The Stormborn Chapter 86

The forge was quiet in the way only ancient places ever were.

Molten uru flowed through its channels like veins of light beneath black stone. Runes glimred faintly on the walls, reacting to Harry’s presence, to his magic, to the work he was doing.

Harry stood at the anvil, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with a strip of leather Frigga had handed him weeks ago. Before him lay the armor for Loki—half-finished, suspended slightly above the anvil by interlocking enchantnts. Frost-blue runes crawled across its surface like living things, weaving themselves into the tal as Harry guided them with careful precision.

He was deep in the work.

So deep that he almost didn’t hear the footsteps.

“Harry.”

His mother’s voice cut through the forge like a gentle bell.

He flinched slightly, the enchantnt stabilizing itself as he drew his hands away. The armor dimd, settling into a dormant glow.

Wanda stood at the threshold, arms crossed—not in anger, but in that particular posture that ant she had already decided sothing and was giving him the courtesy of being included.

“You’re burning yourself out again,” she said softly.

Harry exhaled and wiped his hands on a cloth. “I’m fine. I’m almost done with the stabilizing lattice. If I leave it half—”

“You’ve been ‘almost done’ for three days,” Wanda replied.

He turned to face her fully, offering a sheepish smile. “Ti works differently in here.”

She didn’t smile back.

“Harry,” she said, more firmly now, “we stayed longer than we planned.”

That made him pause.

The forge seed suddenly heavier.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

Wanda tilted her head, considering. “Three months since you last went back to Midgard. Nearly four since you last rested.”

Harry blinked.

Four months.

It didn’t feel that long.

But then again… neither had the war in Jotunheim. Neither had the council conspiracies. Neither had the endless etings, the petitions, the decisions that had piled up on his shoulders the mont Odin declared him acting king.

He leaned back against the anvil, the cool tal grounding him.

“I didn’t even notice,” he admitted quietly.

Wanda stepped into the forge, the heat and magic bending instinctively around her. She rested a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s the problem.”

Harry closed his eyes for a mont.

Images flickered unbidden—Hermione hunched over parchnt, muttering calculations under her breath. Draco’s crooked grin as he explained so half-brilliant, half-insane invention. Sirius lounging on the steps at Highlands Manor, pretending not to worry while watching the sky. Remus with a book in hand, always listening even when silent.

It had been months.

“I haven’t written,” Harry said slowly. “Not properly.”

“You haven’t slept properly either,” Wanda said. “Or laughed.”

He opened his eyes and gave a small, crooked smile. “I laughed when Uncle Loki sent that ssage complaining about the Jotunheim council.”

“That was sarcasm,” Wanda said dryly. “Not joy.”

Harry chuckled weakly, then sighed.

“I miss them,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how much until just now.”

Wanda’s expression softened.

“You were carrying an entire realm on your back,” she said. “You did what you thought was necessary.”

Harry glanced back at the armor.

“I still feel like I’m leaving things unfinished.”

“That armor will still be here when you return,” Wanda replied. “And so will Odin. Politics don’t disappear just because you step away—but neither does responsibility disappear because you refuse to rest.”

Harry considered that.

“I don’t feel guilty leaving,” he said after a mont. “Is that bad?”

Wanda smiled, a little sadly. “No. It ans you trust your grandfather.”

Harry nodded. “He’s better at this than I am. And honestly… he likes it.”

Wanda snorted. “Likes it is an understatent.”

Harry pushed himself upright and took one last look at the forge. He ran his fingers along the edge of the anvil, feeling the familiar thrum of power beneath the surface.

“I’ll seal the enchantnts in a holding state,” he said. “The armor won’t degrade.”

“Good,” Wanda replied. “Because we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Harry repeated, startled.

“You need sleep. Real sleep. Not collapsing on a throne at dawn,” she said. “And I want to say goodbye to Frigga properly this ti.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”

He turned back to the armor and whispered the final stabilizing incantation. Frost runes locked into place, glowing softly before fading to a calm, steady blue. The armor settled fully onto the anvil, inert but potent.

“Sorry,” Harry murmured to it. “We’ll finish soon.”

As if in answer, the tal pulsed once, acknowledging him.

The next day felt unreal.

Asgard was waking into a rare mont of calm—soldiers drilling at half intensity, markets open again, banners hanging without tension in the air. Odin had already resud command fully, imrsed in negotiations, restructuring, and the careful absorption of forr noble power.

Harry didn’t attend the morning council.

For the first ti in months, he didn’t have to.

Odin t him privately before they left.

“You’re abandoning your post,” Odin said bluntly.

Harry t his gaze calmly. “Temporarily.”

Odin studied him for a long mont, then nodded once. “Good.”

That surprised Harry.

“You learned faster than most kings,” Odin continued. “Knowing when to step back is not weakness.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Coming from you, that ans a lot.”

Odin snorted. “Don’t get sentintal. Go enjoy your short-lived Midgardian life.”

Frigga hugged him tightly before they departed, whispering, “Rember—you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

He promised he would.

The star-shaped portal opened in the palace courtyard, scarlet edges humming softly.

Harry paused at its threshold.

Asgard glead behind him—golden, ancient, burdened with power and history. A place where gods made war and decisions that shaped worlds.

Ahead lay Midgard.

Friends. Ho. Laughter. Simplicity.

He stepped through without hesitation.

Highlands Manor greeted Harry beneath a sky washed in late–afternoon gold.

The sun hung low, spilling warm light across the rolling grounds and stone walls, as if the estate itself had been holding its breath and was only now allowed to exhale.

The wards shimred faintly at his arrival—recognition runes flaring, protective enchantnts settling back into familiar patterns. It was a subtle thing, but Harry felt it imdiately. Ho always knew.

For a mont, he simply stood there.

After Asgard’s endless halls of gold and light, after council chambers thick with politics and unspoken threats, after months of decisions that weighed entire realms against one another, the quiet of Highlands Manor felt almost unreal.

“Still standing,” Sirius said beside him, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. “Good sign.”

Harry glanced at him. “You sound surprised.”

Sirius grinned. “A little. I half expected Remus to have turned the place into a research institute.”

As if summoned by the ntion of his na, Remus Lupin stepped out onto the front steps, sunlight catching in his hair. He paused when he saw them—really saw them—and relief softened his features before he could hide it.

“You’re back,” Remus said.

There was no accusation in his voice. No resentnt. Just quiet certainty.

Harry nodded. “We are.”

Sirius bounded up the steps and pulled Remus into a tight hug without warning.

“Miss ?” Sirius asked brightly.

Remus huffed, caught between laughter and exasperation. “You never sent a single proper explanation.”

“Details,” Sirius waved dismissively. “Very overrated.”

Harry watched the exchange with sothing warm twisting in his chest. Sirius had been with him through all of Asgard—through the throne room tension, the war councils, the long nights in the forge. Remus had been the one holding the fort here, alone, carrying the weight of normalcy so Harry didn’t have to.

The manor itself looked impeccable.

Every surface glead. The banners hung straight and clean. Even the air felt lighter, infused with careful maintenance charms that spoke of patience rather than obligation. The house-elves had clearly been busy—but it was Remus’s steady hand that showed most of all. Nothing was overdone. Nothing had been changed without reason.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Harry said quietly as they stepped inside.

Remus shrugged, setting his worn satchel aside. “Routine helps. And the house… it responds well to consistency.”

The warmth inside the manor contrasted sharply with the chill Harry hadn’t even realized he was still carrying from Asgard. The stone floors humd faintly with ancient enchantnts, grounding him in a way no throne ever could.

Outside, the grounds told the sa story.

The magical trees stood tall and healthy, leaves shimring with faint, contained power. The herb gardens were immaculate, soil carefully tended and wards adjusted for optimal growth. The periter defenses glowed softly, untouched but vigilant.

“She’s going to check the greenhouses,” Remus said, nodding toward the grounds.

Right on cue, Arica Chavez burst out the back doors, already rolling up her sleeves.

“I don’t care how tired I am,” she declared, jogging toward the massive glass structures at the edge of the property. “If my plants are dead, soone’s answering for it.”

Sirius snorted. “That soone is usually you.”

Arica shot him a grin over her shoulder. “Exactly.”

The greenhouses were her pride—vast, magically expanded dos filled with plants that didn’t belong to any single world. Dangerous, beautiful, temperantal. She had designed the layout herself, and not even Harry interfered there unless invited.

Sirius watched her go with fond familiarity. “She checks them twice a day. Sotis more.”

Harry nodded. " I know.”

They settled inside as the sun dipped lower, the manor slipping into evening. Dinner was warm and filling, filled with small talk that carefully avoided certain truths. Remus asked questions—but never pressed. Sirius told exaggerated stories that sohow omitted the words Asgard, war, and king entirely.

After the al, Arica returned, hands faintly muddy and hair wild, expression satisfied.

“All good,” she announced. “Growth cycles perfect. No magic imbalance. No infestations.”

She turned to Remus. “You’ve been selling the surplus?”

Remus reached into his coat and produced an enchanted pouch. The soft chi of gold filled the room as he loosened the drawstring.

“Only to vetted buyers,” he said calmly. “No middlen. No questions asked.”

Arica took the pouch, inspected it, then tossed a smaller one back to him. “Your cut.”

Remus caught it easily. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness—just understanding.

Sirius raised a brow. “Look at that. A functional operation.”

Harry allowed himself a small smile.

Later, as the house settled into quiet, Remus finally voiced the question he’d been holding back.

“So,” he said lightly, pouring tea. “How was your trip?”

Sirius and Harry exchanged a look.

“Long,” Harry answered.

“Complicated,” Sirius added.

“A bit of a world tour,” Harry finished.

Remus studied them both for a mont, then nodded. “I see."

That night, Harry retreated to his room. It was exactly as he’d left it—untouched, waiting. He unpacked slowly, setting aside Asgardian tools, rune-etched notes, fragnts of unfinished projects. They could wait.

Instead, he sat at the desk and wrote two letters.

One to Hermione.

One to Draco.

His hand hesitated only once before he wrote.

I’m back.

I’m sorry I didn’t write.

et Sunday.

Shrieking Shack.

The reply ca faster than expected.

Hermione’s handwriting was sharp, precise, unmistakably irritated.

You disappeared.

Again.

We will talk.

Sunday.

Harry exhaled slowly.

Draco’s reply was shorter.

About ti.

Don’t be late.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the familiar ceiling.

For Harry, Hogsade had not changed at all.

The cobbled streets still carried the sa quiet hum—shopkeepers sweeping their thresholds, a handful of witches chatting softly near Honeydukes, the faint scent of parchnt and ink drifting from the stationer’s. The Three Broomsticks had its doors open, but even now, in the middle of the day, only a sparse crowd lingered inside. Hogsade was never loud unless Hogwarts allowed it to be.

It felt… frozen in ti.

Harry stepped out of a star-shaped portal, the air rippling briefly before sealing itself behind him, and stood just beyond the tree line near the Shrieking Shack. The Shack stood exactly where he had left it—crooked, leaning, weather-worn—but the mont he stepped inside, he realized how wrong that impression was.

The place had changed.

Not structurally, not magically—but lived in.

Shelves lined the walls now, mismatched and clearly borrowed from Hogwarts storage rooms. Old desks had been repurposed into worktables. A cracked wardrobe leaned against the far wall, its doors reinforced with runes. Wires snaked across the floor, connecting strange Muggle devices to enchanted conduits. A half-disassembled radio sat beside a stack of parchnt covered in Hermione’s unmistakably precise handwriting.

Harry blinked.

“…They really didn’t wait for .”

He smiled despite himself.

The Shrieking Shack no longer felt like a hideout. It felt like a workspace. Like a promise that whatever storms raged across realms, this place endured.

Harry moved further in and set his pack down, running a hand over one of the tables. Dustless. Recently used. The faint hum of residual magic lingered in the air—familiar signatures.

Hermione’s, controlled and layered.

Draco’s, sharp and efficient.

They’d been busy.

He hadn’t been waiting long when the door creaked open.

Draco Malfoy stepped in first.

And without a word, punched him in the face.

Harry barely felt it.

The impact landed square on his jaw, solid enough that a normal wizard would have staggered—but Harry didn’t even move. Draco’s knuckles, however, throbbed instantly.

Draco hissed, shaking his hand.

“rlin’s bloody beard—do you have to be made of stone?”

Harry raised both hands. “I deserved that one.”

“That was for not writing,” Draco snapped.

“That was for disappearing for three months,” Hermione added coldly from the doorway.

She hadn’t rushed him. She hadn’t shouted.

Which was sohow worse.

Hermione Granger stepped inside, arms crossed tightly, brown eyes blazing—not with shock, not with disbelief, but with pent-up fury and worry.

Harry exhaled slowly. “I should’ve written.”

“Yes,” Hermione said sharply. “You should have.”

Draco scoffed. “You vanish into the realm of gods.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasn’t exactly—”

Then Hermione stepped forward and hugged him—hard.

Harry stiffened for half a second before returning it, careful not to crush her. Her hands trembled slightly against his back.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“I can’t promise that,” Harry said honestly.

Hermione pulled back, eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that answer.”

Draco cleared his throat. “You look different.”

Harry raised a brow. “Different how?”

Draco studied him carefully. “Heavier. Not fat—don’t hex —but like… gravity listens to you now.”

Harry snorted. “That’s Asgard for you.”

Hermione gestured around the Shack. “You missed a lot.”

Harry looked around again, really looked this ti.

“I can see that.”

They sat around the central table soon after, the familiar dynamic settling in—easier than any throne room, warr than any forge.

Harry told them everything.

The war in Jotunheim.

Loki’s truth.

The near-war with Vanaheim.

Hela’s return.

The political knives aid at his back.

Hermione went pale more than once.

Draco listened in silence, jaw clenched.

“You were a king,” Draco said slowly.

Harry nodded.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Hermione asked.

“I was very busy and I didn't want to scare you,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione laughed—once, sharp and humorless.

“You really don’t know us at all if you think ignorance equals safety.”

Draco leaned back, arms crossed. “You fought gods, giants, and entire armies… and still thought we would panic?”

Harry smiled faintly. “I was more afraid you’d be angry.”

Hermione stared at him.

“You were right.”

Then she sighed. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

Draco nodded once. “Sa.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a mont.

Then Hermione straightened. “Good. Because we have work to do.”

Harry chuckled. “Of course you do.”

Author's Note:

Enjoying the story?

Consider joining my to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free mber you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps create more content for you to enjoy!

Join here: (dot)com(slash)Beuwulf