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Traveler: Chapter 34
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 16:30:02 +0000 UTCA/N: All characters involved in this fic are consenting adults.
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the familiar tattoo etched into his forearm—the Deathly Hallows symbol, its three components intertwined in black ink against his skin. The triangle, circle, and line seemed to pulse with magic in the dim light.
He stared at the symbol absently, his fingers tracing its edges without any conscious thought.
The soft sound of his door opening broke through his contemplation. He didn't turn around immediately, sensing a familiar presence behind him.
"Brooding suits you," came Sylvia's voice, low and melodic in the quiet room. "Though I must say, it's rather predictable of you."
Harry's lips curved upwards at her voice, and his breath caught as he turned to face her. His eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.
Sylvia stood in the doorway, bathed in moonlight, wearing a sheer nightdress that clung to her curves in the most alluring of ways. The fabric was so thin it was nearly transparent, leaving very little to the imagination. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her green eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and determination.
With a subtle gesture of her hand, the door closed behind her with a soft click, the lock engaging with a hint of magic.
"Sylvia," Harry managed, his voice slightly hoarse. "What are you doing here?"
She moved closer, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. "What do you think I'm doing here?" Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "After everything we've been through, everything we've shared... did you really think I'd let this night pass without coming to you?"
Harry stood slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "The others—"
"Have decided it's my time with you," she interrupted, taking another step closer. "They're well aware of what's happening here, and there will be no interruptions tonight. They've made sure of that."
The space between them seemed to crackle with raw, sexual tension. Harry could feel his heart racing, could see the way Sylvia's chest rose and fell with each breath. The vulnerability he'd glimpsed in the void was still there, but now it was coupled with something else—desire, longing, and a fierce determination to claim what she wanted. Once again.
"You're playing with fire," Harry warned softly, though he made no move to step back.
Sylvia's smile widened. "Good thing I’ve been raised in Asgard then. We're rather fond of fire." She reached out, her fingers trailing along his forearm, tracing the edges of his tattoo. "This symbol... it means something to you, doesn't it?"
Harry shivered at her touch. "The Deathly Hallows. Master of Death, they called it once." He looked down at her hand on his arm. "Seems rather ironic now, considering how alive you make me feel."
"Alive," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, that's exactly what you do to me too." She looked up at him, her green eyes reflecting the moonlight. "In that void, when I thought I might disappear forever, you were my anchor. You made me want to fight, to come back."
"Sylvia..." Harry's voice was rough with emotion.
She pressed closer, her body now inches from his. "I meant what I said in there, Harry. Every word. You make me feel like I belong, like I'm enough just as I am."
Harry reached up, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. "You are enough. You've always been enough."
"Then show me," she whispered against his lips. "Show me how you see me."
Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and hungry, a collision of pent-up emotions and desires. Harry's arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him as she melted into his embrace. Her hands fisted in his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.
"Are you certain about this? That now’s the time?" Harry asked, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. "After everything—"
"I've never been more certain of anything in my life," Sylvia replied firmly. "I've spent centuries running from what I want, from who I am. I won't run anymore. Not from this. Not from you."
Harry studied her face, seeing the truth in her words, the raw honesty that the energy transfer had helped unlock. "Then we take this slow," he said softly. "We have all the time in the world."
Sylvia's smile was radiant. "All the time in the world," she agreed.
The smile soon turned mischievous as she stepped back, her fingers finding the hem of her loose, flowing negligee. She paused, her eyes locked with his, as if giving him a moment to take her in as she was. Slowly, she began to lift the fabric, revealing the smooth curve of her hips and the taut plane of her stomach. The fabric caught briefly on her shoulders before she tugged it over her head, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.
She stood before him in nothing but knickers, her skin glowing in the dim light, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
Harry swallowed hard, his gaze tracing the lines of her body. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with awe.
Sylvia’s cheeks flushed, but her eyes held a spark of confidence. “Your turn,” she teased, stepping closer again, her fingers brushing against the buttons of his shirt. Her touch was light but sensual, each button undone with care, as if she were unwrapping something sacred. Harry stood still, his breath shallow, as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, her hands lingering on the warmth of his skin. The Deathly Hallows tattoo on his forearm seemed to pulse under her gaze, and she traced it again, her fingers slow and reverent.
“Does it ever fade?” she asked, her voice soft as she studied the inked symbol.
“Never,” Harry replied, his eyes fixed on hers. “It’s part of me. Like you are now.”
Her breath caught at his words, and she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tattoo before trailing her lips up his arm, across his collarbone. Each kiss was a spark, igniting something deep within him. Harry’s hands found her waist again, pulling her closer, and she let out a soft gasp as their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. The knickers were thin, barely a barrier, and he could feel the heat of her womanhood through it.
“Sylvia,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “I can’t believe how impatient I feel right now.”
“Good,” she whispered back, her voice playful. Her hands slid down his chest, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers, teasing but not yet undoing. “I want you to feel everything I’m feeling.”
Harry groaned softly, his hands moving to the waistband of her knickers. His fingers worked slowly, gently, savoring the moment as he pulled the fabric over her delicious rump and allowed it to fall down her legs, leaving her bare before him.
He paused, taking her in—beyond her perfect beauty, it was her strength, her vulnerability, and the way her eyes held his with unflinching trust.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sylvia’s smile was radiant, but there was a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “I never thought…,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “Never thought I’d be like this, especially with someone who sees me the way you do.”
Harry’s heart swelled at her words. He reached out, cupping her face gently. “I see you, Sylvia. All of you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a moment before she opened them again, her resolve firm. “Then touch me,” she said, her voice a quiet command. “Show me what it’s like to be seen. Make me feel it all again.”
Harry didn’t hesitate. His hands slid down her neck, her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine as he pulled her closer. Their lips met again, hungrier this time, a clash of need and tenderness. Sylvia’s hands roamed his back, her nails grazing lightly, drawing a low moan from him. He responded in kind, his lips moving to her jaw, her throat, kissing and nipping gently as she tilted her head back, a soft “Mmm” escaping her lips.
They moved together toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and whispered words of desire. Sylvia’s hands found the clasp of his trousers, fumbling slightly in her eagerness, and Harry chuckled softly, helping her undo them. The fabric fell away, leaving them both bare, vulnerable, and entirely open to each other. For a moment, they simply stood there, drinking in the sight of one another, the air thick with anticipation.
“Lie down,” Harry said gently, guiding her to the bed. Sylvia complied, her movements graceful as she settled against the pillows, her dark hair fanning out around her. Harry joined her, his body hovering over hers, his hands braced on either side of her head. He leaned down, kissing her softly, then deeper, their tongues tangling as she arched up to meet him.
His hands began to explore, tracing the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, and the softness of her inner thigh. Sylvia gasped at each touch, her body responding instinctively, her hips shifting toward him. “Harry,” she breathed, her voice a mix of plea and wonder. “Please…”
“Patience,” he murmured against her skin, his lips trailing down her collarbone, across her chest. He took his time, kissing and teasing, drawing soft moans and gasps from her as she writhed beneath him. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly, and he groaned at the sensation, his own desire building with every sound she made.
“Gods, you sound…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he kissed lower, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach. Sylvia let out a breathy laugh that turned into a moan as his fingers found her, teasing gently, coaxing her body to respond.
“Harry,” she gasped, her voice breaking on his name. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His touches were slow, exploring, each one designed to draw out her pleasure, to show her how much he cherished her. Sylvia’s breaths came faster, her body trembling as she reached for him, pulling him back up to kiss her fiercely. Their lips crashed together, all heat and desperation, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
“I need you,” she whispered against his lips, her voice raw with want. “Now.”
Harry’s eyes searched hers, finding nothing but certainty. “I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And you’re mine.”
He entered her slowly, carefully, their bodies aligning as if they were made for each other. Sylvia let out a soft moan, her hands gripping his back as they found a rhythm, slow and deep. The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—soft gasps, low moans, the creak of the bed beneath them, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Harry’s lips found hers again, kissing her through each thrust, their breaths mingling as they moved together.
“You feel… incredible,” Harry murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “Like you were always meant to be here.”
Sylvia’s response was a soft moan, her hands sliding up to cup his face. “You make me feel whole,” she whispered, her eyes locked with his. “Like I’m finally home.”
Their pace quickened, driven by a shared need, a shared hunger. Sylvia’s nails raked down his back, drawing a guttural groan from him as he buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting gently. She arched against him, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps, each one punctuated by a soft “Oh” or “Yes” that spurred him on.
“Harry,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she neared the edge. “I’m… I’m close.”
“Me too,” he groaned, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. He reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining as they moved together, chasing the peak of their shared desire.
As their passion reached its crescendo, something extraordinary happened. A golden light began to emanate from where their hands were joined, spreading across both their bodies in intricate patterns. The light was warm, comforting, and spoke of a bond being forged that transcended the physical. Harry had experienced this before, with each woman who had claimed a piece of his heart, but it never ceased to amaze him—the magical connection that formed when they truly joined.
Sylvia gasped as she felt the bond settle into place, a golden thread now connecting her essence to Harry's. She could feel his emotions, his love for her, flowing through the connection like a river of warmth.
When the storm of their passion finally calmed, they lay entwined in Harry's bed, her head resting on his chest, his fingers combing through her hair. The bond hummed gently between them, a constant reminder of their connection.
"I can hear your heart," Sylvia murmured against his chest. "And feel your emotions through this bond. It's... overwhelming and wonderful at the same time."
Harry smiled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes soft in the dim light. "Do you think we're mad for this? After everything that's happened?"
Harry considered her question carefully. "Perhaps. But sometimes the most important things in life require a bit of madness." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides, what's the alternative? Pretending we don't feel this connection? Ignoring what we've found together?"
"No," Sylvia said firmly. "I'm done pretending. Done hiding." She traced patterns on his chest with her finger. "But Harry... what happens now? With us, I mean. And with... everything else."
Harry was quiet for a moment, understanding the weight behind her question. "Now we figure it out together. One day at a time."
"And Thor?" The name hung heavy in the air between them.
Harry's hand stilled in her hair. "What about him?"
Sylvia sighed, rolling onto her side to face him properly. "I know I was harsh with him. Perhaps more harsh than necessary."
"He deserved it," Harry said without hesitation. "What you went through, what his family put you through—"
"I know," Sylvia interrupted. "And I don't regret speaking my truth. But..." She struggled with the words. "That person in the void, the one you helped me find again—she wouldn't want to carry this hatred forever. It's exhausting, Harry. The anger, the resentment. It's been my companion for so long, but now..."
"Now?" Harry prompted gently.
"Now I wonder if there might be another way forward." She looked up at him, her eyes vulnerable. "Not forgiveness, not yet. But perhaps... understanding. A way to acknowledge the past without letting it consume my future."
Harry smiled softly. "That sounds very wise."
"Don't sound so surprised," Sylvia said with a mock-offended expression. "I can be wise when I want to be."
"Oh, I'm well aware of your capabilities," Harry replied, his tone teasing. "Though I must admit, your wisdom isn't the first thing that comes to mind when I look at you."
"Charmer," she accused, but her smile belied any real irritation. She grew serious again. "Will you help me? When the time comes to face him properly?"
"You know I will," Harry said without hesitation. "Whatever you need."
Sylvia's expression softened with gratitude and love. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You were yourself," Harry replied simply. "The real you, beneath all the pain and anger. That's all you ever needed to be."
Tears gathered in Sylvia's eyes, but they were tears of joy rather than sorrow. "I love you, Harry Potter. With everything I am, everything I've been, and everything I hope to become."
"And I love you, Sylvia," Harry replied, his voice thick with emotion.
They came together again then, slower this time, their joining a celebration of their love and commitment to each other. When they finally settled into sleep, they were wrapped around each other like two halves of a whole, complete at last.
XXXXX
The morning sun streamed through the windows of Harry's apartment, casting golden patterns across the floor. Harry stood in his kitchen, preparing tea, as he recalled the conversation he’d had with a certain Asgardian who was rather persistent but it was something he couldn’t fault him for.
"Might I... might I speak with you? And perhaps... with her, if she's willing?"
As he recalled Thor’s uncertainty, Harry glanced toward his bedroom, where Sylvia was still sleeping. They'd talked long into the night about that very possibility, with multiple rounds of passionate lovemaking mixed in. They truly couldn’t have enough of each other.
He’d asked Thor to give him an hour and to come to his apartment, and the Asgardian had nodded gratefully before the connection closed.
All the others had gone out for one thing or the other, leaving them in relative quiet for the meeting that was about to happen.
Sylvia finally emerged from the bedroom, dressed in simple mortal clothes—jeans and a green sweater that brought out her eyes. She looked nervous but resolute.
"You're certain about this?" Harry asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
"No," she admitted, leaning back against his chest. "But I'm certain about us. And if there's a chance to find some peace with the past..."
The sound of someone arriving at the door interrupted her. Harry felt Thor's presence through his wards and nodded to Sylvia. "Are you ready?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Harry opened the door to reveal Thor, who looked as nervous as Sylvia had. He was dressed in casual clothes befitting a normal person on Earth, his usually perfect hair slightly disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it.
"Sylvia," Thor said softly, his eyes immediately finding his sister. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"I almost didn't," Sylvia replied honestly. "But Harry convinced me that running from difficult conversations never solves anything."
Thor's gaze flicked to Harry with something that might have been gratitude before returning to Sylvia. "Might we sit? I have much I wish to say, and I fear my legs may not support me through all of it."
Despite herself, Sylvia's lips twitched at his admission. "Very well."
They arranged themselves in Harry's sitting room—Sylvia on the sofa with Harry beside her, his hand resting supportively on her back, while Thor took the armchair across from them. The atmosphere was tense, with Sylvia maintaining a composed but distant demeanor. She sat straight-backed, every inch the Asgardian princess, making it clear that this conversation was happening on her terms.
"I don't know how to start," Thor admitted finally. "Every word I consider seems inadequate."
"Then start with the truth," Sylvia said quietly. "No grand gestures, no royal proclamations. Just... the truth."
Thor nodded, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "The truth is that I failed you from the very beginning. When Father brought you to Asgard, I was so young, so focused on my own desires and adventures, that I never truly saw you as my sister. You were just... there. Another part of the palace, like the furniture or the tapestries."
Sylvia flinched but didn't interrupt.
"I told myself that you were fine, that you were adapting well," Thor continued, his voice growing thick with emotion. "I saw you excelling at your studies, your magic, your combat training, and I assumed that meant you were happy. I never looked deeper. I never asked if you were lonely, if you felt like you belonged."
"I did feel lonely," Sylvia said softly. "Every single day. I felt like a guest who had overstayed their welcome, like I was constantly being evaluated to see if I was worthy of the space I occupied."
Thor's face crumpled. "And I made it worse, didn't I? Every time I achieved something, every time Father praised me, it was another reminder that you were the spare, the afterthought."
"Yes," Sylvia said simply, and Harry felt her tremble slightly beside him. "But it wasn't just you, Thor. It was the entire realm. I was Loki to them—the trickster, the adopted one, the one who couldn't be trusted. Even when I did nothing wrong, even when I excelled, there was always this underlying assumption that I was somehow lesser."
"I should have stood up for you," Thor said, his voice breaking. "I should have seen what was happening and defended you. Instead, I was so caught up in my own world that I let them treat you as an outsider in what should have been your home."
"Why didn't you?" Sylvia asked, and there was no accusation in her voice, only genuine curiosity. "Why didn't you ever see me?"
Thor was quiet for a long moment, clearly struggling with the answer. "Because it was easier not to," he admitted finally. "Seeing you, really seeing you, would have meant acknowledging that our family wasn't perfect, that Father wasn't perfect. It would have meant admitting that Asgard, the realm I was meant to rule, had fundamental flaws. And I... I wasn't ready for that complexity. I wanted everything to be simple, black and white."
"And I was a complication," Sylvia said with bitter understanding.
"You were a challenge to everything I thought I knew," Thor corrected. "And instead of rising to meet that challenge, I chose to ignore it. I chose to ignore you."
Silence fell between them again, heavy with years of pain and misunderstanding. Harry watched both siblings carefully, ready to intervene if needed, but sensing that this conversation needed to run its course.
"I'm sorry," Thor said finally, the words seeming to tear from his throat. "I know those words are inadequate, that they can't undo centuries of neglect and pain. But I need you to know that I see you now, Sylvia. I see the incredible woman you've become despite everything we put you through. I see your strength, your intelligence, your capacity for both great love and great fury. And I'm proud to call you my sister, if you'll let me."
Sylvia's eyes filled with tears, but when she spoke, her voice remained controlled. "You want to know the cruelest part of it all?" she asked. "I looked up to you. Despite everything, despite the way you ignored me, I still wanted your approval, your acceptance. I wanted to be worthy of being your sister."
"You were always worthy," Thor said, though there was still an awkward uncertainty in his voice. "Always. My failure to see that was my weakness, not yours."
"But I let that need, that desperate desire for acceptance, twist me into something else," Sylvia continued. "When the Mind Stone found me, it fed on that hunger, that sense of never being enough. It took my legitimate pain and used it to justify terrible things."
"The Mind Stone manipulated you," Harry interjected softly. "What you did while under its influence wasn't truly you."
"Wasn't it?" Sylvia looked at him with haunted eyes. "The capacity for those actions was always there, Harry. The anger, the resentment, the desire to prove myself through dominance—those were real parts of me that the Stone amplified."
"As they are real parts of many people," Thor said quietly. "Do you think I haven't felt that same hunger for power, that same need to prove myself? The difference is that I had a kingdom handed to me, subjects who cheered my name, a father who proclaimed my worthiness from the rooftops. You had none of that support, and yet you're condemning yourself for struggling under that burden?"
Sylvia stared at him in surprise. "I... I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Because you've been so focused on your own perceived failures that you haven't considered the circumstances that shaped them," Thor said. "Yes, you made choices while under the Stone's influence. But those choices were made by someone who had been systematically isolated and undermined for centuries. Someone who had every reason to believe that power was the only path to respect."
"That doesn't excuse what I did," Sylvia said firmly.
"No," Thor agreed. "But it explains it. And understanding the why of something is the first step toward forgiveness—both from others and from yourself."
Harry squeezed Sylvia's hand gently. "He's right, you know. You can acknowledge your mistakes without carrying the full weight of responsibility for circumstances you didn't create."
Sylvia was quiet for several minutes, processing their words. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and uncertain. "I don't know how to let go of the anger. It's been my constant companion for so long."
"You don't have to let go of it all at once," Thor said gently. "But perhaps... perhaps you could consider sharing the burden? Let me carry some of that weight, as I should have done from the beginning."
"What are you saying?" Sylvia asked warily.
"I'm saying that I want to be your brother," Thor replied carefully, as if choosing each word with great care and trepidition. "Not in name only, but in truth. I want to earn the right to know you—your thoughts, your dreams, your fears. I want to prove, through actions rather than words, that you are valued, that you belong."
"And what if I decide that's not what I want?" Sylvia asked, her tone making it clear that this was very much her choice to make. "If I determine that the cost of having you in my life is too high?"
Thor swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable but trying to respect her autonomy. "Then I'll accept your decision. Though I hope you'll give me the chance to prove myself first."
“And if I feel like I need time? And I don’t know how long?”
"Then I'll wait," Thor said without hesitation. "I'll wait as long as it takes, and I'll work every day to prove that I'm worthy of the chance to be your family."
Sylvia looked at Harry, who gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath before turning back to Thor, her posture remaining regal and controlled. "I make no promises," she said firmly. "Not of forgiveness, not of trust, and certainly not of the family bond you seem to want. This will be entirely on my terms, at my pace, and contingent on your actions proving your words."
"I understand," Thor said, though he looked somewhat taken aback by her directness.
"I'm willing to allow you the opportunity to prove yourself," Sylvia continued, making it clear that this was a privilege she was granting rather than something he was owed. "But understand that I reserve the right to withdraw that opportunity at any time if I feel you're falling back into old patterns."
Thor nodded, clearly trying to process the careful boundaries she was setting. "That's... more than I had any right to expect."
"Don't misunderstand," Sylvia warned, though there was less ice in her voice than before. "This isn't forgiveness, and it isn't family reconciliation. This is me giving you a chance to earn something that was never yours by right of birth or title."
"I wouldn't ask you to," Thor assured her. "All I ask is the chance to show you that I can be better than I was."
"Then we take it one day at a time," Sylvia said, echoing Harry's words from the night before.
The tension in the room remained, though it had shifted from outright hostility to cautious wariness. Thor looked like he wanted to reach out to his sister but clearly understood that such gestures would not be welcome. The awkwardness between them was palpable, years of hurt and misunderstanding could not be easily overcome by a single conversation.
"There's something else," Sylvia said firmly, and although she tried her best to maintain her serious demeanor, a slight pink dusted her cheeks. "Something you should know about... about Harry and me."
Thor's gaze flicked between them, taking in their closeness, the way Harry's hand rested protectively on Sylvia's back, and the intimacy in their body language. A slightly uncomfortable expression crossed his features.
"I see," he said simply, clearly not entirely sure how to process this information.
"You disapprove?" Sylvia asked, her tone challenging.
"It's not my place to approve or disapprove," Thor replied carefully. "Though I suppose... Potter is a capable man."
Harry nodded, acknowledging the lukewarm assessment. "I prefer 'complex,'" he replied with a grin, earning a playful swat from Sylvia.
Thor gave them an uncertain smile, clearly feeling a bit awkward in this situation. It emphasized just how far they had to go before anything resembling comfortable family dynamics might emerge.
"Well," Sylvia said, breaking the awkward silence, "at least we're all being honest about where we stand."
Thor nodded absently, several thoughts running through his mind.
Suddenly, a sharp pulse of energy swept through the room. Both Thor and Sylvia straightened simultaneously, their faces going pale as they felt something, and it even made Harry's blood run cold as he felt it through his bond with Sylvia.
"Do you feel that?" Thor asked, his voice tight with concern.
Sylvia nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for Harry's. Through their newly formed bond, Harry felt the echo of whatever cosmic disturbance had just washed over the Asgardians. It was like a discordant note in the fabric of reality itself.
The three of them stared at each other, the previous conversation forgotten in the face of this new development. Something was very wrong, and they all knew it.
To be continued…
