AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own Harry Potter or anything from the Marvel universe. I just wanted to play with them.

"If I could change the currents of our lives,

To make the river flow where it's run dry,

To be a prodigal of father time,

Then I would see you tonight.

If I could find the years that went away,

Destroying all the cruelty of fate,

I must believe that love could find a way

Tonight.

Lonely finds me,

One day you will come.

But I'll wait for love's sake,

One day to be loved.

I will stay forever here until that one day comes

Parrying time will bring you near; I'll wait for your love…"

Trading Yesterday, "One Day"

x-x-x

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He gritted his teeth against the blinding pain each new drop of venom seared across his back. Slowly – tortuously – it ate into his flesh, eroding the layers of skin and muscle millimeter by aching millimeter until, eventually, it would start to eat away at his bones.

He would have to wait for the venom to erode his ribcage before it would mercifully reach his heart and kill him.

Certainly, he would be mad by then.

He tried to take a few deep breaths, strangled whimpers and rustling chains the only sounds in the dark cave other than the infernal dripping. He wanted to roar, to scream, to beg any deity that might somehow be listening to grant him reprieve from this punishment.

That was proving difficult as his mouth had been sewn shut.

Tears streamed unbidden from behind his tightly closed lids. He had never allowed himself to cry during any of his previous punishments; he was a God after all. Everyone knew that Gods were above such vulgar displays of weakness.

Not this time. This time, he wept like a child. And the harder he wept, the tighter the chains around his wrists pulled.

As a God and a Prince of Asgard, it was expected of him to accept his punishment with dignity and when he failed to do so, Odin had ensured he would be punished further. How the chains had not dislocated his shoulders yet was still a mystery to him.

"...Loki? Oh merciful Gods, please, no."

His eyes snapped open and his heart began beating a frantic, panicked tattoo against his ribcage. She couldn't be here. No. No. No. Did she really not know what would happen if she was discovered?

A few moments later, the sconces that had been mounted to the stone walls of the cave came to life, casting a warm glow over the entire space. When he looked up, he saw her.

Sigyn.

His fierce, beautiful warrior of a wife.

No. Please. Not her. Not here.

Her large, icy-blue eyes widened in horror at the sight before her, tears shimmering in the firelight. She knelt in front of him, the edges of her ornate Asgardian dress hissing as they met the venom pooled on the floor. "My love," she whispered, her voice strangled and wavering. "Gods almighty, what have they done to you?"

He tried to speak, to tell her that she must leave before it was too late, but he could taste the blood in his mouth before a single syllable could be formed. They had sewn his mouth shut too tightly. He whimpered again as pain sliced through his bleeding lips.

Her hands trembled as she pulled something out of the silk bag she had slung across her back. The moment she removed the item and presented it to him, his bright emerald eyes widened in horror.

The Elven Bowl of Replenishing.

She clearly recognized the expression of disbelief and fear he wore and gripped the bowl tightly to her chest, eyes wide and beseeching, "I had no choice, love. Please, you must understand. When they told me that you would be brought here…" Sigyn placed the cool, moonstone carved bowl onto the seared flesh of his back and he hissed at the contact briefly before a wave of relief washed over him as the magical properties of the bowl began to mend his ravaged skin. She cupped his cheek and raised his face to look at her. "I swore I would never abandon you, Loki. Never. No matter what you had done."

He tried to fight it, he really did, but his heart swelled at the overwhelming love in her expression. Who had she angered in her previous life to end up shackled to him for eternity? Loki would have to find out and thank them most thoroughly.

No one had ever loved him. Odin, Frigga, Thor, the Warriors Three, Sif, his real parents on Jotunheim, the myriad of women who warmed his bed; none of them had truly felt any love for the God of Mischief and Lies. Why would they? He was too thin, too magic, too different. Too Asgardian to be Jotun and too Jotun to be Asgardian. Always the outcast, always the black sheep.

Until her.

Sigyn had come into his life like a meteor streaking across a darkened sky, throwing the never-ending blackness into a relief of burning colors that scorched him and left him bare. She was a perfect contrast to him, with her icy eyes to his emerald, caramel skin to his alabaster, and honey-blond hair to his obsidian. He was the God of Mischief and Lies, she was an Asgardian warrior who fought with her spear at Thor and the Warrior Three's backs. She was everything a true Asgardian should be, everything he ever wanted to be. And he loved her with a fierceness that frightened him.

To this very day, he did not know why she had chosen him. But he was selfish, narcissistic, and possessive. The moment she inexplicably chose him, he'd performed the ancient magic that bound their souls for eternity without hesitation. She was what he wanted, until the end of time, and Loki was well known for taking what he wanted with both hands, consequences be damned.

So, he did.

He had bound them without her consent or knowledge and had been fully prepared for the wrath that she would undoubtedly unleash upon him. He had not cared – after all, it was easier to ask for forgiveness than to beg for permission… and he never was one to beg.

What he had not been prepared for was, instead, the week of seclusion in his chambers and near constant lovemaking that Sigyn had instituted upon learning of what he had done.

She certainly was full of surprises. That was just one of the many things he loved about her.

Others, upon learning of their soul-binding, had not been as receptive. Odin had been furious, Frigga had been skeptical, and Thor had been mocking. None of them believed Loki to be capable of the kind of love an eternity of bound souls required. Then again, none of them really knew him at all.

From the moment he'd laid eyes on Sigyn, no other woman had entered his mind or his bed. He'd forsaken them all for a chance with her and she had taken immediate notice.

The rest was, as they say, history.

Sigyn brushed his hair back from his sweat-slicked face, her voice soothing as the prized Elven bowl she had stolen from Odin's vaults healed him, "I thought things like this were behind you, darling?"

He eyed her and she laughed. Oh Gods above, how that laugh was like a balm to his tortured soul.

"I know, I know," her lips twitched. "God of Mischief and Lies. I should not be so surprised."

His face softened. She knew him so well.

As she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes slipped closed, "We will not be able to return to Asgard, love. Surely you understand the severity of the crime I am committing."

He nodded gently.

"Thor suggested Midgard, until Odin passes on and he takes the throne."

His eyes snapped open and he growled low in his throat. She knew damn well how he felt about her camaraderie with his oaf of a 'brother'.

She pressed her petal pink lips to his cheekbones, "He can be trusted, dearest. You know he can. We have saved each other's lives time and time again."

He snorted.

"He gave me the key to your chains," she pulled a tiny, iridescent key from a fold of her gown. "He said once the chains were released, your magic would return. You should be able to heal your mouth – just give me a moment."

There was something… something not quite right niggling at the back of his mind. The alarm bells were going off inside his head. His instincts were frantic with panic.

But she was here. He was soon to be released. They were together again.

What more could he ask for?

The chains fell away from his wrists one at a time, dissolving into a fine white mist as they hit the stone beneath his feet. Almost instantly, he could feel the magic surging through his body, reacquainting itself with his cells and embedding itself deep within. Thanks to the benevolent properties of the Elven bowl that had been gifted to Odin, his back was already almost whole again. Only a few red, angry welts remained where before there had been bloody, acid-seared flesh. He rolled his shoulders experimentally, pleased when there was only a slight clicking noise in his left one.

Loki waved his hand over his mouth, the bindings falling from his lips as the torn skin neatly knitted itself back together.

When he was whole again, Sigyn broke into a brilliant, blinding smile.

He crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her honeyed curls and breathing deeply. She was here. She was here, for him. After all the chaos he had wrought upon the cosmos.

She was here.

She would always be here.

His soulmate.

"Loki," she breathed, her arms winding around his back. "My love…"

He was prepared to declare himself to her, to profess that he was no longer just possessive over something he thought of as his, but well and truly in love with her. He was prepared to lay himself bare at her feet, so that she would never again doubt his affections.

Instead, his arms were twisted roughly behind his back and he was forced to his knees. Sigyn was dragged backwards and shoved onto the floor just out of his reach. Odin loomed behind her, his eye glinting with fury as he caught sight of the bowl still collecting the dripping venom behind Loki.

"I must admit, I am rather impressed," Odin's voice resonated throughout the small cave. "It is not easy to break into my personal vaults and steal one of my most prized artifacts."

Neither of them responded.

The Allfather gripped Sigyn's curls and yanked her hair roughly, exposing the delicate column of her throat, "Loki has committed high crimes against Asgard and her people, as well as against other Realms within the nine. He has been sentenced to death by the Viper and yet, Sigyn, you go against the will of your King to save his pathetic life. You broke into my private vaults, absconded with a most precious Elven artifact, healed the man sentenced to death, and released him from his bonds with the intention of disappearing. Now tell me, my loyal Asgardian enforcer, what is the punishment for such crimes?"

Loki snarled and struggled viciously against the guard that restrained him, but it was no use. The guards were well versed in his abilities and as such, began to carry specially crafted gloves that were to be worn whenever they restrained him with the express purpose of suppressing his magic so he could not harm them.

Sigyn's voice never faltered, "Death, my King."

"NO!" Loki roared, his face a rictus of terror. "Odin, please! Father, please – I beg you!"

"You dare?" The Allfather scoffed. "You dare to beg for anything from me after all you have done? Who do you think you are? Do you think you are above the laws because I brought you from Jotunheim and raised you in my palace? You are a filthy Jotun, a monster, an abomination. You are not my son and I am not your father."

Odin mercilessly plunged his gleaming sword into Sigyn's abdomen to the hilt and blood blossomed bright against her pale lilac gown when he withdrew it just as quickly. Loki's heart shattered as he saw his lovely wife bleeding to death in front of him – her gaze never shifting from his face and her expression stoic.

She was a warrior of Asgard and as such, she faced her death with honor.

The Allfather pointed his bloody sword at Loki's face, "Always remember that you did this, Loki. You are responsible."

"Loki…" Sigyn's voice was almost inaudible. "I…"

With a final flourish of his sword, Odin slit her throat.

Sigyn crumpled to Loki's feet, blood pooling under her head and expanding outward until his linen trousers were soaked with it.

Odin grabbed the Elven bowl before turning to leave, "Guards, come. We have a long ride back to Asgard."

When they were alone in the cave once more, Loki finally broke. He gathered his wife's lifeless body, still warm to the touch, in his arms and pulled her to his chest as waves of agony ripped through him. "Forgive me," he pleaded into her hair. "Please forgive me, Sigyn. I am so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me."

That was how Thor found him, three days later, blood coating his trembling mouth from where he had screamed his throat raw.

x-x-x

Were this any other situation, Thor's stunned expression would be comical, "Loki, surely you jest. Father has every guard watching for you. The moment you set foot in the city, he will have you killed."

The dark God fiddled absently with the silver band around his ring finger, his gaze absent and far away, "It matters little - I have to see the Oracle."

"Brother…"

His head whipped around so fast, the long onyx hair fluttered about his face, "Do not call me that," he hissed.

Thor spoke gently, "I know you are hurting, brother. I know you cared deeply for Sigyn, but she would not have wanted you to—"

Loki stood to his full height, green magic crackling dangerously around him, "You dare speak to me of my wife? You dare speak of her after what your father did?"

"Brother, please. I meant no disrespect. You know how fond I was of—"

His magic exploded from every cell in his body, blasting Thor backwards a few yards before depositing him rather unceremoniously on his lumbering arse. The Allfather, Thor's father, had murdered his wife right in front of him and the oaf dared to speak of being fond of her? Loki was more than fond of her! He loved her to the depths of his soul, to the ends of the cosmos and back.

He would have taken on the nine Realms for her.

He would have killed every single person in Asgard for her.

He would have given up his magic for her.

And now she was gone, ripped from his arms and sent to the afterlife before her time.

Loki wanted to unleash chaos, incite war, bring death to every Realm so that they, too could feel the cold knife of injustice twisting in their gut – and that was exactly what he intended to do. Sigyn would have understood, even as she went with Thor to pick up the pieces.

But first…

"Take me to see the Oracle," Loki commanded, his eyes burning with an unholy fire. "I will not ask again."

x-x-x

The God of Mischief and Lies sat, clad in full armor, before the Oracle of Asgard. The Oracle outstretched his withered, leathery hand between them and waited. Loki magicked one of his deadly throwing knives into being and sliced a deep gouge into his palm before clasping the Oracle's proffered hand. A few moments of silence as the payment was made and the Oracle withdrew, a grin on his blackened lips.

"Ah, Prince Loki. I certainly did not expect to see you after the King's latest decree. Metaphorically, of course," he gestured toward the two milky eyes that rested in his skull, staring far away into nothing. "Why have you sought me out at such a perilous time?"

"Tell me of Sigyn," Loki demanded. "I must know of what awaits us."

"Sigyn is dead, dear boy. You were there."

He ground his teeth, anger welling in his breast, "We are bound to each other. She cannot be dead."

"We shall see," the Oracle placed a small woven bag onto the table between them and turned it over. Five different shaped bones tumbled from the bag and he scooped them into his weathered claws, shaking them three times before blowing gently into his cupped hands and releasing them onto the table. The carved bones seemed to dance across the worn wooden tabletop to a silent beat until, abruptly, they froze in place. The Oracle waved his hands over the bones: forward and back, up and down, side to side. When he was finished, he cocked his head to the side, a slow smile blossoming on his face. "Ah, yes. Now I see. Such a strong bond between you two, forged in flames, across time and space."

"What do you see? Will I see her again?"

The Oracle nodded slowly, still smiling, "Oh yes, dear boy. You will see her many, many times before death comes for you."

Loki rubbed his hands over his face, the sheer weight of his relief making his body sag, "Thank all the Gods. When will she come back to me?"

He frowned, waving his hands over the bones once more, "The bones say you are unworthy right now, my Prince. They say you will not keep her again until you prove yourself worthy of her love."

His relief was short lived. Loki sprung to his feet, rage causing green magic to cloak him in its pulsating aura, "Tell me how," he hissed, scattering the bones to the floor with a sweep of his slender arm and leaning on the table towards the blind man. "Tell me how!"

The Oracle chuckled, unconcerned, "If you cannot discern how, you, Prince Loki of Asgard, do not deserve a love such as hers."

After altering himself to be invisible, the God stormed from the non-descript Asgardian house and snapped his fingers twice to summon his powers of astral projection from deep within himself.

He was fated to see Sigyn again, but he had to be worthy to keep her.

He needed to kill something.

The Silk Road, Persia- 1342

The first time he saw her again, he recognized her by her kohl-rimmed eyes; it did not matter that they were hazel this time. The sheer crimson veil that shielded the bottom half of her face had thrown him at first, but the moment she looked at him, he knew.

Sigyn.

He assumed she was a laborer on the Silk Road, helping to control and supply the goods that traversed the trading route. That was, until he saw her single-handedly slay a group of would-be bandits with a spear in the middle of the night while the rest of the women and even some of the men slept.

Loki chuckled fondly. A warrior, how appropriate.

He had taken great care to watch the traders and laborers who traveled the Silk Road so he would know exactly how to dress as to not rouse suspicion. When he felt comfortable enough in his ruse, he approached her.

"Pardon me, my lady," he bowed deeply, his voice rich and velvety. "I thought I might inquire as to your need for further guards along your way. I come looking for work."

She laughed; it was the same laugh he remembered from so many, many years ago.

His heart skipped.

"There is no need to lie," she said warmly, her dark chocolate curls ruffling in the breeze. "What is it you truly desire here?"

He raised his gleaming eyes to her and gave her a wicked grin.

Her head cocked as she appraised him, "A sorcerer, then."

She always was far more intelligent than everyone else. He simply raised an eyebrow.

"No magic in front of the others, and you are welcome to accompany us."

He bowed again, "I thank you, my lady."

"Pouria," she corrected, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she rounded her horse on him. "My name is Pouria."

"As you say, Pouria."

x-x-x

Something was wrong.

The traders, the laborers, the guards, the royalty. They were all coming down with the same strange illness. Many of them were fine in the morning but by nightfall, they were doubled over in pain, vomiting, sometimes bleeding and too weak to stand, with a raging fever and blackening fingers. Most, if lucky, were dead the next day.

"We must do something!" Pouria ground out in frustration. "At this rate, we will not have anyone left!"

"And what, my lovely one, do you suggest we do?" Loki asked, crossing his feet at the ankles on their silk sheets.

"You are a sorcerer; can you not heal them?"

He shook his head, "My skills are not of the healing variety. I can heal myself, but not others. Even if I could, this disease spreads much too rapidly for magic to cure it. There simply is not enough time before it kills."

She sighed as she fell into bed beside him, her head on his shoulder, "I wish there was more we could do for them. They have all worked so hard for this. I have worked hard for this."

He pressed his lips to her smooth forehead and sighed, "I know."

Pouria turned, gripping Loki's hair and yanking him down so their lips could meet, "Help me to forget for tonight." She breathed, tongue slipping into his mouth. "Loki…"

With his name on her lips, he ripped the cumbersome armor from her body and ravaged her flesh until they both collapsed with exhaustion.

x-x-x

She awoke in the middle of the night, retching with her arms clenched around her abdomen and sweating from the fever that gripped her. The tips of her toes were turning black.

Loki knew all too well what was coming.

Cradled in his arms as tears dripped onto her burning flesh, Pouria did not awaken again.

Aztec Empire, Mexico- 1521

The second time he found her, it had taken quite a bit of alteration magic for him to look as the Aztec's did. It took even more magic to convince the reticent priests to grant him an audience with her. By the time that he was able to convince her that he was a worthwhile consort, his magic felt near depleted – but Loki was not the God of Mischief and Lies for nothing.

It was not until she accepted his attentions that he revealed his true appearance to her. She most certainly had not complained.

That was how he found himself, sprawled naked across her opulent bed in her stone temple, enjoying her enthusiastic attentions quite thoroughly.

"Loki," she purred, rubbing her nose like a cat against the dark hair of his groin.

His bright eyes peered down as he hungrily devoured the sight of her.

She was different again, but it was still undeniably her.

Her hair was a deep, rich blanket of black silk that rippled like waves in the sunlight and her skin was several shades darker than it had been in Asgard. Her eyes were such a deep brown that they almost appeared black as they gazed up at him. She wore a garland of green, red, and yellow feathers along with large, intricately carved golden discs in her ears. When they were not busy delighting in one another's bodies, she wore a finely woven tunic of the richest blue and matching colored ring that pierced through her septum.

She was quite stunning in this Goddess form.

Though, wasn't she always?

"My sweet, Xochiquetzal," he crooned, winding his long fingers through her tresses. "Why do you tease me so?"

"Retribution," she smiled sweetly up at him. "I fear your constant presence in my bed has… angered my husband."

He chuckled, though there was an ache in his chest, "Then by all means, send me away."

"Never," she growled, nipping his thigh with her teeth. "Never."

x-x-x

He was stroking her hair in the dark, peppering kisses across her brow and down her cheeks, when she pulled at his face so he would look at her.

"Something is coming, dearest. Do you feel it?"

He nodded. He certainly did – he'd been feeling it for weeks now.

They all had.

"I fear…" She bit her lip, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I fear our time may be coming to an end."

That, too, he could feel. The Oracle had told him he would keep her when he was worthy and he knew that this time, it was not meant to be. He would be forced to wait for her once more.

But he would. He always would.

His soul demanded it.

"I am certain of it," Loki rested his head against her bare chest. "But why does that mean you should feel sadness? Surely you must know we will meet again in another life."

Xochiquetzal wrapped her arms around his thin shoulders and sighed, "We always find one another again… yes?"

His smile was blinding, even in the darkness that was only broken by scant moonbeams filtering through the stone, "Always."

x-x-x

The Spanish – Cortés and his men – were invading and much like Thor, Xochiquetzal was bound and determined to protect her people. She donned the shimmering armor of the Goddess and retrieved her jade-hilted spear before disappearing into the midst of the war.

She did not return, and Loki did not see her again.

Windsor Castle, Berkshire, England- 1837

The third time they crossed paths had been an accident. Loki, in order to relieve some pent up frustration, had been playing mischievous pranks on the anxious residents of Windsor Castle when Queen Victoria had announced her new Maids of Honour at Court. Among the demure, modest group of women stood a single, shining star.

She was here, once more.

The Queen spoke to them all, one by one, until she came to her.

Evelyn. Her name this time was Evelyn.

Her hair was a deep, startling shade of red and even from across the room, he could see that her eyes, for once, matched his. Jade to emerald. Her skin was like poured cream, with a smattering of delicate freckles across her face and décolletage. The elegant Victorian gown she wore hung from her curves as if it were honored to be there. With each movement, the heavy fabric molded to her like a second skin, displaying her sumptuous curves for all to see.

Loki growled deep in his throat.

As if she heard him, even in his invisible state, Evelyn raised her head and met his eyes. She could see him. No one else could see him, but she could.

He smiled at her.

She smiled right back, not a blush to be seen.

x-x-x

17 years later…

"Loki?"

He shifted sleepily, pulling her closer against him in the steaming bathwater, "Hmm?"

Her fingers entwined with his, "I have had word from the others. I must leave soon."

Loki froze, his muscles rigid as his heartrate increased. No. No. He had been so sure that this time was it for them. He thought that finally…

"You intend to leave me," his voice was hard, cold.

She sighed, resting her head against his shoulder so she could gaze up at him, "It is not a matter of want, love. I have to."

His grip on her tightened, "You do not have to do anything. I am sure the others will fare just fine without you."

"Of course they will," she pressed her lips to the sharp line of his jaw. "But that, my dearest, is not the point."

He could feel the icy rage, the burning fury building within him. As far as his reputation as the God of Mischief and Lies was concerned, he had been positively saint-like. Sure, he had used his magic to put a few unwelcome gentleman—he sneered internally at the word, for they certainly were not—in their places after they displayed some rather uncouth behavior directed towards his woman. But surely that was acceptable, wasn't it? He was protecting her, preserving her honor. Surely the Fates wouldn't punish him for that.

Would they?

"Fine. If you must go, then I will follow."

She dragged her wet fingers across his lips, "The men will not understand the things you can do."

"Any more than they will understand why there is a woman in their ranks?" He bit back, much harsher than he intended.

She simply laughed, shifting herself onto his lap against his hard length, "They will have no idea there is a woman in their ranks, my love. I have ways around that."

x-x-x

Loki watched in amazement as she transformed before his eyes. After cutting her hair as short as she dared, binding her chest with tight bandages, and donning the conventional British Army uniform, he found that she really would fit in with the other soldiers quite well.

She was, as always, a fierce little warrior.

His chest ached as the truth dawned on him like the sunrise over a new day.

This time, it was not to be either.

x-x-x

The battlefield at Crimea was a cacophony of horrible sounds. Cannons blasting, guns firing, spears piercing, men screaming.

Her secret lessons over the years had taught her well; she was outmaneuvering many of her fellow soldiers and taking down more Russian troops than all of her counterparts combined. She was quick and deadly with her spear- just as she had been in Asgard, Persia, and Mexico. None of the enemy soldiers could even get close enough to scratch her skin, let alone kill her. They were dead long before they had come anywhere close.

He allowed himself to feel a tiny spark of hope as she danced across the battlefield, dodging cannonballs and gunfire and fallen bodies.

She was such a skilled fighter- surely she would make it out of the battle alive and they could be together. Surely, his intuition was wrong this time.

Loki was jolted from his thoughts by a gut-wrenching, high-pitched scream that settled into his very bones. He had let his concentration waver while in thought and the shield spell he had been weaving around her as an extra precaution had faltered for just a second.

But it was enough.

She was on her knees, her eyes wide and trained on him as her small hands came up to grip the sharp end of the musket that was protruding from her abdomen. Like some sick sense of déjà vu, Loki watched in abject horror as the blood blossomed like a beautiful red flower against her Army uniform. Before he could wrench himself back to reality and make it to her, there was a quick succession of three gunshots.

She fell to the ground, brilliant jade eyes empty, chest unmoving.

That night, in the privacy of the tent they had shared, Loki held her cold body to him once more, weeping and begging the Gods, the Fates, whoever, to please let this stop.

He didn't know how much more he could take.

Hogwarts Castle, Scotland- 1996

"Why aren't they here yet?! This is dark, dark magic. I… I don't know how to break it!"

"They will be here soon, Poppy. I let them know it was an emergency, I assure you."

"Can't you stop it, Severus? You know magic like this! You must know how to stop it!"

He sneered at the mediwitch, "Simply because I understand Dark magic does not mean I am versed in every single curse and its counterpart."

At that moment Loki came striding into the Infirmary, his long, obsidian hair slicked back from his face, "Where is she?"

The mediwitch and the austere professor stepped aside to reveal a young girl in a sickbed. His eyes zeroed in on the curse wound slashed across her chest; it emitted a sickly purple glow as it burrowed deeper into her skin towards her frantically fluttering heart. He leaned closer as he examined the gaping spell wound- yes, Dark magic indeed.

"Thank Merlin you're here," the mediwitch cried, wringing her hands. "Miss Granger was cursed… we don't know what curse it was or who did it because she's been unable to form a coherent sentence. Can you help her, Cursebreaker?"

Loki eyed her with a raised brow, "Of course I can."

The dark professor, seemingly unconcerned, turned to leave, "I will bring more Blood-Replenisher and Dreamless Sleep for her."

The God simply waved him off. Loki frowned, confused. Why was the wound emitting such a light? Dark magic did not typically glow with such vibrancy unless it was an Unforgivable. Something else must be afoot.

With the softest brush of his fingers, he touched the wound.

Three things happened in rapid succession then: the girl's eyes snapped open, her hand gripped his wrist like a vice, and she gasped out one lone word.

"Loki…"

He looked into her eyes and saw everything.

It was her.

And this was the final time.

She collapsed back into unconsciousness the moment he recognized her. Working twice as hard now, Loki waved his hands back and forth across the wound on her chest until he had absorbed all of the Dark magic that remained inside of her. Once the skin knitted closed and he had used some of the mediwitch's potions to lessen the scarring, he turned to the older woman.

"Who is this girl?"

Her hands were still trembling as she gripped the metal footboard, "Is she alright? Will she make it?"

"She will be just fine. Now – who is she?"

She took a few deep breaths to compose herself now that she knew her patient was going to pull through, "H… Hermione Granger. Fifth year Gryffindor."

Hermione Granger.

The final time.

The words caressed his mind like the skin of a lover. He looked down at the young girl in awe. She had bushy mahogany curls that sprung riotously from her crown and deep bronze skin, peppered by dark freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was slim, but there were warrior's muscles hiding beneath that unassuming façade, he was certain of it. When she had opened her eyes, he noticed that they were the color of cinnamon.

So, this was to be her final form… and she was clearly an intricate part of the Wizarding War that was brewing.

Fuck.

He managed to push aside his fears for the moment and smile tenderly down at the unconscious girl. "Hermione Granger," he murmured to himself. When he looked up, the mediwitch was watching him most curiously. "Be sure to take care of her, Madam Pomfrey. I have done all I am able for now."

She nodded, dumbstruck, as he left the Infirmary with his hands in the pockets of his exquisitely tailored black trousers.

He had found her for the final time.

Now he just had to wait…

And hope that when the time came, he would be worthy of her.

x-x-x

After the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Loki had met with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to inquire about training young Hermione Granger in the art of Curse Breaking. More than happy to eventually have a fully trained Curse Breaker in the Order's ranks, he'd readily accepted.

As soon as her sixth year began, the lessons began as well. They would meet in the Room of Requirement three nights a week so that he could teach her Dark curses and how to identify, stop, and reverse them.

"I never thanked you properly, Sir, for saving my life after I was cursed," she said one evening as they were getting ready to begin.

"Loki, if you please," he waved his hand to place the training dummies side-by-side, "and there is nothing to thank, Miss Granger. I did what needed to be done."

She blushed, "Yes, well… I suppose but it's just as well. Thank you very much for saving my life… Loki."

He gave her a toothy grin that made her blush deeper, bowing formally at the waist, "You, Miss Granger, are most welcome."

Three hours later, when they were both exhausted and readying to depart for the evening, she turned and eyed him contemplatively.

He frowned, "What is it?"

She shook her head, almost as if that could dislodge her thoughts, "Forgive me; it's just the strangest thing. I feel as if I'm having the oddest sense of déjà vu with you. It feels like we've met somewhere before."

He chuckled a little, "Mmm… quite odd, indeed."

His laugh broke her concentration, making her smile, "Ignore me, I'm just being silly. Have a good evening, Loki. I will see you in two days?"

"You most certainly will."

Just as he reached the end of the corridor, Hermione called out, just the tiniest bit breathless, "Loki!"

He turned, slender eyebrows raised in question.

"Please… call me Hermione."

She did not see the softness in his eyes as he watched her retreating back.

x-x-x

As the lessons continued, things became less formal and more comfortable between them. More often than not, Hermione would bring a book to the Room of Requirement that she desperately wanted to discuss with Loki as she had told him, once, that she valued his intelligence and opinions very highly.

She also remarked, quite often, that she could not quite place where she knew him from but she was absolutely certain that she did know him.

Loki neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions.

When their lessons had concluded, 8 short months later, Hermione had given him a blushing kiss on the cheek and expressed her desire for him to continue to write her.

Who was he to deny his soulmate?

x-x-x

Her letters were how he kept tabs on her most of the time. He did, after all, have a real occupation this time around. And being one of the most sought-after Curse Breakers during a Wizarding War was a busy job indeed.

He wanted to watch over her as he had in the past, but he knew that this was his last chance.

He had to be worthy when the time came.

So, on he worked, comforted only by the familiar slant of her elegant script across parchment.

August 1, 1997

By the time night fell, he had received a letter- the first one in quite some time.

'We were at Bill and Fleur's wedding when it happened,' she wrote, her scrawl hasty. 'Kingsley's patronus appeared and let us know that the Ministry had fallen. Please tell me you escaped the Ministry and are safe? I couldn't bear to think of something happening to you. I know you must be worried as well, but you will be happy to know Harry, Ron and I escaped just in time and are safe for the time being. I can't tell you where we are going or what we'll be doing, but know that it's of the utmost importance. I will write you when I can.' Her signature was the only part of the letter that was not sloppy. 'Faithfully yours, Hermione.'

Loki had to fight back the panic that threatened to grip him and drag him under. She said she had escaped. She said she was safe. Her friends were with her.

He forced himself to breathe, slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

She was a battle-hardened warrior. She would be fine.

She had to be. This was their last chance.

x-x-x

The Dark Lord, Voldemort, had the audacity to try and threaten Loki for his skills with magic. That had actually made him laugh, good and hard, for quite longer than was socially appropriate. The mere shell of a man who only dabbled in the pools of immortality dared to threaten him? Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief and Lies? Oh no, no. Such blatant disrespect simply could not be overlooked. Not after the things he had seen Voldemort do to innocent women and children. Not this time.

As a God, there was only so much he could interfere on Midgard, but he was willing to break a few more rules this time around for the sake of proving himself. It was high time to end this travesty of a war.

It was time for him to return to his wife.

x-x-x

She was sitting outside in the freezing air, her back against a tree as she read through a book with a hideous, heavy locket around her neck.

The locket made the hair on the back of Loki's neck stand up. Whatever she was wearing was the darkest of Dark magic that he had ever encountered as a Curse Breaker. Whatever it was, she needed to destroy it – quickly.

He felt the shimmer of her wards as he stepped forward and smiled. Always so brilliant, his woman. Her head snapped up as soon as the wards alerted her to someone's presence, wand at the ready, book forgotten on the cold ground. When he stepped out from the shadows, she let out a huge breath and visibly relaxed, lowering her wand. "Loki," she breathed, his name like a prayer on her tongue. "You're here. But… why—"

"Does it matter?" He shrugged. "You should know; I received a most interesting offer from the Dark Lord himself. It would seem as though he is interested in my skills."

Her face fell, "Oh Gods. What happened?"

A single brow raised in unison with the corner of his mouth in answer.

Hermione smiled, "I would be willing to bet he didn't take your rejection well."

"He did not."

She seemed conflicted about something for a moment before she blurted, "I've missed you."

Loki laughed, but the sound was rough to his own ears.

Her cheeks flushed, "I'm so sorry – that was terribly inappropriate, wasn't it?"

"Not any more so than the way you sign your letters."

She groaned and hid in her hands.

He stepped forward, pulling her hands down from her face, "There is nothing to be embarrassed of," he said softly. "You have signed your letters to me that way for many, many years."

Hermione's breath caught and she looked up at him, eyes searching, "I was right, wasn't I? We do know each other."

He gave her a gentle nod, "We most assuredly do."

"You were – are – someone very important to me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Do we…" She cleared her throat a little. "Are we…?"

Moonlight slashed across her cheekbones and set her expression ablaze, leaving him breathless, "You tell me."

Hermione touched his cheek and his eyes softened, "I'm not certain but… that's what it feels like."

This was the wrong place, the wrong time for this conversation and selfish as he was, Loki knew he had to wait. There were things happening that were bigger than the two of them right now and he would not fail to be worthy of her again. His hand covered hers before he moved it away from his cheek and entwined their fingers, resting his forehead against hers, "I promise I will tell you everything as soon as this war is over, if you still want to know. There simply is not time right now."

She nodded, "Of course, I understand."

"Here," Loki waved his hands in front of them and a long, silver sword with a ruby-studded hilt appeared. "This should be able to destroy the items you seek."

Her eyes widened, "The… the sword of Gryffindor! How on earth did you get it?"

"Let's just say that the current Headmaster of Hogwarts was most accommodating."

"P… Professor Snape?! But… but…"

Loki shook his head and kissed her forehead briefly, "No time. Take the sword back to your friends and destroy the items. I will help where I can." Just as she turned to go back to the tent where her two friends were sleeping, he grabbed her shoulder, "And Hermione?"

She turned back to him, "Yes?"

"As soon as this is all over, we will talk."

With that, he brushed his lips delicately to hers before he was gone.

He didn't see the vague look of recognition overtake her features as she whispered, "Asgard…"

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England- 1998

"I don't know what you're talking about! Please, I don't know!" Hermione screamed through the pain, tears dripping into her hair on the floor of the drawing room. "Please, please!"

"Liar!" Bellatrix hissed, her teeth black and rotted. She pointed her wand at Hermione again, "Crucio! Crucio!"

All she knew was the pain, there was nothing else anymore. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she understood why the Longbottoms were in St. Mungo's now. This kind of torture, from this woman, could easily break a person. Hermione convulsed under the curse, her limbs twisting and pounding into the wooden floor with sickening force. She felt bones break, shatter, splinter as they hit the ground over and over again. Blood spurted from her nose and eyes. When Bellatrix finally relented, she felt nearly paralyzed.

The dark witch bent down next to her, a shiny silver knife in her hands, "Tell me how you got into my vault and what else you took," she growled. "Otherwise I'll stop playing nice."

Hermione couldn't speak if she wanted to. Fluid filled her lungs, blood filled her mouth.

"Not going to cooperate, eh? You're brave for a filthy little Mudblood, I'll give you that. Draco," she turned to the white-blond boy who looked utterly terrified. "You knew this arrogant little bitch in school. Want a turn with her before I finish up?"

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Draco gag and turn toward his mother. Narcissa was the one to answer, "That is quite enough, Bella. Either kill her or take her to the Dark Lord, but leave my son out of this."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, "I don't know what happened to you lot. You all used to be so fun."

Lucius looked nauseous.

"Fine. I suppose I am getting rather tired of her," she turned back to Hermione. "Tell me, Mudblood, how does it feel to know that your life means nothing to us? That you are lower than the filth that we scrape from our shoes? How does it feel to know that when this war is over and the Dark Lord prevails, that you will be nothing but a whore for the Death Eaters and their sons to have their way with until you are begging for death?"

Draco vomited. Narcissa shushed him softly.

"Perhaps I should give you a little memento to remember our time here today. I wouldn't want you to forget your place, after all…"

With that, Bellatrix dug the tip of the knife into Hermione's forearm over and over, clearly carving some sort of word. She wanted to scream, the pain was excruciating and searing into her brain with a white-hot heat, but she was so weak, her body so broken she could do no more than whimper each time the knife dug in a little further. Her vision swam, black spots darkening the world around the edges. She could feel the fluid in her lungs making it harder to breathe and surely the internal bleeding she no doubt had was killing her as well. Unable to move, Hermione stared out the window into the murky gray sky, thinking of how beautiful it must look on Asgard right now.

Asgard…

Persia…

Mexico…

England…

As her breaths turned to pants and her limbs went numb, it all came flooding back to her with rapid force.

Loki catching her eye.

Binding them without her permission and the riot of lovemaking that ensued.

His hand in Ragnarok and subsequent sentence to death by the Viper.

Breaking into Odin's vaults and stealing the bowl.

Saving Loki's life.

Being murdered by the Allfather.

Her life and death on the Silk Road…

During the Spanish invasion in Mexico…

The Crimean war…

She was not just Hermione Granger, Muggleborn witch. She was also Sigyn, wife of Loki, Asgardian warrior; Pouria, Persian guardian of the Silk Road; Xochiquetzal, Aztec Goddess of Beauty, Pleasure, and Love; Evelyn, English Maid of Honour in Queen Victoria's Court. She was all of them and they were her. They all shared the same soul and each life was another reincarnation that brought her closer to this final one that she was destined to share with Loki.

He was her soulmate. They were bound.

Meant for no other, until the ends of time.

Her lips quirked. Oh my dearest love, how much you must have suffered because of me.

His voice whispered across her mind. Suffered? Never. You know I enjoy a challenge.

You must have been so sad each time I had to leave you.

Yes… He admitted. But I always knew I would see you again.

I always knew, too, didn't I? Each time, even though my body was different, I recognized you.

He chuckled. Certain incarnations would take longer than others, but yes. You always remembered in the end.

I fear, my sweet Loki, that our time has once again been cut short.

As much as you enjoy being right, dearest Hermione, it is my distinct pleasure to tell you that you are wrong this time.

I've been tortured, love. My body is broken. Even with my magic, I will not recover from this.

You do not have to recover. He said softly. Thor has taken the throne, Odin is dead. We are free to return home to Asgard as soon as you shed your mortal coil.

What of Harry and Ron? Of everyone here? What of the war?

His voice was soothing. I procured the remaining Horcruxes and left them somewhere your friends will find them. I have also removed the small part of the Dark Lord that remained within your friend, Harry. They will all mourn you, but the war will be won. It has been Seen and so it shall be.

Will many die?

Yes.

Some of my friends?

Yes.

But it will be over soon?

In less than two months' time, lovely wife.

The chandelier above her swayed precariously and she could see Dobby unscrewing the pieces that held it to the ceiling. It was going to fall right on top of her.

I'm ready to go home, Loki. Take me back to Asgard.

Anything for you… Sigyn.

Asgard- Present Day

Hermione stood at the Bifrost and threw her arms around Heimdell, "It's so good to see you again, Heimdell! You look so well!"

The guardian frowned in confusion at the tiny witch in his arms, "Sigyn? You are… quite different than I remember."

There came a deep chuckle from behind them, "She has had many names over the years but she prefers 'Hermione', now."

Hermione turned to her husband, the sole Prince of Asgard, the God of Mischief and Lies, and Loki felt his heart contract painfully in his chest as her large cinnamon eyes drank him in. At first she simply stood there, seemingly frozen, before she began to step towards him – each movement agonizingly slow. After all she had been through, all the deaths and wars and pain she had experienced, he did not want to frighten her so Loki remained rooted exactly where he was.

When they stood, toe to toe, Hermione reached up to trace his sharp features, her expression one of awe and reverence. "Loki…" She whispered in recognition. "Loki… my husband…"

He smiled down at her, "If you will still have me, of course."

She gripped his hair roughly and without missing a beat, yanked him down to crash her lips into his, each kiss punctuated with a breathy: "You did it. You did it. You did it."

He could feel tears burning his eyes as he cradled her delicate face, "Our souls are bound, Hermione. Failure was not an option; I had to find you… I… I had to be worthy of you."

Hermione clung to him desperately, as if she were afraid it was all a dream and he would be ripped away from her again, "Gods above, I love you."

For the very first time since they met, for the very first time in his entire life, Loki lowered his mouth to brush against hers as the truth was finally revealed, "And I love you, my fierce little warrior."

Fingers linked, they walked onto the Rainbow Bridge towards Asgard.