Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all other characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this version of the Mask belongs to New Line Cinemas; I'm just using them for this story

Feedback: I'd appreciate it, believe me

Harry Potter and the Mask of Loki

As he stood outside the building that had been a home to him for so long, Harry swallowed slightly as he went over his plan once more in his mind.

He still wasn't entirely sure if the form he'd decided to use during this attack was a good choice- what if its instincts proved to be more powerful than he was expecting?- but, as always, he shook those thoughts off; it wasn't the time to worry about possibilities right now.

All that mattered was that he win the upcoming battle.

So long as he didn't violate his own personal vow- that he wouldn't kill any opponent who wasn't Voldemort himself- he could live with what he had to do to achieve that goal…

He hoped.

Glancing up, Harry noted the brief glow that indicated a phoenix flaming into a location, and smiled approvingly; he'd 'asked' Fawkes (Although he got the impression the phoenix would have understood him anyway) to keep an eye on him during the fight, in case he needed some assistance, and it was a relief to see the phoenix there if he needed to be healed or something similar. He also noticed the snow-white form of Hedwig beside Fawkes, and couldn't stop another relieved smile; he'd instructed Hedwig to stay with Fawkes to keep an eye on him, and given her a note to take to the Order of the Phoenix if things went wrong and he needed assistance.

Of course, he hoped that neither would be needed, but, when the stakes were as high as they were right now, Harry believed in being prepared.

His hand still in his pocket, where he'd put it shortly before leaving Ginny to make sure his secret weapon was still all right, Harry pulled the hand out of his pocket, the Mask clutched in his fingers as he held it in front of himself once more. It was almost hard to believe that he was relying on a piece of wood to win the battle that he'd been conscripted to fight before he was even born…

But, of course, this was no ordinary piece of wood.

As he stared at the wooden surface, for a brief moment, he once again saw that faint glimmer that he had sometimes noticed as he prepared to use the Mask in a particularly… interesting manner…

Then he looked back up at the school before him, and his face hardened once more.

It was now or never.

Nearly sixteen years after that fateful Halloween night, when Voldemort was hit in the face by his own curse as he tried to kill the infant Harry, it would end.

Harry raised the Mask to his face, the now-familiar green energy already swirling over him as the wood touched his skin…

And, a few seconds later, after the customary whirlwind of green energy that always preceded his appearances, Mark Tiller was standing in front of Hogwarts, staring up at the doors with a critical expression, his head on one side as he contemplated the entrance before him.

"Aw well," he said eventually, sighing dramatically as he shook his head in a slightly dejected manner. "Not my favourite choice of body, really, but I've got to get in here, so the little details like the why aren't all that major, I suppose."

Nodding resolutely, he spun rapidly once more, emerging in an outfit that was far different from anything he'd assumed before. He was now far bulkier than he had been before, and was dressed in dirty, tattered clothes that seemed to have been through a lot. A large chain was draped around his neck, and a hockey mask, now yellow with age, was clasped onto his face, the straps digging into the back of his head so strongly it seemed as though he'd grown while wearing the mask. A large machete was clasped in one hand, and his eyes, normally so lively, seemed to have gone blank, staring ahead of him in a focused manner.

Behind the mask, however, Mark was already criticising himself for his choice of 'outfit' to penetrate the facility. As effective as Jason Voorhees would be in doing damage to the Death Eaters- to say nothing of the sheer intimidation factor he possessed when he looked like this- these kind of transformations also seemed to bring some of the 'instincts' of the form he assumed with them; what if he couldn't stop himself from going too far…?

No, Mark told himself, as he raised his machete and began to walk up to the door.

This was the only way; Jason was the only form he could think of who possessed the physical strength necessary to overwhelm the Death Eaters and would most likely be immune to anything they tried to use against him.

He would just have to remain focused, that was all.

He'd made himself a promise (Or should it be Harry had made a promise and he just agreed with it; Mark was never entirely sure where he ended and Harry began these days), and he'd keep it; he wouldn't kill anybody but Voldemort. He'd knock out anyone who went up against him, of course, but the machete was solely to be used to intimidate; he was not going to stab or maim anybody who wasn't the 'Dark Tosser' with this thing.

Quite frankly, he might not even stab Voldemort with it in the end; he'd decide how he wanted to take that sucker out when the time came for him to make the choice.

Maybe he'd just humiliate him in a simple duel or fistfight or something like that…

In any case, he'd decide that when the time came.

Taking a deep breath, Mark brought the machete down towards the lock of the main Hogwarts doors…

Inside the main entrance hall, the Death Eaters on guard duty of the main entrance- relatively light duty, they'd assumed, given that nobody would dare to attack the Dark Lord now- would never have a clear idea what had just taken place before their very eyes. One moment they were just standing around, idly studying their wands as they waited for something to happen…

The next, the Hogwarts doors had flown open so rapidly that it was a miracle they were still attached to their hinges when the procedure was finished, a massive blade in the middle of the hole where the door had once been. In the centre of the now-open entrance, the blade held out before him as though it were a lance and he was a knight in a jousting tournament, stood a tall man dressed in tattered clothes, broken chains and a dirty hockey mask, glaring at the two men in a cold manner.

Before either of the Death Eaters could react, the man had walked into the room, his blade outstretched before him, and, with a single swipe, had cut both their wands in half before they could retaliate, following it up with a rapid punch to the heads of both foes that left them sprawled on the ground, unconscious and with no likelihood of that state changing any time soon.

Of course, when they woke up and learned exactly what they'd faced, they'd consider themselves lucky to just be alive; neither of them wanted to know what would have happened if they'd tried to fight someone with the power of a god…

Looking down at the 'bodies' grimly, Mark smiled slightly in approval under the hockey mask at the sight. The two Death Eaters before him were definitely out of it, and didn't look like they'd be regaining consciousness any time soon, but they were, at least, still breathing.

So far so good, Mark mused to himself as he looked at the hall before him, already going over where Voldemort was likely to be hiding out.

The headmaster's office was out, as the place would have automatically sealed itself when the castle was infiltrated; he doubted anyone could even get out of the office now, never mind get into the room in question. Any of the other teacher's offices wouldn't be the same no matter how much Voldemort dressed it up, and, with his 'God complex', he'd want to be sure that everyone knew he was in charge…

And then it hit Mark.

There were two rooms that fit that category perfectly…

OK, they fitted it in different ways, but the point was still valid.

The only question was, what would Voldemort value more highly; size, or height?

It didn't take long for Mark to conclude which it was; as far as he knew, Voldemort had no interest whatsoever in flying, suggesting that he attached no real importance to how high somebody was, which left the 'size' option as the only likely candidate.

Hermione still couldn't believe this was actually happening to her. Barely three days ago, it had seemed to her that she and Ron would always be at each other's throats, desperately trying to have more and more arguments with each other and never getting anywhere…

And now, here they were, just walking out of a muggle cinema, laughing uproariously about the fact that they'd just been kicked out of the cinema for being too loud.

"I can't believe that happened!" Hermione said, unable to stop herself from laughing at the memory even as she mockingly glared over at Ron. "I hope you realise that this is all your fault, you know."

"Mine?" Ron said, looking over at Hermione with a mockingly hurt expression on his face. "You were the one who wouldn't keep her voice down!"

"Ron, in my entire life, I have never been thrown out of a cinema," Hermione pointed out, as they began to walk towards the bus stop. "Can you say the same thing?"

"Uh… I've never actually been in a cinema before now, 'Mione," Ron said, scratching the back of his neck as he gave a slightly sheepish grin at his 'girlfriend' (He still wasn't sure if he should think of her as that after only one date). "So, well, it's not like I've got past experience to go by…"

Whatever was left of the mood was ruined by a loud popping sound from a nearby ally, followed by a very familiar voice yelling "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn…"

"Ginny?" Ron and Hermione said as they hurried in the direction of the voice, staring incredulously at where Ron's sister stood among the rubbish bags, grime staining her clothes as she looked up at them with a small smile on her face.

"Hi guys," she said, apparently unconcerned about the fact that she'd just interrupted her brother's date with her best friend. "How's things?"

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Ron asked, trying not to focus on the how of it all; judging by the pop he'd heard, it was most likely apparition, and he really didn't want to know that his sister was capable of something like that right now. "Hermione and I-"

"Harry's going after Voldemort by himself!" Ginny hissed at her brother.

And that's exactly why I didn't want to know why you were here; it was obviously going to be bad news… Ron thought to himself.

"He what?" Hermione said, staring incredulously at Ginny, any anger she may have felt at Ginny's interruption forgotten in the shock of this latest news. "But… but why? He doesn't have a chance…"

"You don't think I know that?" Ginny yelled, spinning around to look at Hermione in frustration. "We need to get moving; he won't be able to last on his own against them!"

"Ginny, slow down and think for a minute, will you?" Hermione yelled back at her friend, grabbing Ginny's shoulders as though she wanted to shake some sense into her friend. "What are we going to do against Voldemort's entire force of Death Eaters? Even if we somehow get into Hogwarts, he's got a veritable army there; what are four of us going to do?"

"Look, obviously we're going to let the rest of the Order know what's going on; all I'm saying is that, if we go now, we may be able to make sure Harry stays alive long enough for them to get there in time to make a difference!" Ginny yelled back, raising her arms to shove Hermione's arms off her shoulders. "Hermione, don't you understand? He told me that he loved me before he went into that and I didn't even get to say that I love him too! We have to help him! I am NOT letting him DIE without at least telling him THAT!"

Privately, Hermione was already starting to recognise exactly why Harry had fallen in love with Ginny; like him, she was incapable of letting somebody else save someone she cared about if there was something she could do about it…

And the problem was, when you got down to it, Hermione wasn't going to let Harry go into the heart of Death Eater territory on his own either.

After all, he'd risked his life to save her in their first year, and he hadn't even liked her much back then…

How could she do any less for the man who'd become the closest thing to a brother she'd ever known?

Looking over at Ron, she noticed the same quiet resolution in his stance and expression, and it made her love him all the more.

"All right; we'll help you," she said, as she looked back at Ginny. "Just give us a minute to let somebody know what we're up to, and we'll get right on it."

She could only hope that the anti-apparation wards were as limited to Hogwarts as she could recall; if they couldn't apparate anywhere close to the castle, Harry would be in serious trouble…

As soon as he reached the door to the Great Hall- the only room that Voldemort would, in his arrogance, regard as 'big enough' to hold his power- Mark had already resolved to stop using the Jason Voorhees disguise as soon as the door was open.

True, it had made dealing with any Death Eaters he encountered on his way to the door a pretty easy job- despite their magical abilities, none of the Death Eaters really wanted to argue with a man holding a big knife- but, right now, as he prepared to go up against Voldemort for the final time, he didn't want to stop his nemesis using simple brute strength.

What he wanted, he had decided, was to defeat Voldemort in a wizard's duel.

A good, old-fashioned, straightforward wizard's duel, where Voldemort, for what might be the first time since he assumed that stupid name, met someone who could clearly overpower and outmatch him in a struggle in terms of raw magical power.

Plus, his 'natural' form- the form Mark typically assumed when he was active- had a definite advantage over Jason; he could make with the witty one-liners that would really get on Voldemort's nerve in a fight. The Crystal Lake Slasher was good for intimidation, but he wasn't all that good when the time came to get on the other guy's nerves and provoke them into making mistakes in the fight; no matter how much Mark might have wished otherwise, he couldn't talk in a form that wasn't able to talk already.

With that thought in mind, Mark stood in front of the doors to the Great Hall, tossed his machete off to one side, and began to spin rapidly as he charged forward, throwing the doors open as he finished his spin. The transformation complete and the doors spread open around him, the locks damaged by his 'attack' to the extent that they would not be fixed any time soon, Mark stood in the door, the leather coat draped dramatically over his body as he stared at the mass of Death Eaters before him, Voldemort sitting at the staff table in what had once Dumbledore's chair.

"Well well well… look what we have here!" Mark said, chuckling as the various Death Eaters turned to stare at him in confusion. "It's the Death Nibblers and the Dark Tosser!"

Looking up at the staff table, he tutted slightly as he walked into the hall, arms folded in a nonchalant manner as he stared at Voldemort, who could only stare back at him in confusion.

"You know, Tommy ol' boy, you really need to keep the ol' horcruxes in more secure locations," he said, enjoying the outraged expression on Voldemort's face as his original name was said in front of all his followers. "I mean, sticking one in Malfoy's mouth as a fake tooth? Where's the challenge in destroying that? I mean, all I had to do was crush the damn thing with a simple hammer!"

"Don't call me… that name, you freak," Voldemort growled as he stood up to look at Mark, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the form before him in confusion. "Who are you, anyway?"

Mark shrugged nonchalantly.

"I've been willing to be known by many names in my time, Mr Riddle," he said, enjoying the growing look of rage on Voldemort's face as he continued to use Voldemort's hated, original name as he looked at him. "In the past few days alone, you could have safely called me Link, Johnny Storm, Geordi LaForge, Freddy Krueger, Sean Cassidy, Aladdin, Peter Venkman, Warren Worthington III, Bruce Wayne, and, of course, Cuban Pete."

For a moment, Mark paused to chuckle slightly as though at a pleasant memory- his fight with Snape had definitely been a fun experience- but then he turned back to glare at Voldemort, his face serious once more. "However, you may refer to me as Mark Tiller… or, which is more to the point, the man who is going to kill you."

Pulling out his wand, he aimed it at Voldemort, a casual smile on his face as he stared at the man who'd ruined his life all those years ago. "Now then, cliché though this line may be, I like to think of it as more of a classic; we can do this the easy way or the hard way. What's your preference, Tommy?"

"ENOUGH!" Voldemort roared, as he leapt to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table as he glared at the man before him. "KILL HIM!"

Sighing melodramatically, Mark leapt into the air as a couple of nearby Death Eaters tried to hit him with the Avada Kedavra curse. Waving his hands slightly as he leapt, Mark smiled in approval as the beam from the wands changed to the red of the Stunning Spell just as they struck another Death Eater; a complex trick, but it kept him safe without having anyone else end up dead in the process. He had no way of knowing if the spells could actually kill him if they struck- with the power boost offered by the Mask he might just be injured if he was hit with Avada Kedavra rather than actually die- but he'd rather not find out unless he had to, and he didn't want anyone else dying because of him.

As he landed a few feet away, Mark was already planning his next attack; lashing out with a simultaneous punch and kick, he smiled grimly as he struck two other Death Eaters in the head, sending them crashing to the ground even as he reached into his left pocket and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. Taking a couple of practice swings to test its weight, Mark leapt into battle once more, lashing out wildly at the surrounding Death Eaters with his makeshift weapon, a grim smile on his face as they all fell to his weapon; unconscious or merely stunned, he didn't mind that much, so long as they were out of the fight for the moment.

"Does that hurt, assholes?" Mark asked, as he ducked another curse and lashed out with a quick punch to the jaw that sent the Death Eater who'd fired it flying.

"How does it feel to be the victim, rather than the attacker?" he asked, pausing to glare at the surrounding Death Eaters, who seemed rather taken aback at having to deal with a foe who was actually willing to hurt them. "How does it feel to be the one who's getting their ass kicked, rather than the person who's actually attacking? How does it feel to go up against someone who can not only fight back, but fight back really well?"

"How…" he growled, as he rammed the bat into a death Eater's chest, leaving them gasping as they collapsed to the ground, air forced from their lungs.

"Does…" he continued, as he swung the bat around a complete three hundred and sixty degrees, clearing space around him as he leapt up into the air once more.

"It…" he added, as he landed on the ground once more, throwing the bat into the face of a nearby Death Eater as he thrust his fists back to punch two more in the nose.

"Feel?" he roared, as he spun around to stare at Voldemort, who was still standing behind the table as he had been when Mark entered the room, his wand now raised as though waiting for a chance to strike.

Mark wasn't going to give him that.

As far as he was concerned, Voldemort wasn't going to see another day.

Nagini might still be alive- he vaguely noticed the snake by Voldemort's chair- but, once Voldemort was dead now, finding a way to contain his 'spirit' until he could find a way to destroy it after killing the snake would be easy.

Fuelled by not only the power of the Mask, but by the rage and anger of being treated like the walking equivalent of garbage for ten whole years because of the man before him, Mark leapt towards Voldemort, hands outstretched as though he intended to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands, not even bothering to create a weapon for himself as he lunged at his life-long opponent…

"Impedimentia!" several voices cried from behind him. Multiple Impediment Jinxes suddenly struck Mark in the back, forcing him to the ground, his body suddenly immobilised as he lay there, unable to move. Evidently, he'd just reached the limits of what he could take while wearing the Mask and still remain standing.

Great… Mark thought to himself, as he vaguely registered Voldemort starting to walk towards him. The only bright side to this attack was that he now had a better idea what the Mask was capable of; under normal circumstance, being hit by this many Impediment Jinxes should have left someone dead (Something about the nerve endings that connected the brain to the lungs being forced to stop working if too many different Jinxes hit the target). The fact that he was still alive made it clear that his theory about being able to take more damage with the Mask was accurate, although he did wish he hadn't discovered it under these conditions.

"Well, well… you still live?" Voldemort chuckled as he crouched down beside Mark, a slight grin on his face as he studied the young man who'd tried to attack him. "How… interesting."

If Mark's tongue wasn't as immobile as the rest of him, he'd have told Voldemort to go to Hell right now; as it was, all he could do was glare at his foe and hope that his eyes got the message across on their own.

After a moment of exchanging glares with Mark, Voldemort stood up and beckoned a couple of Death Eaters over.

"Make sure he stays down; with his power, I somehow doubt this shall inconvenience him for long," he said, indicating Mark as he crouched down in front of his foe, a small smile visible out of the corner of Mark's eyes. "I wish to see exactly why he wears this stupid mask…"

Mark's eyes widened in horror.

NO! he thought to himself, as he desperately tried to restore some kind of feeling in his arms and legs , as the two Death Eaters hauled him to his feet while Voldemort reached up to grab the edges of the Mask.

He may not understand entirely how the Mask could enable him to do all the things he'd done so far, but if he was sure of anything, he was sure of the fact that allowing Voldemort to get his hands on the Mask could be nothing but bad news.

Quite frankly, he was already thinking of getting rid of the thing as soon as he'd stopped Voldemort; it was way too dangerous to keep something like this on a regular basis.

If Voldemort had the powers the Mask could give its user…

NO!! Mark thought once again, as he desperately urged his body to move, exerting all the magical energy he could to try and force his limbs to throw off the effects of the Impediment Jinx to lash out at his captors. You can't have it… you can't…

But it didn't work.

Even as Mark tried desperately to do something, Voldemort's fingernails hooked under the Mask, and the familiar green energy swirled around Mark as he felt the Mask gradually come away from his face…