Bruises || Harry Potter x Ivar The Boneless - Viking / Harry Potter Crossover

Sjau

Two days later, as Teddy slowly began to regain his energy, albeit with a hint of sluggishness, Hel contemplated her own decision to seclude herself from the Village. She acknowledged that Teddy was, after all, a blossoming young boy who thrived on interaction and connection with others. The thought of him lacking the socialization he needed weighed heavily on her heart. It struck her that allowing her guilt and regret to dominate her actions would only perpetuate a cycle of negativity that benefited no one. She recognized that her own bad behaviors — learned and internalized in the shadows of her sorrow — would only hinder his growth.

She hated it so fucking much... But she was resolved to step out of her self-imposed isolation for Teddy's sake. She needed to ensure that he had an environment where he could flourish amidst laughter and companionship without becoming this angry little thing like she knew she was. Teddy didn't deserve to have her as a mother but she was all he had. The least she could do was try to be better for him.

Ragnar may come to see her a few times out of the week and spend a good chunk of the daylight hours with her bringing what was oh so clearly; peace, wit, and his rediscovering of his charisma. Ragnar felt much like he fit in their little family bubble - as if he belonged in it. Hel found she didn't much mind it, she did like the Viking. She liked him enough to see the possibility of having a father figure in him.

He cared deeply for her. Cared even more for Teddy and he was quite fond of Luna.

But even if she could see him as such, she felt like there was something unmistakably lacking in that regard. It just, it just didn't feel right.

Maybe it had something to do with her dislike for Largertha and even more for Astrid who seemed to be of the same mind when Hel had come into the village. Astrid didn't take her hand off her sword, nor her eyes off her.

If she didn't soon, Hel would strike her where she stood and she would not bat an eye to the grief Largertha would most likely cry. And then, of course, Hel would kill her, and only then would she feel bad because she would have upset Ragnar.

It was a pesky business, feelings.

How she ended up having breakfast with Ragnar and his sons, or better yet even his bitches - Hel did not quite know. But there she was being questioned by Ubbe and Sigurd, both men barely even able to make eye contact with her since she threatened to remove their balls and make them choke them down if they so much as dared to call her a slave again.

They had been under the impression that she and Luna were Ragnar's slaves he picked up in England. Sigurd had touched her arse, grabbing a handful - he ended up in a sick bed when she grabbed him by the cock and whispered how she would love to watch him squeal for her as she killed him slowly.

Obviously, they seemed to have forgotten that her patience was thin and her willingness to speak even sparser. She was not like Luna. She did not like people. She never had.

There was a time when Hel loved the attention, she liked it when it came to her catching a little golden snitch in her palm and sending the crowds wild with every win. But that was the only time that Hel did not mind the looks and the questions and smiles. That girl was long dead. She died the night Voldemort killed her in the forbidden forest. The girl that came back, hadn't been the same.

Hel no longer had the patience for anybody but her Son and her sister. Everyone else can fuck off.

She had to bite down the knee-jerk reaction to send a hex towards Sigurd when he made a comment about how he would like to kill as many Christians as possible.

Her mother was a muggle-born.

It was the same fucking mindset those pure-bloods had when it came to muggle-borns. They were all bad and deserved to die or be enslaved. She was speaking before she could tamp down the urge to just ignore it.