't know the truth if it slapped her in the face," Sirius added, his voice dark and filled with distaste.
Amelia, who stood with her arms crossed, her face a mask of stern authority, gave a pointed look at Haraldr. "You need to be careful around her," she said, her voice firm but motherly. "She has a way of twisting words to suit her narrative."
Narcissa, who stood beside her, nodded in agreement. "Indeed. She thrives on scandal and sensationalism," she added, her tone one of quiet warning.
Bellatrix, ever fierce and loyal, shot Haraldr a look that was equal parts warning and threat. "If she tries to smear your name, she'll have me to answer to." Her eyes flashed with an intensity that was unnerving to anyone who didn't know her well.
Eirlys, who had taken a more serious tone, addressed the group with a subtle but resolute stance. "Rita Skeeter is not someone to take lightly. She'll twist your words and make you look bad if given the chance."
Loki, ever the strategist, raised a hand, effectively calming the group with a single motion. "Easy now. We'll handle her. The important thing is to stay composed and give her as little ammunition as possible."
Haraldr nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand. I'll be cautious."
Loki's demeanor softened, though his eyes remained sharp. "The Wand Weighing Ceremony is a formality, but it's crucial. It's to ensure the champions' wands are in top condition. Ollivander himself will be conducting it." There was a hint of reverence in his voice when he spoke of the wandmaker.
Eirlys smiled gently, her eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "It's also a chance for the champions to size each other up. Stay alert."
Haraldr glanced at Susan and Skadi, who both nodded in unison, their eyes filled with resolve. "We're with you," Susan said, her voice steady and reassuring.
Skadi added with a soft but firm smile, "Whatever comes, we face it together."
With a deep breath, Haraldr turned back to the group, his voice low but filled with purpose. "Alright then, let's get through this day. Together."
The group began to disperse, each member heading off to prepare for the day ahead. The camaraderie and support among them were palpable, a silent understanding passing between them all that they would face whatever came their way with solidarity and strength.
As Haraldr, Susan, and Skadi walked together, the warmth of their shared connection lingered in the air, like an unspoken promise. Their strength came not just from their magic or their courage but from the unwavering bond between them, one forged through trials and moments like these. They were ready to face the world together.
—
Haraldr stood in front of the expansive wardrobe, feeling the weight of the moment as he prepared for the Wand-Weighing ceremony. The room around him buzzed with excitement—an energy filled with the care and affection of those closest to him. His mother, Eirlys, his aunt Narcissa, and his girlfriends, Susan and Skadi, were all gathered, each offering their opinions with a mix of practicality and tenderness.
Eirlys, her red hair cascading in soft waves down her shoulders, held up a rich red set of robes, their embroidery glimmering in the light. "These," she said, her voice a soft melody, "will catch the light beautifully. The gold accents will add just the right amount of royal flair."
Narcissa, standing beside her, gave a slow nod of approval. She had the quiet elegance of someone who had lived among kings and queens, and it showed in her every gesture. "The red will suit you, Haraldr. And with the circlet, you'll look like you've stepped right out of Asgard itself."
Susan, always the one with an eye for detail and a heart full of sincerity, picked up a different set of robes, her fingers tracing the embroidered edges with a thoughtful air. "These are more subtle, but they're still so elegant. I love the fabric. It speaks of tradition, but there's something modern about it, too." She glanced up at him, her eyes twinkling. "But, really, it's about how you feel in it, right?"
Skadi, who stood with an unspoken aura of confidence, picked up yet another set of robes, her fingers gently brushing over the collar as she inspected the material. "This one," she said quietly, her voice steady and sure, "has a softness to it, but the gold threads are sharp—almost like the way you carry yourself. Strong but subtle."
Haraldr smiled at them all, his heart swelling with gratitude. Susan's quiet warmth, Skadi's insight, his mother's regal elegance, and Narcissa's refined style—they all brought something invaluable to the moment. "I trust you all," he said, his voice sincere, "so I think we should go with the red robes and the golden circlet."
Eirlys and Narcissa exchanged a pleased glance, both of them nodding with satisfaction. "A wise choice," Narcissa murmured, her tone laced with approval. "You'll look magnificent, as always."
Susan's smile was radiant, and she gave a small nod. "Yeah, you'll look like you belong on a throne, Haraldr."
Skadi, ever observant, gave a soft chuckle, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric of his robes. "Not that you don't already, of course."
As Eirlys and Narcissa helped him slip into the robes, they moved with practiced grace, making sure each fold lay just so, and that the golden accents complemented his every movement. Susan adjusted his collar, her touch gentle but firm. "There," she said with satisfaction. "Perfect. You look like someone who's about to conquer a kingdom."
Haraldr stood in front of the mirror, his heart beating with a quiet pride as he took in the reflection. The rich red of the robes, the gold threads that shimmered in the light, the circlet resting proudly on his brow—he didn't just feel like he was wearing the regalia of Asgard; he felt like it was a part of him.
"You look incredible," Skadi said, her voice low but filled with affection. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his arm, offering silent support.
Susan stood on his other side, her expression filled with both admiration and warmth. "This is your moment, Haraldr," she said softly. "We're here with you, always."
Haraldr turned to face them both, his smile soft but full of gratitude. "I couldn't do this without you two," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You give me strength, in ways I can't even put into words."
Eirlys stepped forward, her voice filled with pride as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You carry the strength of your father, and the grace of your mother. You are destined for greatness, Haraldr."
Narcissa, ever the composed figure, gave him an approving nod. "And you will make Asgard proud," she added, her words carrying the weight of years of wisdom.
Haraldr took a deep breath, the support of his family and friends wrapping around him like a cloak. "I feel ready," he said, his voice full of quiet determination. "Ready to face whatever comes, with all of you by my side."
Skadi squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with a silent promise. "We're in this together."
Susan nodded, her smile full of reassurance. "Always."
With a final glance at his reflection, Haraldr straightened his posture, feeling the weight of tradition settle comfortably on his shoulders. The Wand-Weighing ceremony awaited, but it was more than that—it was a step toward proving not just who he was, but who he could become.
As he walked out of the room, with Susan and Skadi flanking him and his mother and aunt watching with pride, Haraldr couldn't help but feel that, no matter what the future held, he was surrounded by those who would always have his back. And that, more than anything else, was what truly made him feel like royalty.
—
Haraldr entered the grand chamber selected for the Wand-Weighing Ceremony, flanked by his father James, his uncle Sirius, his godfather Remus, and his ever-present protector, Loki. Their Asgardian attire glimmered in the light, each piece of clothing so meticulously chosen that it felt as if they had stepped out of a legend. The intricate designs of gold and the deep hues of royal purple and blue drew the eyes of everyone in the room, and their very presence demanded attention.
As they walked through the hall, the hum of conversation faded. The heads of each champion and their respective headmasters turned toward the group, the air thick with a mixture of awe and curiosity.
James, his jaw set firmly and his stance exuding the unmistakable air of authority, walked at the head of the group. His eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the room, ever protective, always aware of the world around him. Next to him, Sirius, ever the charmer, had an amused glint in his eyes, though he kept a watchful eye on the crowd. Remus, calm and thoughtful, gave Haraldr an encouraging smile, his gentle presence a soothing contrast to the intimidating figures around him.
Loki, however, was the one who commanded the most attention—his dark, slicked-back hair and wickedly sharp smile making it clear that he was never far from mischief. His eyes, however, were calculating, scanning the room for threats or opportunities.
The group moved with grace through the chamber, and a quiet hush seemed to descend over the crowd. Whispers began circulating as they noticed the Asgardian entourage, their eyes drawn to the regal bearing of the newcomers. Even the most seasoned witches and wizards could not help but feel a flutter of awe.
It was at that moment that Rita Skeeter, the notorious journalist known for her sensationalism, spotted Haraldr. Her Quick-Quotes Quill was already out, poised to capture any tidbit of information, and she wasted no time in making her way toward him, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
"Harry! Harry Potter!" she cried, her voice high-pitched and cutting through the murmurs of the room. She all but shoved her way through the crowd, her eyes bright with excitement. "Harry Potter, can I get a word? Just a few quick questions—"
James's eyes flickered to the source of the interruption, his expression hardening immediately. A dark, protective fury flashed behind his gaze as his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword. The blade was out in an instant, its tip pointing directly at Rita, a warning gleaming in James's eyes.
"That is Prince Haraldr," James said, his voice cold and firm, each word dripping with authority. "Address him with the respect he deserves."
Rita froze, her quill still poised in mid-air. A brief, awkward silence stretched as the room collectively held its breath. She glanced from James's menacing stance to Haraldr, her expression momentarily faltering.
Haraldr, with a calm that defied the tension in the air, placed a hand on his father's arm, gently guiding him to lower the blade. "It's alright, Father," he said with quiet diplomacy. "Let's not make a scene."
James's jaw clenched, but he reluctantly sheathed the sword, his eyes still hard as he shot Rita a warning glance. Rita, recovering herself, adjusted her glasses, forcing a nervous smile.
"Prince Haraldr," she said, her voice now dripping with forced politeness. "My apologies. I was just eager to speak with you before the ceremony." She quickly scribbled on her notepad, though her eyes still lingered on him like a hawk, waiting for any slip of a story.
Haraldr gave a small, respectful bow, his face a mask of poise. "I understand, Ms. Skeeter," he said, his tone measured. "However, this is a formal occasion, and I would appreciate it if you respected the decorum of the event."
Rita's quill scratched furiously across the parchment, the tip almost smoking with the speed at which it captured every word. "Of course, Your Highness," she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Perhaps we could arrange a more appropriate time for an interview later?"
Haraldr inclined his head, the slightest of smiles gracing his lips. "That would be more suitable, thank you."
Rita, her hopes dashed, backed away, her quill still moving across the page. She retreated to the corner of the room, where she continued to scribble down every observation she could, even though the moment was now tainted by her failed attempt.
But as she turned to face the wall, her Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment suddenly burst into flames, the paper turning to ash with a hiss. Rita let out a shriek of disbelief and indignation, her hands flying up in shock.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice shrill. Her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose, and she was clearly rattled.
Loki, with his characteristic smoothness, stepped forward, a small, amused smirk tugging at his lips. He surveyed the charred remnants of her notes with mild interest before fixing his gaze on Rita, his tone cool as ice. "There will be no articles regarding Prince Haraldr without explicit permission," he said, each word laced with quiet menace. "Is that understood, Ms. Skeeter?"
Rita, still recovering from the shock, tried to regain her composure, though the fear in her eyes was palpable. "You can't just—" she started, but Loki's eyes glinted dangerously, his smile widening in that unsettling, knowing way.
"Oh, but I can," Loki purred, his voice honey-sweet but carrying an underlying threat that made Rita's skin crawl. "And I will. After all, one never knows what secrets might come to light... such as the true nature of your investigative methods."
Rita's face drained of color, the implications of his words sinking in. "You wouldn't dare," she whispered, her bravado crumbling.
Loki's smile was pure wickedness. "Try me," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, but it carried across the room like a spell. "I am well aware of your unregistered water beetle animagus form, Ms. Skeeter. It would be... quite scandalous if people were to learn of your methods—spying on them in the most private of moments to get your so-called stories."
Rita swallowed hard, her mouth going dry as she realized she was no match for Loki's ruthlessness. "Very well," she muttered, her voice shaky, her face pale. "No articles without permission."
Loki gave her a casual nod, as though nothing had happened. "Good," he said, the coldness in his voice disappearing. "Enjoy the ceremony, Ms. Skeeter."
Rita, now visibly shaken, turned on her heel and fled to a far corner of the room, clutching her ruined notes to her chest as though they were the last vestiges of her dignity. The rest of the room, which had been watching with bated breath, returned to their earlier chatter, though the subtle ripple of fear and respect was now woven into the fabric of the atmosphere.
Haraldr turned to Loki with a grateful nod. "Thank you," he murmured, appreciating his uncle's swift intervention.
Loki winked, a playful glint in his eyes. "Always happy to protect the family from the lesser nuisances," he replied, his voice light, but his eyes calculating, always calculating.
Haraldr smiled, feeling an added sense of security knowing that his family had his back, no matter the threat. Together, they stood strong, ready to face whatever awaited them in the ceremony.
—
Haraldr, feeling a renewed sense of confidence after Loki's intervention, stood tall and strode toward the gathered champions. Each one was preparing for the ceremony in their own way, but his presence was magnetic, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.
He approached Cedric Diggory first, his warm smile matching the sincerity in his voice. "Cedric," he said, reaching out to shake the Hufflepuff champion's hand. "It's good to see you. How have you been?"
Cedric, his casual yet charismatic demeanor evident, grinned as he shook Haraldr's hand firmly. The hand was slightly calloused from years of Quidditch, but the gesture was kind and welcoming. "Haraldr, it's great to see you too," he replied with that familiar, lopsided grin. "I've been well, thank you. And ready for whatever madness this tournament brings. How about you?"
"As ready as I can be," Haraldr chuckled, offering a light shrug. "We'll see what they throw at us, right?"
Cedric's laugh followed, a pleasant sound. "Aye, though I'm sure whatever it is, you'll handle it just fine."
With that, Haraldr turned toward the elegant figure of Fleur Delacour. She stood poised in her Beauxbatons robes, her golden hair catching the light as if it were spun from sunlight itself. As he approached, she gave him a graceful smile, her large blue eyes twinkling as her thick French accent floated into the conversation.
"'Araldr, toujours un plaisir," she greeted, offering him a warm handshake. Her voice was melodic, like a song, yet there was a strength beneath her elegant exterior. "I trust you are prepared for today's events?"
Haraldr smiled back, pleased by her kindness and grace. "I am, Fleur," he replied smoothly, admiring her composure. "And it's always a pleasure to meet someone as skilled as you. I'm sure we'll both do our best."
Fleur's lips curled into a more playful smile, her eyes glinting mischievously. "I do not doubt that, mon cher," she teased. "But remember, the tournament favors only the strongest, no?"
Haraldr laughed, appreciating her confidence. "I'm sure we'll see about that."
With that, he turned to the final champion—Viktor Krum, standing with his usual stoic posture. Viktor's dark eyes met Haraldr's, and the Bulgarian champion gave a rare smile. The lines of his face softened slightly, though his serious demeanor remained.
"Viktor," Haraldr greeted with a nod, offering his hand.
The massive Bulgarian shook it firmly, his voice rough and deep with that strong Bulgarian accent. "Haraldr," Viktor rumbled, his tone almost gruff but with a hint of warmth. "Good luck to us all, yes?"
Haraldr laughed softly, appreciating the subtle humor. "Indeed," he said. "May the best champion win."
Viktor gave a slight nod, his lips curling into a half-smile. "We shall see."
"Let's make this a competition worth remembering," Haraldr added with a confident smirk.
The four champions stood together for a moment, their quiet camaraderie betraying the fierce competition that awaited them. The moment was brief but meaningful—this was not just a test of skill and magic; it was a chance for each of them to prove themselves in ways beyond the expectations of their schools.
As the ceremony drew nearer, Haraldr gave each of them one final look, his eyes sparkling with determination and the promise of something far more grand than any of them could yet imagine.
---
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