The Throne Room of Asgard was a place of legend, where the golden walls bore witness to the weight of history, and the air itself seemed to hum with power. Massive pillars lined the hall, inscribed with runes older than Midgard's oldest empires. Ancient banners, some woven with threads of purest light, draped from the ceiling, whispering softly as the breeze carried the murmurs of an expectant crowd. The golden torches flickered with enchanted flames, casting elongated shadows across the polished floor, as if even the fire itself bowed in deference to the momentous occasion.
At the foot of the great dais, five young women stood shoulder to shoulder, their hearts pounding, their breaths steady but charged with anticipation. Susan Bones, Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbott, Astrid, and Sigrun had come to claim a destiny few could even dream of: to become Valkyries.
And standing before them, as a bridge between past and future, was Nymphadora Tonks—though she had long since shed that name. Her dark eyes, sharp and knowing, scanned the aspirants with the focus of a seasoned warrior. The playful, clumsy girl who once tripped over her own feet had been honed into a blade. Her presence was magnetic, her stance one of absolute control, clad in Asgardian battle armor, her cloak flowing like a storm-touched sky.
Today, she was not just an observer. She was part of this rebirth.
Atop the grand dais, King Odin and Queen Frigga watched, their presence radiating both authority and something deeper—expectation.
Odin Allfather was the storm incarnate. His mere presence dominated the room, his broad-shouldered frame imposing even while seated upon his golden throne. His single eye, sharp as a wolf's, flickered between the aspirants with the weight of centuries behind it. His silver beard framed his jaw like battle-worn steel, and his long hair cascaded like an untamed river. He was garbed in deep royal blue and gold-trimmed armor, his wolf-headed pauldrons exuding raw power.
Beside him, Frigga, the silent storm of wisdom, radiated grace and warmth. Her auburn hair was crowned with delicate silver filigree, and her emerald-green gaze carried the depth of a thousand untold stories. If Odin was the storm, Frigga was the calm eye within it—no less formidable, yet infinitely more patient.
Odin leaned forward, resting his massive hands upon the armrests of his throne, exhaling deeply before speaking. His voice, a thunderclap wrapped in velvet, filled the vast chamber.
"You stand here, not as children of Midgard, but as warriors of the realms. You have been tested. You have endured. You have sacrificed," he said, his single eye glinting with the weight of his words. "And now, you stand upon the precipice of legend. If you step forward, know this—there is no turning back. The Valkyrie path is not one of comfort. It is of duty. It is of war. It is of glory."
Frigga's voice followed, as smooth and steady as a river carving through stone. "It is also of wisdom. Of grace. Of compassion. A Valkyrie is not merely a reaper of souls; she is their guardian. She must know when to wield her blade and when to stay her hand. The weight of this duty will shape you. Will you bear it?"
Susan Bones took a step forward first, her chin lifting. She had always been the quiet strength among her friends, the rock upon which others leaned. Her striking red hair was tied back, revealing bright blue eyes filled with unshakable resolve.
"I will," she declared, her voice ringing clear as a bell.
Hannah Abbott followed, her expression softer but no less determined. Her golden curls framed a face that was usually warm, but now held steel beneath the surface. "I will," she echoed.
Luna Lovegood, ethereal as always, tilted her head slightly, as if listening to the unseen. Then, with a dreamlike smile, she murmured, "I will," her voice like the whisper of stars.
Astrid, her blonde locks braided in the traditional Asgardian fashion, stepped forward next, her sharp green eyes ablaze with an eagerness that spoke of boundless energy. "I will!"
Sigrun, taller than the others and striking with her fiery red hair, did not hesitate. Her voice rang with the authority of a warrior already forged in battle. "I will!"
Nymphadora Tonks—no, Niamh now—watched them with something dangerously close to pride. Stepping beside them, she raised her head. "And I will," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of her past and the promise of her future.
Odin rose from his throne, his massive frame casting a shadow over them all. He stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing like distant war drums.
"You are no longer who you were," he proclaimed. "Midgard remembers you as children, but Asgard names you anew. Rise, and claim the names that will echo in the halls of the honored dead for eternity."
He turned first to Susan.
"Susan Bones, henceforth you shall be known as Svanhildr—guardian of courage, shield of the weak, storm upon the battlefield. A beacon of hope where none remains."
Susan—Svanhildr—let out a slow breath, her hand unconsciously tightening into a fist. She felt the name settle into her bones like destiny long written.
Frigga stepped toward Hannah, her touch light upon her shoulder. "Hannah Abbott, from this day forward, you shall be called Hilde—wise and steadfast, a guiding light in the dark, a voice of reason when reason is lost."
Hilde smiled, something soft and knowing blooming within her.
Odin turned to Luna, his gaze lingering. There was something different about this one. Something... other. He narrowed his eye.
"Luna Lovegood," he said slowly, as though tasting the name before casting it away. "No more. You are Astraea—guardian of the stars, keeper of celestial wisdom, a light among the lost."
Luna—Astraea—nodded, unfazed, as if she'd always known.
To Niamh, Odin's gaze was almost amused. "You have long since shed the name of a child. Now you embrace your fate fully. Niamh you shall be, healer of hearts, unyielding as the tides, a force of life amidst war."
Niamh let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The name fit like armor long waiting to be worn.
Frigga turned to Astrid and Sigrun. "And you, my fierce ones," she said, a glimmer of something proud in her gaze. "You have always been Valkyries, in heart and in soul. Now, you are so in name. **Astrid. Sigrun. Let the realms hear your names and know them well."
The newly named Valkyries felt something stir within them—a pulse of ancient power, of destiny set into motion.
Odin raised his spear, Gungnir, high above them. "From this day forth, you are Valkyries of Asgard! Let the realms know your names! Let your enemies tremble! Let the honored dead know who will guide them to Valhalla!"
The crowd erupted, the great hall shaking with cheers, and the newly anointed Valkyries stood tall, ready to embrace the legend they had just become.
—
The atmosphere inside the Throne Room had shifted, the weight of the sacred vows lingering in the air like an unspoken promise. The ceremony had been historic, a rekindling of an ancient tradition, and now, as the momentary break settled over them, Susan, Luna, Hannah, Astrid, Sigrun, and Niamh stood side by side, still basking in the enormity of what they had just done.
Then, as if on cue, Haraldr, Draco, Neville, Leif, Viggo, Bjorn, and Skadi made their way toward them. Their footsteps echoed through the grand hall, the flickering torchlight casting their shadows long against the golden floor.
Haraldr reached Susan first, his dark blue eyes brimming with pride. He was a mountain of a man—broad-shouldered and strong—but the way he looked at her made her feel like the only person in the room. "Congratulations, Svanhildr," he murmured, his deep voice warm as he pulled her into his arms.
Susan—no, Svanhildr—let out a soft laugh, resting her forehead against his chest for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Haraldr. But I'm still Susan, too, you know."
He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Susan, Svanhildr—it doesn't matter what name you wear. You'll always be the woman I love."
Draco Malfoy was next, standing with his usual aristocratic poise, but there was something uncharacteristically sincere in his expression. "Well done, all of you," he said, nodding toward them. "You've made history today."
Luna—now Astraea—tilted her head, her ethereal blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, Draco, history is made every day. It's just that today, we got to be part of it."
Draco rolled his eyes but smirked despite himself. "Merlin, you are exhausting."
"Thank you," Astraea said dreamily.
Neville Longbottom stepped forward, his usual kind smile widening. "You all looked incredible up there. That was… something else."
"Thank you, Neville," Hilde—formerly Hannah—said with a soft blush, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "It was nerve-wracking, but… it felt right."
Leif and Viggo clapped Bjorn on the back, sharing a few quiet words before Bjorn turned to Sigrun. Unlike the others, he didn't hesitate—he grabbed her arm in a warrior's handshake, his strong grip firm against hers. "You were brilliant up there, Sigrun."
She grinned, shaking his hand before pulling him into a rough, brotherly hug. "Took you long enough to admit it."
Skadi, who had been watching from a slight distance, finally stepped forward, her gaze briefly flickering toward Haraldr before she forced a smile. "You were incredible, Svanhildr. All of you were."
Susan caught the way Skadi's fingers curled at her sides, the way her shoulders tensed just slightly. Her perceptive mind had always been quick to notice things others didn't. So, later, when they stepped aside for a moment, Susan reached out, gently touching Skadi's arm.
"Skadi," she said softly, waiting until the other woman met her gaze. "I see you. And I see how hard this is for you."
Skadi swallowed, glancing away. "It's… complicated, Susan."
Susan's grip tightened slightly in reassurance. "I know. But I also know that you're a good friend. And no matter what, that won't change."
Skadi let out a shaky breath, her lips parting as if to speak, but in the end, she just nodded. "Thank you."
Meanwhile, Neville had gathered the others around him, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I've been wondering," he began, addressing the newly named Valkyries. "Now that you've got these… uh, fancy new names, do you want us to use them, or—?"
Susan—Svanhildr—exchanged glances with the others before stepping forward. "Honestly? I think it depends on the moment. When we're on duty, I think the new names fit. But among friends? We're still us. Susan, Luna, Hannah—we're not shedding our pasts just because we've been given new titles."
Hilde—Hannah—nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear again. "Exactly. Our new names have meaning, but so do our old ones. They remind us of where we came from."
Astraea—Luna—gave a soft, knowing smile. "Both names are important. It's like the moon and the stars—you don't have to pick just one when they both shine in the sky."
Draco, who had been listening with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. "Leave it to you to turn this into something poetic."
Astraea winked. "I try."
Niamh—formerly Nymphadora—crossed her arms and sighed dramatically. "Well, as the only one here who absolutely hated her old name, I'm fully committing to Niamh. I don't care what anyone else says."
Silence.
Then—
"Sooo, Dora—"
Niamh let out a strangled groan. "I swear to every deity in existence, if you call me Dora one more time, I'm going to turn your hair into an actual bird's nest, Draco."
Draco smirked. "Fine, fine. Niamh it is."
Haraldr, still standing close to Susan, smiled warmly. "No matter what names you go by, we know who you are. That's what matters."
Susan—Svanhildr—leaned into him slightly, taking a deep breath. "Thank you. That means a lot."
With this understanding settled among them, the group turned toward the next part of the ceremony. The gates of Valhalla awaited, and beyond them, the next chapter of their story was just beginning.
—
The Opening of Valhalla
As the break ended, the Throne Room of Asgard fell into a reverent hush. The golden halls, vast and resplendent, gleamed under the ethereal light of floating lanterns, casting a glow upon the assembled court. All eyes turned toward the Allfather and his Queen as they resumed their thrones.
Odin, towering and formidable, exuded an aura of divine authority. His long silver-blond hair, streaked with wisdom and war, flowed over his broad shoulders, and beneath his winged helm, his one piercing eye—like a storm contained—swept over the gathered assembly. When he spoke, his voice carried with the weight of ages, a rolling thunder that demanded attention.
"It is now time," Odin intoned, his voice resonating through the chamber like the tolling of a great bell. "For the Valkyries to open the gates of Valhalla, allowing the souls of the worthy to take their rightful place among the Einherjar." His gaze lingered on the newly sworn sisters, their forms clad in armor woven with both steel and spell. "This sacred duty has long lain dormant. But today, it is renewed."
At his side, Queen Frigga—regal and serene—studied the young Valkyries with quiet pride. The wisdom of a thousand lifetimes lay in her warm, knowing eyes. "The burden you carry is great," she said, her voice gentle yet firm, "but so too is the honor. Stand tall, daughters of battle. The gates of Valhalla open not for the timid, but for those who would welcome the brave home."
A ripple of anticipation coursed through the gathered crowd. The Valkyries—Svanhildr, Hilde, Astraea, Niamh, Astrid, and Sigrun—stepped forward, forming a semicircle before the massive golden doors at the far end of the hall. Carved with runes of power, the doors seemed to pulse with a life of their own, their ancient magic slumbering, waiting to be called upon.
Susan—Svanhildr now, yet still so very much herself—lifted her chin, the torchlight catching the burnished copper of her hair. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, a reassuring weight at her hip. "No pressure, right?" she muttered, a flicker of nervous humor in her voice.
"None at all," Hilde replied, though her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her gloves. Hannah—always dependable, always steady—took a deep breath, trying to calm her heartbeat.
Astraea, her expression dreamy yet determined, glanced up at the swirling constellations in the enchanted ceiling above. "It feels different, doesn't it?" she mused, almost to herself. "Like the stars are waiting."
"They are," Sigrun murmured, her sharp green eyes fixed on the ancient runes glowing on the golden doors.
Niamh—formerly Nymphadora—huffed. "Right. Let's get this over with before I start second-guessing all my life choices."
"Too late," Astrid quipped, her voice laced with amusement.
Odin raised his hand, silencing the murmurs of the court. "Valkyries," he commanded, "begin the rite."
With a deep, steadying breath, the six warriors extended their hands, their voices intertwining in an incantation as old as Asgard itself.
"Á breiðum vængjum, Valhalla vakni!
Við köllum á hina hugrökku, hina dánu en óbugu!"
A tremor ran through the hall. The runes on the doors blazed to life, their golden script weaving and shifting like fire. The Valkyries' magic poured into the ancient seal, willing it open.
The ground shuddered beneath them. A howling wind, neither warm nor cold, neither living nor dead, surged through the chamber as the great doors groaned, inching apart.
Then, with a final, deafening boom, Valhalla stood open.
A blinding light spilled forth, radiant and golden, illuminating the chamber with an otherworldly brilliance. And from the heart of the light, they emerged.
The Einherjar.
They strode forward—warriors clad in gleaming armor, their weapons polished yet bearing the marks of countless battles. Each face was lined with the weight of a life hard fought and honor well earned. These were the chosen of Odin, those who had met their end not in sickness nor treachery, but in the glory of battle.
And at their head, a towering figure stepped forth, his presence commanding, his movements slow and deliberate. He was clad in dark silver armor, the engravings on his breastplate depicting stories lost to time. A massive sword was strapped across his back, its hilt wrapped in ancient leather. But his face—his face was concealed beneath a fearsome helm, the visor shadowing all but the ghostly glow of his eyes.
The Valkyries stood frozen, their breath caught in their throats.
Svanhildr felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine. Who is he?
The nameless warrior stepped forward and, with measured grace, he lowered himself to one knee. Behind him, the Einherjar followed suit, bowing before the Allfather, before Asgard, before the Valkyries who had summoned them home.
Odin's eye narrowed, the faintest flicker of recognition passing through his storm-colored gaze. But his voice betrayed nothing.
"Rise," he commanded.
And they did.
Valhalla had opened. The Einherjar had returned. And with them, a mystery now stood in Asgard's halls.
—
The Throne Room was silent, every breath held in anticipation as the Einherjar stood before Odin's court. The golden glow of the portal still lingered in the air, casting an ethereal shimmer over the fallen warriors who had returned to the realm of the living. At the forefront of the legion, their leader stood tall, his Asgardian-forged armor gleaming under the torchlight. His helm obscured his face, but there was an undeniable presence about him—something familiar, something that sent a shiver down the spines of those who had once known him in another life.
Eirlys Potter—Lily, in the days of her mortality—stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. Beside her, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin exchanged uneasy glances. Hagrid's great hands trembled slightly, and Amelia Bones, Andromeda and Ted Tonks, Frank and Alice Longbottom all stood in stunned silence, as if their very souls recognized something before their minds could comprehend it.
Then, the warrior moved. His gauntleted hands rose to grasp the sides of his helm, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted it away.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The man before them had the same strong jaw, the same mischievous curve to his lips, the same eyes that had once been filled with laughter and love. His hair, dark and windswept, framed a face that was as familiar as it was impossible.
Eirlys felt her knees go weak. "James…" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.
James Potter, once a mortal wizard, now an Einherjar of Valhalla, looked at her with warmth and longing. "Lily…" he murmured, then corrected himself, his voice thick with emotion. "Eirlys."
Sirius staggered forward, his usually sharp tongue failing him. "No—no way," he breathed, his grey eyes wide. His voice was rough, raw with disbelief. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
James's lips quirked into that all-too-familiar smirk—the one that had always preceded some daring prank or heartfelt promise. "Good to see you too, Padfoot," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
Sirius let out a bark of laughter—half hysterical, half overwhelmed—before striding forward and punching James square in the shoulder. "You absolute arse," he choked out. "You just—died on us! And now you're back like it's nothing?!"
James rubbed his shoulder with a grin. "It wasn't exactly my plan, you know."
Remus, usually the composed one, had tears in his eyes as he stepped forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "James," he said, his voice breaking. "We thought… I thought…"
James turned to him, his gaze softening. "I know, Moony," he said, placing a hand on Remus's shoulder. "I know."
Eirlys, however, couldn't wait any longer. She surged forward, hands shaking as she cupped James's face, as if touching him would prove he was real. "How?" she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "How is this possible?"
James exhaled, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he savored the closeness he never thought he'd feel again. "I fought, Lily. In the end, I never stopped fighting. Valhalla took me in. Odin welcomed me as one of his own." He opened his eyes, looking at her with endless love. "And now I'm here."
Haraldr—once Harry Potter, now a prince of Asgard—stepped forward, his green eyes locked onto the man he had only known through fading memories and whispered stories. "Father?" he asked, his voice filled with hesitation, with longing.
James turned to him, truly seeing him now. His son. Grown. Strong. Every inch the warrior and leader he had always hoped he would become. His throat tightened as he reached out, placing a firm hand on Haraldr's shoulder. "My son," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I am so proud of you."
Haraldr swallowed, his heart hammering. "I…" He clenched his fists, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. "I never got to know you."
James gave a small, sad smile. "But I knew you," he said softly. "I watched. Every step, every battle, every moment of courage. And I was so proud."
Haraldr let out a shaky breath, his walls breaking just enough to allow the truth to settle in. "You should've been there," he admitted, his voice cracking. "You should've been with us."
James nodded solemnly. "I know," he whispered. "And I'm sorry."
The weight of the moment pressed down on everyone, the enormity of the reunion nearly overwhelming.
Hagrid let out a great sniffle, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "James Potter," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeh were always a troublemaker, but this… this is somethin' else entirely."
Frank and Alice Longbottom, still reeling, exchanged glances before stepping forward. "James," Frank said, his voice steady but filled with awe. "It's… good to see you."
Alice nodded, her eyes damp. "We never thought we'd get this chance."
James smiled at them both. "Neither did I," he admitted.
Andromeda crossed her arms, arching a brow at him. "You're lucky we're all too emotional to yell at you," she said dryly, though there was warmth in her eyes.
Ted chuckled, shaking his head. "Only James Potter would find a way to return from the afterlife in the middle of an Asgardian ceremony."
James grinned. "Well, I always did have a flair for the dramatic."
Amelia Bones, ever the pragmatic one, exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. "You know, this changes a lot of things," she muttered, though there was a rare smile tugging at her lips.
James turned to her, smirking. "Is that your way of saying you missed me, Amelia?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, Potter."
The Valkyries—Sigrun, Astrid, and the others—stood silently, watching the reunion unfold. There was something sacred in the air, something ancient and powerful. The bonds of love, of friendship, of family—transcending even death itself.
James took a deep breath, turning back to Eirlys and Haraldr. "I don't know what comes next," he admitted. "I don't know how long I'm allowed to stay, or what Odin has planned for me."
Eirlys reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "You're here now. That's what matters."
Haraldr nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "We'll figure it out," he said. "Together."
James smiled, his heart full. "Together."
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, James Potter was home.
—
The grand hall of Asgard, bathed in golden light, trembled with the weight of a moment unlike any other. The Einherjar stood in silent reverence, their armor gleaming beneath the torches, while the assembled warriors, gods, and mortals alike still reeled from the revelation that James Potter—once lost to death—had returned from Valhalla.
At the heart of it all, King Odin Allfather rose from his throne.
The force of his mere presence was enough to silence the murmurs, his single eye scanning the room, filled with the wisdom of ages and the weight of kingship. The great god was clad in battle-worn black and gold, his braided silver beard lending him the look of an ancient warlord rather than just a king. Though he still bore the noble, knowing expression of Anthony Hopkins, his sheer size and strength—akin to Kevin Nash in his prime—made him a towering force.
He lifted his hand, and the hall fell utterly silent.
"Today," Odin's voice rumbled, deep as the roots of Yggdrasil, "we have witnessed more than the rebirth of the Valkyries. We have seen a miracle. The return of a warrior from Valhalla. The reunion of my daughter—Eirlys, once known as Lily Potter—with the one she loves."
The weight of his words hung in the air like thunder before a storm.
James Potter stood tall beside Eirlys, his grip firm upon her hand, his face alight with a mixture of wonder and quiet pride. His hazel eyes—sharp, clever, and filled with life—reflected the man he had been, the leader of the Marauders, the devoted husband, the fierce protector of his son. And now, clad in the armor of the Einherjar, he was something more. A warrior reborn.
The hall erupted into cheers. The Einherjar slammed their weapons against the stone floor in thunderous approval, while the Valkyries stood proud, their eyes alight with the fire of battle and renewal.
Odin lifted Gungnir, the spear of the gods, and its tip gleamed as though kissed by lightning.
"In honor of this momentous occasion, I declare a grand feast!" His voice carried across the vast chamber like the crashing of a mighty wave. "Let us celebrate the return of a great warrior and the unbreakable bonds of love and family! Tonight, we do not merely revel as warriors—we stand together as kin!"
A roar of approval filled the space, shaking the very foundations of Asgard.
From beside Odin, Queen Frigga stepped forward, her regal poise and ethereal grace undiminished. Her long golden hair, pulled back in elegant braids, shimmered beneath the torchlight, and her green gown—woven with threads of gold—was a vision of refinement. But beneath that elegance was the same fierce wisdom and strength that had always made her a true queen.
She placed a gentle hand upon Odin's arm, and where his words had been thunder and steel, hers were the warmth of a mother's embrace.
"May this feast stand as a testament," Frigga said, her voice carrying not through force, but through the quiet command of one who knew the heart of every soul present. "To the strength of Asgard. To the unity of those who fight not just for battle, but for love. And to the truth that even death itself is no match for the bonds that truly matter."
The hall erupted once more, but this time, the cheers held a deeper reverence.
As Odin and Frigga descended from their thrones, the magic of Asgard itself responded. Tables heavy with roasted boar, overflowing goblets of mead, and golden platters of delicacies shimmered into existence. The scent of rich meats and honeyed wine filled the hall, and soon, the sounds of revelry—of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets—rose into the air like a triumphant battle cry.
Sirius Black, who had only just finished wiping the tears from his face after his reunion with James, wasted no time grabbing a goblet from the nearest table. He turned, grinning, and raised it high.
"Well, I suppose it's only right," he called, his dark eyes gleaming mischievously. "James Potter has returned from Valhalla. I think that deserves a toast, don't you?"
Remus Lupin—who had been too overwhelmed to say much thus far—let out a breathless laugh and took his own goblet, shaking his head in half-exasperation, half-affection.
"To James," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "To love that defies the gods themselves."
"To James!" the call went up, echoed by Amelia Bones, Andromeda and Ted Tonks, Frank and Alice Longbottom, and Hagrid, who wiped at his eyes with a hand the size of a dinner plate before lifting his mug.
And as the feast began, as laughter and music filled the hall, James Potter turned to Eirlys—his Lily, his love—and pulled her close.
"We have a lot to talk about," he murmured, his voice just for her.
Eirlys, eyes bright with unshed tears, nodded. "We have all the time in the world now."
And as Asgard feasted, two souls, long parted, found their way back to each other—stronger, and more unbreakable than ever.
—
The golden glow of the feasting hall bathed everything in warm light, reflecting off the polished armor of warriors and the fine goblets raised in endless toasts. Laughter rang through the grand chamber, the sounds of revelry blending seamlessly with the melodic strains of Asgardian musicians. The scent of roasted meats, spiced mead, and honeyed fruits filled the air, a rich accompaniment to the joyous celebration.
At the center of it all, James Potter stood tall, his arm wrapped securely around Eirlys. His gaze swept over the gathered friends and family, his heart nearly overwhelmed by the sheer depth of emotion coursing through him. For the first time in years—no, in lifetimes—he felt truly whole.
He turned his head slightly, meeting Eirlys's gaze. The flickering torchlight danced in her striking green eyes, so much like their son's, but carrying an ancient wisdom now, one that came with being Eirlys, the daughter of Odin. She smiled at him, the kind of smile that could halt time, that had once made him forget his own name back at Hogwarts.
"You're staring," she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.
James chuckled. "Can you blame me? I come back from Valhalla, and my wife is not only a goddess but still the most stunning woman in the room."
Eirlys rolled her eyes, but the faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her pleasure. "Flatterer."
Sirius, standing just a few feet away with a goblet in one hand and an arm slung around Remus's shoulders, snorted. "Merlin's balls, Prongs, I don't think I've ever seen you this sentimental. You sure that's you under all that fancy Einherjar armor?"
Remus, looking slightly less composed than usual—likely due to the potent Asgardian mead—chuckled. "Give him a break, Padfoot. He's had a very long day."
"A long death, you mean," James corrected with a smirk, taking a sip from his goblet. He sighed in contentment. "I missed this. I missed all of you."
Sirius clinked his goblet against James's, grinning. "Well, lucky for you, we're not going anywhere. You're stuck with us, mate."
Across the hall, Haraldr stood with Susan, Hannah, Luna, and Tonks, all of whom were still basking in the afterglow of their induction as Valkyries. Their newly bestowed Asgardian names were spoken with reverence, a testament to the honor they had earned.
Astrid, a tall, battle-hardened Valkyrie with piercing blue eyes and a wry smile, approached them, raising her goblet. "To our new sisters," she declared. "May your blades be swift, your hearts strong, and your oaths unbreakable."
Sigrun, a fierce yet kind-eyed warrior, lifted her drink as well. "And may you never drink anything weaker than Asgardian mead."
Tonks, ever the trickster, grinned. "I like that last one. Less dying in battle, more drinking like warriors. I think I'm going to like being a Valkyrie."
Susan elbowed her playfully. "You say that now, but let's see how you feel after your first proper battle."
Luna, who had been examining the golden filigree on her goblet with fascination, tilted her head and murmured dreamily, "I rather like the idea of flying into battle on the back of a great winged beast, carrying the souls of the fallen. It sounds… poetic."
Hannah, slightly more grounded, grinned. "It also sounds dangerous. But then again, I suppose we've never shied away from danger before."
Astrid let out a hearty laugh. "That's the spirit! You were chosen for a reason—because you have the fire of warriors in your souls."
Haraldr watched his friends with quiet pride. He felt an overwhelming sense of rightness, of a future finally taking shape in a way he could be proud of. His eyes flickered toward his parents, still caught in a conversation with Sirius and Remus, and for the first time in his life, he felt the full strength of what it meant to have family.
He turned to Susan, his fingers lacing with hers. "We have a lot ahead of us," he murmured, a note of wonder in his voice.
Susan squeezed his hand. "We always do. But now? We're not facing it alone."
The feast carried on deep into the night, the clashing of goblets, bursts of laughter, and the echo of ancient songs filling the great hall. Tonight was more than a celebration—it was the beginning of something new.
A future where love, friendship, and family endured, even against the might of death itself.
---
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