Don't blame me, I'm just the Bazooki player
It took Neville Longbottom several chapters to reach the Gates of Asgard as the Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge was so very long. So long in fact that we’re just getting back to him now. Neville pushed the door open and found himself transported to a mystical realm where Vikings got massively drunk, gods hung out and the occasional New Mutant got pressed into service.
The young wizard walked up to a particularly beautiful woman with black hair tied back in a braid. “Uh, the guy at the gate gave me his sword and told me to go to the All Father. Where can I find it?”
“The All Father is no IT young man-child,” said the black haired beauty. “He is but Odin, Lord of Asgard and Father or Grandfather to many here in Asgard. Come, I shalt take thee to see him by mine own self, so sayeth Sif, Goddess of the Earth.”
“Oh, uh, thank you,” Neville said awkwardly. He stumbled along, still hefting Heimdall’s sword in his arms. It was actually quite a heavy load for such a young man to carry. “Uh, why did Heimdall give me his sword? Shouldn’t he have it?”
“He hath given his favour to thee Man-Child,” Sif said. “’Tis a great honor for a mortal such as thyself to be granted such a boon.”
“I’ll have to thank him next time I see him,” Neville said.
“I doth believe mine brother would appreciate such a gesture,” Sif said with a smile. She led him to a long house. It stood taller than even Hogwarts and was longer than Diagon Alley. Grass greener and softer than Neville had ever seen grew from the sod roof. Sif opened a door and walked him in. Inside was an imposing one eyed man who wasn’t Xander Harris, Nick Fury or Slade Wilson. “Father, I have brought mine brother’s man-child friend to speak with thee.”
“Ah, yes, I hath observed such,” the imposing figure said. Neville squeaked a little as he noticed the wolves at the man’s feet and the ravens at his shoulders. “Come now Neville Longbottom. Let me look at thee.”
Neville did as he was told, standing as tall as he dared in the presence of such a person. “Ah, er, is everything okay? I should really be getting back to class.”
“Nay, Neville Longbottom, son of Alice and Frank, stay a while and listen,” the older deity commanded. Neville did as he was told, because it is never a good idea to argue with the guy who commands gods. “I have heard of your parent’s condition. Upon my throne, all of Asgard and Midgard can be seen to me as if they were nothing but n open book. And I know of no cure but one: The Dwarven Draught.”
There was a hush among the observers at the name, as if it were something so rare even the gods considered it half legend. Odin was not done. “It is a terrible thing when a warrior such as they parents is laid low, yet not afforded a glorious death. The Dwarven Draught can cure them of their affliction, yet is is no simple prize. It takes a man of great inner valor to quest for the Dwarven Draught, but nothing worth having ever comes without cost.”
“I am a Gryffindor, I suppose I should find my courage somewhere,” Neville said quietly.
“Ah! Yes! But knowest thou this, Neville Longbottom,” he said. “It is always best if thou hath warriors at Thy side, fellows in thy Quest.” With that the king of the Aesir stood up and looked about the room. “Who here shalt Quest with young Neville?”
Several Viking looking people stood up and gave a raucous salute.
“I Tyr, God of Courage and Law should like to assist the young warrior in his Quest!" said a dark haired man with a mustache right out of Credence Clearwater Revival.
“And I shall go Father,” said Sif, surprising the lot of them. “There be no reason why I should not. I might be no man, but that hath no bearing on my actions nor upon mine valor.”
“Well said mine daughter,” spoke her mother from the crowd. “But what shalt thou tell Thor, thine fiancée?”
“He be not mine keeper, I shalt tell him nothing,” Sif said with some finality.
“But alas, I am here, so you hath no choice in such a venture,” spoke a towering blond man wielding a large hammer. Neville’s eyes grew as he saw the ease in which the man held it. “Man Child, how come ye to be here?”
“I uh, borrowed Harry’s wand and ended up on the rainbow bridge back there,” he said. He cringed a little as both Thor and a blond woman cursed Harry’s name.
“Be he the Harry known as Son of Deadpool? And also as Arthur Wadesson?” said the woman. “I, Brunnhilda, Valkyrie wish to know.”
“Uh yeah, Harry did say something about that,” Neville admitted.
“ugh, I doth verily hate that child,” Brunnhilda said grimly. “He didst follow me for one week singing Wagner. ‘Tis a nice tune if one only hears it on occasion, but not if one must listen to it out of key and sung with the words ‘Kill the Wabbat’ for countless repetitions.”
“Aye, ‘tis true,” said Thor. “’Twas mine own unfortunate luck to have that same child sing ‘the Immigrant Song’ near ev’ry time we doth meet. ‘Tis true that Led Zeppelin are most noble skalds, but ‘twas quite excessive.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s Harry Potter,” Neville agreed.
And so it was agreed that Tyr, Sif and Brunnhilda would accompany Neville on his Quest for the Dwarven Draught. Indeed they would also act as teaches and guides to the young wizard in the hopes that he would one day wield the power granted to him by Heimdall, the Guardian of Asgard.
“Uh, where’d that voice come from?” asked Neville.
“Give it no mind, Young Neville,” said Sif. “It doth happen often when Questing.”