The Curse of Loki Trickster

PROLOGUE: The Curse, and the Beginning Of a Plan

It was the first morning after NEWT exams were over for the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and they were, to a one, glad of it. The Seventh year Gryffindors were seated at their table in the Great Hall enjoying breakfast without the stressful atmosphere that had surrounded them for so long.

Even Head Girl Hermione Granger looked rested this morning. After her last NEWT the previous afternoon, she had retired to her bed for a longer stretch of sleep than she had allowed herself for the entire school year to that point.

Sitting to her right, Harry Potter, one of her best friends for the past seven years, heaved a melancholy sigh as he buttered his toast. His attention drifted to the Slytherin table across the Great Hall and distracted from his breakfast, he didn't even notice when he began to butter his hand, as well.

"Harry," Hermione said in a chiding tone, gently removing the butter knife from his grasp, "what in the world are you thinking about? Your mind must be miles away right now."

"He's so beautiful," Harry sighed, absently chewing his toast.

Hermione looked across the Hall at the focus of Harry's love struck gaze and frowned. She had accepted that her best friend was gay, but she really wished that he would fall in love with someone else. Had she been consulted on the matter, Head Boy Draco Malfoy was the last person she would have chosen for Harry. Malfoy started every Prefects Meeting with a sneer in her direction and the words, "I can't believe they made a Mudblood Head Girl."

"Why don't you find a nice girl to date, Harry?" Ron Weasley asked through a mouthful of kippers. "He's not near good enough for you, mate."

Harry sighed again as he stirred his scrambled eggs around on the plate. "Because I love Draco. He's everything I've ever wanted."

"That evil, slimy git?" Ron demanded. "Harry, mate, you really need to aim higher in life. If you have to have a bloke, why does it have to be Malfoy?"

Harry sighed again. His friends would never understand True Love.

Across the Hall, the Seventh Year Slytherins were engaging in their version of civilized table conversation.

"Weasley deserves to die," Draco said casually, as he reached for the jam.

"Hear, hear!" Blaise echoed, leaving off from his licking of Crabbe's earlobe.

"I wanna smash his ugly face in!" Millicent exclaimed in her deep voice, cracking her knuckles and flexing her muscles.

"Well, it is the Hogsmeade weekend," Pansy pointed out. "We're done with our NEWTs, why don't we lure him off somewhere and kill him? Nobody'd ever miss him."

"Shut up, Pansy," Tim said scathingly.

"No, you shut up, Theodore!" she sneered back.

"My name is Tim," he said, slapping her across the face.

She grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head down on the table, bouncing it off the plate of scrambled eggs.

"Bitch," he said, wiping blood from his split lip.

"Wanker," she said, licking it off his finger in a provocative manner.

He grabbed the front of her leather robes and kissed her, hard. When she bit down on his split lip, he gasped in pain, or pleasure (the others were never sure with this pair).

Blaise wrapped his hands around Crabbe's massive bicep. "Young love, it's so inspiring," he sighed. "Their relationship is a perpetual struggle for dominance."

Crabbe grunted his agreement.

Tracey snuggled underneath Millie's tattooed arm, which was nearly as massive as Crabbe's, tossing her flame-red hair back from her face. She nibbled daintily at the platinum ring Millie wore through the center of her bottom lip. "I'm glad I have you to take care of me, sweetie," she cooed.

"So let's kill him," Draco drawled, looking around at his friends. "Pansy is absolutely right, no one will ever miss the dirt-poor git. There are so many children in that family, even his parents won't notice."

"You got it, Boss," Goyle said, and drained his glass of milk. "He'll be just a bad memory by nightfall."

"Someone should have hexed his mother's legs together twenty years ago," Blaise sneered. "The less progeny from that family the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Draco favored Blaise with a malicious grin. "We'll do that next week," he promised.

"Why does Goyle get to kill him," Millie demanded. "I want to kill him!"

"I'm the one who said we should lure him off somewhere and kill him," Pansy reminded them. "If anyone gets to kill him, it should be me."

"You?" Tim said scornfully. "If anyone gets to do it, I think I should--Aaaahh!" he screeched as Pansy slipped her hand into his lap and squeezed his naughty bits, hard. He slapped her and twisted her arm high behind her back. "You dirty slut," he growled. "I'll flog you for that, and you'll beg for more."

"You wish," Pansy jeered, and spat in his face.

Draco ignored the mating rituals of Tim and Pansy and addressed his next words to Blaise and Millie. "Wouldn't it be nice if there were some way we could kill him more than once?" he said wistfully, catching his boyfriend's eye from across the Hall and winking at him. "If only there were a reliable rejuvenation spell. We could each kill him, and bring him back for the next one to take their turn."

The Slytherins all sighed at the thought.

"I would be amenable to that," Blaise agreed. "We could stage a rencontre, see who could kill him in the most mortifying, undignified way."

"A rencontre, did you say?" came a new voice. "I would be most amenable to that, as well."

"Who the fuck are you?" the Slytherins demanded distrustfully. The stranger had appeared suddenly in their midst. He had dark hair and classic Scandinavian features. His hair was short, and he wore no beard. He was not dressed as a Hogwarts student. He wore a white tunic trimmed with black fur, with a black shirt beneath it. Tight black trousers, black half-boots, and a long, black coat completed the ensemble. He was smiling a toothy smile, and his perfect white teeth gleamed in the torchlight.

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name," the stranger said with a smirk to rival that of Draco's on his best day. He looked around at their confused expressions. "Never mind, it was a Muggle reference." The Slytherins all sneered at the word 'Muggle'.

"I'm hurt that you don't recognize me. Didn't they teach you anything in this school? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Loki, the Trickster God. I find this time of year to be interminable myself, young Slytherins, and I believe I hold the solution to your dilemma." Loki paused to let them become interested. When he was sure they were hooked, he continued speaking.

"When I heard your conversation just now, I thought to myself, 'Now, there's a group of young people who aren't afraid to dream.' Would you allow me to present my proposal? I promise you won't regret it," he assured them with a broad smile and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

The Slytherins looked around the Great Hall. It appeared that they were the only ones who could see this person who called himself 'Loki'. The professors and the rest of the students were eating as though there were nothing unusual happening.

"Well," Draco drawled, wiping his mouth fastidiously with his napkin, "Loki, did you say? I have my doubts as to the truthfulness of your claim, but I think I speak for all of us when I say that we would be willing to hear you out."

His classmates murmured their agreement.

"I'm very pleased to hear that, young Malfoy," Loki said, sitting down at the table across from him. "I have in my possession a potion that will gift Weasley with nine lives so that your group may have your rencontre."

"What's in it for you?" Draco asked mistrustfully. "I find it hard to believe that you would do this out of the goodness of your heart."

"I'd be interested to hear the catch myself," Tim said.

When Pansy uncharacteristically nodded her agreement with Tim, the Slytherins were more shocked than they had been at the initial appearance of this Loki person.

"No catch," Loki said with a disarming smile. "I only want to enjoy the show."

"Could we have just a moment to discuss this among ourselves?" Draco asked.

"Certainly," Loki said, and walked a short way away, where he amused himself by stealing bits of food from the plates of the Hufflepuff students.

The nine Slytherins pulled together in a huddle and discussed the proposal. They came to the conclusion that Loki seemed to be someone powerful, if he wasn't, in fact, who he claimed to be; and it was likely that the potion he said he possessed would perform the way he promised. They decided that they would draw straws to see who went first, so as to be fairer in case there was no validity to the assurance of nine chances to cause the demise of Weasley. They further decided that they would ask Loki to judge the deaths of Weasley for originality and style, with the winner to be awarded the head of Weasley, plated in gold.

Tim caught Loki's attention, and the Trickster ambled back to their table, munching on a bit of bacon he'd filched.

"We've decided that we will accept your offer, if you will agree to our conditions," Draco announced.

He outlined the terms they'd settled on, and Loki grinned. "Done," he said, extending his hand to Draco. He took the hand of each of the Slytherins in turn, bestowing a gentlemanly kiss on Tracey, Daphne, and Pansy's hands. Pansy gave him an appraising look, which Tim promptly slapped off her face.

"You'll pay for that, you fucker," she hissed.

"Promises, promises," Tim said, and bit the tongue she stuck out at him.

"You have until midnight to make your plans," Loki said. "The potion will take effect then. He will awaken at precisely midnight after each time he is killed, and you will need to be prepared to carry out one death each day. I look forward to tomorrow's festivities."

Draco spoke for all his friends when he said, "So do we."

The Slytherins watched with glee as Loki disappeared, and reappeared behind Weasley. He poured the potion into Weasley's pumpkin juice, sketched a jaunty wave at the conspirators, and disappeared from the Hall.

"Well, that's settled," Draco said. "Shall we retire to the dungeon to plot the first death of Weasley? Say, in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

He remembered to blow Harry a kiss as he left the Hall with his classmates following him.