Fickleness of Fate | Loki Laufeyson

Chapter Eleven

Harry's fine-tuned whistling echoed around the spacious chamber, the witch casually strolling into the room on assured feet. The occupant of the concealed cell had pivoted towards her immediately upon her entrance, a snarl of vicious intent brewing at the sight of her. It was an effort on Harry's part to halt the returning smile that wished to bloom across her face; the mere thought of riling this man after so little effort was fantastically amusing.

Loki was really, truly, going to despise her after this encounter.

Harry dutifully ignored the Norse God monitoring her every moment, her every breath, as she unhurriedly strolled towards the singular walkway that led directly to the holding cell. The tune of the song still slid from her pursed lips, her fingers absently tapping against her gun holster. Ginny was irrefutably to blame for Harry's favoured style of music, having introduced her to the magical world's artists whilst still at school. She couldn't even count the number of concerts they had attended since they had graduated from Hogwarts, a familiar and enjoyable tradition.

With a vibrant flick of her wrist, Harry conjured a chair directly before the cell's windowed panels. With practised dramatic flair, she swung the chair round and sank into a straddle, resting within the backwards-facing chair. Only then did she halt her whistling, arms resting on the seat's frame for ease.

"Alas, a visitor," Loki drawled after a moment of terse silence. His chains clinked audibly when he stepped forward, his body continuing to tower over her own. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The pleasure is all mine, actually," Harry mused wickedly. "The satisfaction of seeing you caged like the animal you are is a deeply meaningful reward." She cocked her head to the side, noting the lack of changes in Loki's breathing, or his outer body language. This man was not rattled by her words one bit. "But you were expecting me to visit."

One side of Loki's mouth quirked upwards. "After Fury had exhausted whatever concoction of torture he had planned. You would appear only to soothe the wounds he had inflicted, a metaphorical balm." He took another step closer. "Mere mortals might have cooperated. They might have been swayed by your magic, by the allure, and yet you forget that I am a God."

"I can assure you, that fact has not been overlooked." Her fingers once again began to tap, this time against the cold metal of the chair. "What have you done to Agent Barton? To Selvig?"

"I'd say I've expanded their minds."

"An interesting way to describe recent events," Harry ground out. "And after? Once you've won, conquered this world, what happens to their minds?"

Loki took another step, his smile growing wider. "Is this love, witch?"

"It's called compassion – understandably a foreign concept for the outcast God of mischief, but a valid emotion all the same." Harry's focus zeroed in on Loki's eye twitching slightly. "I will not allow innocents to be harmed under my watch."

Loki's eyes narrowed, a python assessing where best to bite its prey. "You oose self-righteousness, and yet you continue to align yourself with other monsters that will perform worse atrocities than I." With another step forward, Harry noted that with another two strides, the man would be pressed firmly against the glass window. "Ah, yes. Barton may not have known about your presence, but the others? All their histories, all their misdeeds, laid bare for my judgement."

Harry shrugged simply. "I consider the act of remediation to be more telling than past sins."

"Such a convenient mentality to possess."

"The real animals, the real monsters like yourself, are the ones that think themselves to be above redemption," she sneered with obvious discontentment.