A/N: Drumroll please! I present to you the first of (hopefully) many prompts, I'm sure you lot will be pleased because this has a bit of Loki in it, a bit of sadistic, fatherly Loki, which is the best kind in my opinion. I followed canon a bit more when it comes to the severity of Harry's wounds, last chapter Harry didn't even stick around for a full detention so that wouldn't have garnered such a reaction from Loki. Anywho, onto the story!
DragonMaster11: I would like to see an omake where Loki observes Umbridge using her blood quill(s) on students, particularly his son, and decides to 'prank' Umbridge most heinously.
Loki was angry. No, angry didn't do the enormity of his rage justice, he was furious, his blood was boiling, sparks danced along his fingertips, and magic thrummed beneath his skin, just itching to be used on the disgustingly, stupid little woman who had dared injure his son.
Haraldr had, for whatever reason, attempted to hide the wound from him, soaking the bloody words carved into the back of his hand in some smelly, yellow concoction to hurry along his already advanced healing. But the light pink scarring that had yet to heal had given him away in an instant. He hadn't wanted to tell him where he'd acquired the injury, but Loki was relentless, he dragged the answer out of him with practiced ease, and when he found out that that woman had forced his son to mutilate himself…
Harry begged him to leave her be, tried to convince him that it wasn't worth the trouble, he wasn't that badly hurt, but Loki was already too preoccupied coming up with hundreds of ways he could make Dolores Umbridge regret spilling royal Asgardian blood to even attempt to come up with a convincing lie to placate his irate son. There were so many ways he could make her bleed, he was having trouble deciding on which methods he would utilize. Perhaps he would begin by removing her eyelids so that she would be forced to watch as he slowly peeled the skin from her face, then plucked the teeth from mouth one by one until there was nothing left to gnash together by bloodied gums as he-
Loki was snapped from his increasingly bloody thoughts by his son, whose green eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
When he was positive that he had his father's undivided attention, Harry spoke again. "I want you to promise you won't hurt her."
Loki scoffed incredulously. "I will do no such thi-"
"Promise me, Dad."
Loki scowled and tried to look away from the wide, green eyes that were starring beseechingly up at him, but Harry proved himself his father's son with his dogged relentlessness, simply shifting positions whenever he tried to turn away. "Fine," the god finally snapped, if only to get the pitiful expression off of his son's face. "I won't harm the woman."
"Do you promise?"
Despite his reluctance, Loki knew he wouldn't break his word to his son, he was just itching to make Umbridge scream, but he could get his revenge just as easily without torturing the woman. He wasn't the god of chaos and mischief for nothing after all.
Umbridge stared down at the student body from her new seat at the center of the head table, the headmaster's seat, like a queen. She was truly beginning to enjoy her appointment as headmistress. Who cared that the stupid little creature guarding the headmaster's office had denied her entrance? She certainly didn't. She was quite fond of the office she had now, and it would be such a bother having to get the squib Filch to move her things up four floors. Her one of a kind, porcelain feline plates were especially delicate and hated being moved. Reginald, her favorite ivory haired, blue eyed Persian, had already been irritable lately, hissing and swiping at the air whenever she passed, she'd have to check the poor dear for cracks, being moved would only agitate him further.
She cleared her throat and took a dainty sip of water, her colleagues were chattering animatedly on either side of her, but none made any attempt to draw her into the conversation. They must be intimidated by her new position.
"Something seems to have scared Peeves," Sprout said to Flitwick and McGonagall. "He's been lurking about the Astronomy Tower muttering something about 'gods' and 'too much mischief'. I wonder if the Bloody Baron finally grew tired of his antics and put him in his place."
Umbridge cleared her throat again. "Hem hem. Or perhaps he's been made aware of the shift in power and knows that troublemakers will be punished most severely in my school."
McGonagall pinned her with an icy look of disdain. "Why ever didn't I think of that myself?"
Umbridge's eyes narrowed, but she kept a pleasant expression on her face, it wouldn't do for the children to see discord among the ranks, although Minerva could do with a public dressing down to put her in her place. "I didn't expect you to," she said sweetly. "That is, after all, why I am headmistress and you are not."
McGonagall laughed sharply, the sound lacked any sort of amusement. "I am loathe to be the one to dispel your delusions of grandeur, but you are not the headmistress of this school. Hogwarts does not accept you as such and neither do I."
"Whether you and this old pile of rubble accepts me as or not hardly matters in my opinion. The Minister of Magic himself declared me headmistress, so you will show me the proper respect as your superior or I will be forced to make an example out of you! Hem hem. Hem hem." Umbridge placed a hand on her throat and cleared it again uncomfortably. She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but Minerva riled her up like no other could, and now she'd gone and irritated her throat.
"Make an example of me!" McGonagall snorted, infuriatingly unconcerned. "Despite your incorrect belief that you now rule this school, you have no authority over me and you certainly don't have the authority to make an example of me."
"That's it! I've had enough," Umbridge shouted, leaping to her feet (though she was so short it honestly didn't make much of a difference). "You're-you're fi-" She broke off abruptly when the irritation in her throat became an uncomfortable pressure, she turned her head to the side and let out a great cough, but that one cough soon evolved into two, then three until she was leaning heavily on the table, expelling giant, hacking coughs. Her eyes watered as the pressure in her throat built up and the coughs picked up in intensity, her body was trembling violently ad saliva was dripping down her chin. All the while her students and colleagues watched the spectacle with varying degrees of concern, curiosity, and disdain.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave on last great heave and something shot from her throat, relieving it off the horrible pressure.
The professors on either side of her leaned back in their seats in disgust when whatever had been obstructing her airway fell onto the table with a wet plop. It was a hairball, she had just hacked up a slimy, wet hairball the size of her fist.
Umbridge immediately assumed that this was some sort of prank or that someone had cursed her, and her prime suspect was Minerva McGonagall, but when she turned a vicious glare onto the Transfiguration professor, it was to find that she was just as shocked and disgusted as the rest of the staff. Which meant one of the students was behind this attack.
She pinned them with the most intimidating glare she could muster and spoke with great authority despite the hairball still sitting prominently on the table. "Who did this? Speak up now and I won't-meow." Umbridge slapped a hand to her mouth as all across the hall laughter broke out.
"I'm sorry, Professor," one insolent Gryffindor called out, "we didn't quite catch that. Speak up now and you won't what."
The laughter grew even louder, even a few of the professors were attempting to hide their chuckles behind their hands if they weren't already outright smirking.
Umbridge growled in anger, building herself up for an angry tirade but before she could make another attempt at speaking something once again fell from her mouth into the table, only his time it wasn't a hairball, it was a tooth.
She gasped in horror and almost choked on a loosened molar when her teeth began falling out in earnest, her beautiful brown curls shed in large clumps, and even her fingernails loosened and fell off. She stumbled away from the table and towards the double doors, but tripped once she made it around the head table when first her left foot, then her right seemed to shrink to a quarter of their regular size. She cried out and arched her back in discomfort when her bones began grinding themselves against each other, filing themselves down, and her skin shrunk and contracted and began itching fiercely, as if thousands of tiny ants were crawling over her body.
She rolled around on the floor for an undetermined amount of time, groaning in discomfort, until suddenly, blessedly it stopped. She lay on the ground for a moment, fighting to regain her composure, before she quickly scrambled to her feet. Except they were no longer feet, they were little, furry brown paws. She'd been turned into a cat.
Umbridge let out a furious yowl, and turned angry, cat slit eyes on the students who had, once again, resumed their laughter. She'd have them writing lines for days when she returned to normal.
Just as the thought entered her mind, an irritated hiss drew her attention to the double doors, where an annoyed looking cat was slinking into the Great Hall. She recognized the male feline almost immediately, his beautiful snow white coat and ocean blue eyes were unmistakable, Reginald. The moment the Persian realized he wasn't the only feline in the room he froze and eyed Umbridge warily, sizing her up. Apparently he deemed her as harmless as he approached her not long after and began sniffing at her. She hissed and batted at him with a paw, claws unsheathed, but his step didn't falter once as he advanced, eyes watching her hungrily. The gaze made her heart sink even as bile rose in her throat, she recognized the look, it was the same one men of all ages watched her slimmer, youthful secretary with. It was a look that didn't bode well for her.
Without wasting another moment, she turned tail, literally, and ran as fast as her unfamiliar little legs would go. Reginald darted after her with an excited yowl, images of beautiful queens swollen with his kits fueling his step.
Standing to the side of the hall, cloaked in a variety of powerful illusions, the trickster god laughed.
A/N: This was a pretty rushed job, but I think it turned out fairly satisfactory. What do you all think? Anyone who can guess what I based Umbridge's punishment off of gets a basket of virtual cookies!
I also took this chance to hint at something I really plan to stress in later chapters. Loki is a loving, doting father, of that there is no doubt, but that doesn't change the fact that he is the god of mischief and, more importantly, chaos. He is by no means a good person, he's cruel, vindictive, possessive, and revels in chaos, and, though we haven't seen it yet, those same traits are slowly rubbing off on his son. Come the Marvel arc we'll begin really seeing that.