Harry Potter : In the shadow of divinity1.19%

Chapter - 1 : The Beginning

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(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)

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It started with a shiver, a subtle quaking that began at the base of his spine and slithered its way up the length of his back, between his shoulder blades, and through his ribs. It sought out his heart, sliding through the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it squeezed. His ears rang with a cry, a tinny wail as faint and insubstantial as the breeze it rode upon. No one had heard the sound, the cry had been meant only for his ears.

He knew this feeling, the sudden buzz of disquiet that made his knee bounce and his fingers twitch with restless energy. It wasn't magic, not the sort he was used to at least, but something older, far more primal; he could count the times he'd experienced this sensation on one hand and still have a finger to spare. He wanted to run from the room, find the source of the feeling; he knew it would take him no more than an hour to find it, but even that was an hour too long. They were feasting, celebrating yet another battle he had not bothered to remember the name of, his absence would be noticed and, if this was what he believed it to be, he could not risk being followed, could not risk being found out.

So he waited for the three days and three nights it took for the revelries to end, for the halls to clear and for his family and comrades to depart, well fed and happy. Only then did he run, bypassing the road of glittering lights that led to the golden observatory, he delved into the darkness of the mountains and through his secret passageway. He landed on Midgard, a realm he had not stepped foot on in many months, and allowed this age old instinct to lead him to cottage that was tucked away in a quiet village and cloaked in seidr.

He didn't make a sound as he entered the cozy home and climbed the carpeted staircase; the door to the room closest to him was cracked open, allowing the sound of soft breaths and incoherent mumbles of those deeply asleep to drift out into the corridor. He slid past the cracked doorway without waking its occupants and stalked to the room just across the hall. This door had been left wide open, allowing him easy access into the carefully decorated nursery; it was done up in pale creams and navy blues with an impressively accurate depiction of a forest surrounding the large bay window on the far wall. On the shelf mounted on the wall directly across him, surrounded by various infant related objects, was a manmade replica of some sort of scaly, reptilian creature whose maw glowed with heatless flames. The unconventional light source took the edge off of the shadows and spilled soft, golden light upon the impossibly small creature curled among a nest of brightly colored blankets.

He approached the cot slowly, trepidation shortening his stride and weighting his step, and yet it still took only a handful of steps before he was peering over the edge of the bassinet. The child was awake, he was emitting quiet chirping sounds as tiny fists waved agitatedly above him. However the moment he caught sight of the stranger looking down upon him, his little face screwed up in a gummy smile and he let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a coo.

The band that had sat tight around his chest slowly eased until he could breathe easy once again, and yet his heart still stuttered and his fingers continued to tremble as he reached out to run a gentle hand over fine hair. There wasn't much there, only a light fuzz that barely covered the child's head, but it was dark as pitch and just as slick. The babe's face was still soft and round with youth, but he could pick out the exact points where it would sharpen, were his cheekbones would protrude and jawline would slope, granting him the elegant attraction of one of noble blood. And then there were the eyes, green eyes, large and bright and so curious. Those were his eyes, that was his face, this was his son.

Hands, that were suddenly and inexplicably steady, carefully lifted the child from his cot and cradled him against his chest. "Hello," he murmured, carefully cupping a large hand behind the child's head to ensure his neck was properly supported. "I'm not entirely certain what these mortals have been telling you, but I am your father, your real father."

The child responded with a nonsensical but no less cheerful gurgle, that brought a small smile to his face. "Ah, you cannot yet speak, but fear not, a few more years and you will be ruling the masses through the power of your silver tongue alone."

Fingers tangled in the fabric of his tunic, while a tiny fist rubbed into tired, green eyes and pink lips stretched into a yawn. He began pacing a few meters in each direction, adding a bit of bounce to each step as he quietly hummed a melody his mother had sang to him many times when he was young. He wasn't entirely sure how to do this, it had been centuries since he'd been so close to a child so small but whatever it was he was doing seemed to be working; the gentle rocking and the soft tenor of his voice slowly lulled the child to sleep. The babe was secure in Niorun's grasp within minutes, and yet he found himself unable to replace him in his cot, just the thought of releasing his son left him feeling cold and bereft.

Of course, his feeling on the matter wound up mattering very little as, only a few minutes later, the choice was taken from him. From the room across the hall came the rustle of displaced sheets then a sleepy, confused murmur. He stopped his pacing for a moment to focus on the words being exchanged between the couple in the other room.