AN: For those of you who have stuck it out this far, thank you. Thank you for not cussing me out, or saying derogatory things to me as I slowly weave this story. I have had trouble from new readers in earlier chapters who either didn't like the fact that I wasn't torturing Severus Snape fast enough, because this is a redemption for him in many ways (redemption is never usually painless), or they don't like the whole Loki is genderfluid thing.

They actually cussed me out, arguing that he was a shapeshifter and not genderfluid. I'm sitting here thinking 'why not both?' It's confirmed in the MCU that Loki is genderfluid, and as he is already a confirmed shapeshifter for the Norse Myths, I saw no reason to argue.

Now, constructive criticism? I love that stuff. There was one reviewer who pointed out I'd fallen into the Twin Speak trap for Fred and George. It was polite, snarky, and I loved it! Easy fix ^_^

Last time...

She shook her head as if to clear it, before looking at him in confusion. "What are you still doing here? The trophy is right there."

"I know. I just…couldn't take it." Cedric admitted. "Didn't seem fair when you'd just saved my life and all."

"Cedric, what did I say?" She huffed, giving him quite the unimpressed glare.

"Give it all I've got; I remember." Cedric grinned, gesturing to the trophy, as an idea struck him. She'd never expect him to pull a stunt like this. "You also told me to be careful. Do you really think they would leave something like this unguarded in the middle of a clearing?"

"Well, only one way to find out." Hera snorted, stalked over and grabbed the trophy, right before realization dawned on her face. "I can't believe I actually fell for that."

"I can't believe you actually fell for that." Cedric snickered, only to become concerned when her eyes widened and her body lurched. "Hera, what's wrong?"

"Bloody portkey!"

and with that, she disappeared.

Chapter 35

Hera landed hard, her legs buckling under her, and her stomach contents availing themselves to the ground at her feet. It was bloody awful, portkey travel. Now shaking and weak, she took at look at the landscape, and could not find Hogwarts. Just how far had she traveled? Standing alone in the middle of a graveyard was not how she thought this night was going to go, but before she could locate the trophy again, she saw a figure in the mist coming towards her.

Whoever it was, wore a hood over their face to obscure it, and it looked like they were carrying something. A baby, or a bundle of clothes, maybe. They were short, but that was all she was able to tell before an unbearable pain exploded from her scar. Blood poured down her face, mingling with the grass below, as she tried to catch her breath. Too much like The Other, she kept thinking, but that invited thoughts she didn't wish to examine too closely at the moment.

Before she could collect her thoughts, the shrouded person was roughly jerking her to her feet, dragging her to a nearby marble headstone. Hera saw a name on it, before she was forced around and slammed against it. Tom Riddle. The name on the trophy in the Founders Hall. The name on the diary that had tried to steal her magic. She'd ignored a piece of the puzzle, she realized, and she was paying the price for it now.

The cloaked man conjured tight ropes around Hera in her dizzied state, tying her from neck to ankles to the headstone. She could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood. It was only just beginning to occur to her that she should struggle, though when she tried the man hit her…with a hand that had a finger missing, and hadn't that…That had come out about Peter Pettigrew.

"You!" Hera gasped in realization.

Wormtail didn't reply, just busily checked the ropes, hands shaking as he went about his work. Once the man was certain Hera was secured, he took a bit of black cloth and stuffed it in her mouth. Rude. Now what was she going to do with all this running commentary in her mind just begging to be let out? It at least gave her something to clamp down on when the pain hit her scar again, before Wormtail came back into her field of vision carrying a bundle of cloth…

She had a bad feeling about whatever was in that cloth. He left the cloth bundle by the foot of the grave, huffing as he brought into her field of vision a large stone cauldron. She can hear Professor Snape in her head, grumbling about the abysmal working conditions already. This was a terrible place for a lab, but an ideal place for necromancy or maybe even a bit of blood magic…oh. If she could have smacked herself, she would have.

As Wormtail worked, steam thickened the air until Hera could barely make him out. Damn her dizziness! She could swear the bundle was talking, demanding things, making Wormtail move faster with his work. Surely she was hallucinating too. No baby could look like that, no human child anyway. Thin, feeble, it appeared almost helpless, but something in Hera screamed that it was anything but.

Wormtail was speaking now, but it was almost like he was scared out of his wits. What was the man about to do? Hera could barely keep away the dizziness and confusion away long enough to pay attention to the words. Bones of the father…flesh of the servant…Blood of the enemy. Those could be potions ingredients, but what for? Why had he put that odd baby into the cauldron like that?

A terrible thought occurs to her, just as diamond sparks start flying. Wormtail was a Death Eater, one that had escaped prison. What would he do, if not go to his master? But how could he do that when the man was technically worse than dead, a wraith? Through the vapor that had poured out of the cauldron, Hera had her answer when she began to make out the outline of a man. Wormtail had resurrected his master. Oh.

"Robe me." A high, cold voice called from beyond the steam.

As the steam cleared, and the man stepped out of the cauldron, Wormtail robed him. All the while, he stared at Hera, and what was she to do but stare back. His face was whiter than a skull, with wide vivid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was as flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils…This was Voldemort as he had been in his last days, if not more inhuman than before, for there was a blueish tint to his skin now, and oh so faint lines like her own if she looked hard enough. Though seeing this gave her pause, if Hera had not had nightmares about someone much worse than this, she might have been afraid now; knowing what she did about what she was and what he'd done.

As it was, she was quite unimpressed with the theatrics of it all. There was the standard speech littered with bouts of self importance, threats, with a dash of tragic back story she might have been able to feel sympathy for had she not been tied to a gravestone at the time. There were followers, of course, complete with groveling and kissing of robes. Merlin help her, this man loved the sound of his own voice. To be fair he hadn't actually had vocal cords for over a decade, so she tried to cut him some slack, but there was only so much a person could take before they got bored.

She watched as he crucioed them for begging for mercy, as he scolds Wormtail for his fear. The gleaming silver hand thing is a nice bit of magic; sure to bite the fool in the arse later, but impressive all the same. The voice of Lucius Malfoy reaches her ears, and she curses to herself. Some of these men, these fearful stupid foolish men, were the fathers of her new friends. How could she possibly…Hang on. Idea.

Willing repentant Death Eaters? Well…they might be if she can kick this guy's arse, remind them they were men once, and not these sniveling dogs she saw before her now. The idea was worth considering. She couldn't expect them to change their beliefs, not all at once, but she can prove here and now that power meant more than blood. If she can do that, they'll wash their hands of him…she hopes. Her musings were broken by pain, and she belatedly realized she'd lost her focus. He'd been relaying the tale of his rise to power once more, and she'd been bored to tears, which he apparently taken as an insult.

Really, she was going to have to do something if he didn't kick things up a notch. Wasn't this supposed to hurt more? Had that Other really pushed Loki's pain threshold beyond that of the norm, or was it some combination with him and the Dursleys? Would her dreams have an affect on her like that? They'd helped her know how to fight Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, after all.

"Untie her, Wormtail, and give her back her wand."

Finally, something was happening.

...

This is not how Lucius had imagined his evening going, and now he was running scenario after scenario in his mind, only to come up with no way for them to survive this. He may believe the Old Ways should be preserved, may even think the muggleborns as being beneath him, but the Dark Lord wasn't the answer anymore…if he had ever been. He'd felt the mark on his arm burn, knew what it meant, knew that their time was up. Their hope for a way out was over. The Dark Lord had returned, and there was no escaping his madness now.

He could see the thinly veiled looks of fear the others shared with each other, clear even through the masks they wore, knew that they too were parents. They would all be expected to promise their children to this mad man. Towards the end, the Dark Lord had let all pretense of fighting for the Old Ways fade, and they'd been faced with the truth of what the man really was. It is that truth, wrapped up in a snake like construct of a body, that they are faced with again now. They would not be able to protect their children from this.

"Untie her, Wormtail, and give her back her wand."

The words seemed to hit him all at once. This was what was going to happen to their children should they resist; because, of course, Hera Potter would resist. Could he allow this to happen to his son, to someone else the same age as his son? Was there truly nothing he could do? Strange that Potter didn't look frightened at all. Instead she looked utterly bored, but a steeled sort of resolve takes over her features when Pettigrew shuffled over to her with her wand, cutting her bindings with a flick of magic. And then…

Crack!

If there was another sound made by anyone else, Lucius didn't hear it. Standing in front of the gravestone she'd been tied to, Hera Potter had just decked Pettigrew with a mean right hook. Considering she'd punched a hippogriph hard enough to knock it back a few steps, he'd hate to see the condition of Pettigrew's face right now. The rat animagi had fallen backwards, and hadn't gotten up. Potter just stood there breathing heavily, till she seemed to realize she was being watched by the group of Death Eaters surrounding her, and the Dark Lord.

"My apologies." She offers belatedly, still breathing heavily. "Just had to get that out of my system."

Pettigrew whimpers in the background.

"Oh, shut it, you big baby." She scoffs, glaring down at where Pettigrew had fallen. "I barely even hit you."

Says the young woman who'd thrown her whole body into hitting that man, Lucius thinks but doesn't say.

"Potter!"

Lucius knew that tone, knew that it meant the Dark Lord was this close to crucioing someone, but Potter just turns around like she'd forgotten he was there.

"Oh, right. Didn't realize you were just going to…go like that." She shrugged, absentmindedly waving in his direction. "Figured you'd wanted a bit of time to transfigure a proper nose for yourself, hair, or at least eyebrows. How much shrinkage is allowed before you realize you went with the Ken doll option? I saw what you looked like without robes, you know. Figured you definitely wanted some time to fix that."

Most of the Death Eaters looked confused at Ken doll option, but Lucius started coughing to hide the laughter that wanted to bubble up at this most inopportune of moments; because as a business man with dabblings in both worlds, he knew what a Ken doll was. They were more wondering if they should act insulted because her earlier comments, but at Lucius' cough they got the gist that she was insulting his bits too. Lucius managed to stop coughing, but it was enough for the Dark Lord to know Lucius had understood her insults. Only McNair tittered as he did, but for very different reasons. It was well known that the man only had the job of executioner for the Ministry because that was the only way he could legally sate his blood lust. The Dark Lord shot out a curse Potter didn't even look up to block, instead just batting it away like it was a gnat or a fly.

"You know, the way people speak of you…the way they fear even saying the moniker they have for you…" Potter commented idly, as she regarded the Dark Lord with a modicum of curiosity. "I don't know…I was expecting…more."

"You will bow before death, girl." Voldemort hissed, firing off a curse at her, which she blocked without effort.

"Care to introduce me?" She retorted. "Or did you plan to monologue some more first?"

"Crucio!"

She couldn't block it in time, but she didn't dodge it either. Instead, her entire body went rigid as she fought it. She did not even shout, or cry in pain. When the Dark Lord released the spell, there was only silence. Though she shook, Lucius had the distinct impression that it was with rage rather than suffering, something that seemed to be reflected in her now blood garnet coloured eyes as she glared at the Dark Lord.

"My turn."

...

Though Hera had not thought about it for some time, she knew the full prophecy Riddle had marked her for by going after her as an infant. That's one of the things Professor Snape had insisted she learn the day she'd been pinned for her apprenticeship. She had powers the Dark Lord knew not, and neither could live while the other survived. She'd been hoping it was more of a metaphorical sense of living and surviving with each minding their own business while the other did whatever, but one couldn't have everything, especially with the idiot so intent on trying to kill her. The dangerous thing was that he'd used her blood for the resurrection ritual, so anything she could do, he could learn. She couldn't let him realize what he'd become, but there was a very small window for the element of surprise.

Conjuring knives and ice shards, she sent them at him in intervals, always keeping the man on his toes. If he was constantly dodging things, he couldn't cast spells. Punching him in the heart wasn't going to work this time, as the man most likely now had the same dense bone structure she did. Ice wouldn't hurt him the same way anymore either. If only she could turn the ritual around on him…Wait, that might actually be possible.

Slicing along the meat of her palm below her thumb with one of the knives she'd made it a habit of carrying around with her, she began to hopefully reverse the ritual, letting the blood drip into the cauldron. "Blood of the enemy, willingly given, you will destroy your foe."

Voldemort lurched, staggering as he tried to avoid the shards and curse her at the same time.

"Flesh of the servant, forcibly taken, you will abolish your master." She snarled, before hauling Wormtail up just enough to cleave off the forearm with the silver hand, freezing the nub his arm had become before separating the forearm from the silver hand, and tossing the flesh into the cauldron as well.

The hand she placed into a containment box till she could examine it later, and shoved it down into one of her expandable pockets. She'd have to thank Professor Snape later. It apparently paid to be a paranoid bastard. She hadn't even thought she'd need a meat cleaver for this. When she'd told Cedric there was a variety, she might have been underselling how many she really had on her at the moment, and it wasn't like she couldn't conjure more.

"Loquuntur cum mortuis."

She really hoped this part worked.

"You've got some nerve, Kid." She hears from behind her, only to turn around to face what should have been what Voldemort looked like at this age…had he not tried to rip his soul to shreds. "What am I doing here?"

"I thought you'd like to stick it to your bitch arse of a son." She blurted out, pointing to the man now some ways behind her…who was currently being beset by the skeletons and various corpses that had resided in the graveyard. Huh. She might have put a bit too much power into that last spell.

"What do you need?" The man asked, regarding her with some curiosity.

"He used your bones to bring himself back to life, without your knowledge." She quickly replied. "Can I use your bones to take his life from him, with your knowledge? It's the only way I can think of that the spell can be reversed."

"Fucking magic." The man grumbled, but then saw her wilt before his eyes, and he caved. "Don't be like that, Poppet. I was drugged with a love potion for years. There's going to be some resentment there. It's not against you, and you have been exceedingly polite, given the circumstances. Take what you need. You have my blessing."

She nodded, keeping eye contact, and began. "Bone of the father, knowingly offered, you will annihilate your son."

"NOOOOOO!"

Riddle Sr faded from view after giving her a slight nod, and seeing that his son was losing his mind with rage trying to get to her, even as the bone dust swirled in the air and entered the potion. The skeletons had all but dragged him back to the cauldron, and no amount of struggling seemed to be able to free him, no spell made them lose their hold. Those most loyal to him were beating against the barrier he'd created at some point, calling out, begging him for instruction, but there was nothing to be done. Hera took a run and leaped, knocking both him and herself into the cauldron. The pain in her forehead was so great that she could barely keep her eyes open to appreciate the look of sheer unadulterated rage on Voldemort's face before passing out.

...

The cauldron erupted in a series of sparks and hisses before exploding in a literal sense, sending shards of metal everywhere, causing the group to duck for cover behind various grave stones. The wraith that the Dark Lord had been flew off into the night, and those most loyal to him vanished before they could risk fighting the girl that had vanquished their master once more, but the girl herself lay motionless on the ground. It looked like she was dead. Thankfully, Potter began coughing up potion liquid, but it took a bit before she was struggling to stand. When she did, she looked around like she couldn't believe her eyes, the affect made all the more ludicrous with her drowned rat impression.

"Potter…Potter, just what the hell was that?" Lucius demanded, ripping off his mask and stalking over to her now that the barrier was gone. Very few of the Death Eaters now remained, specifically those that had children at Hogwarts.

"Can you plant a memory?" She asks, instead of explaining. "I have…like…half of an idea."

"Is anything else going to explode if I agree to help you?" He snapped, only being half sarcastic.

She paused to actually consider the question, still slightly out of it, before replying with. "…Not today."

"Oh, well then, as long as it's not today." Lucius commented snidely, but it just made her snicker.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Potter shouted, causing everyone to jump, but they relaxed when they saw the spell was aimed for Pettigrew; who had been trying to sneak away before the spell hit him. "Alright, I'll assume you lot are the parents of some of my friends. I'm going to need your Death Eater masks and robes to make this believable, so gimmie."

"Excuse me?" Lucius asked, flummoxed.

Potter had already started crafting a rather elaborate and convincing illusion of Pettigrew 'setting up' the area.

"I don't know the Minister, but from the things I hear, he's the type to want to Ostrich whenever trouble arises; you know…stick his head in the sand, and pretend everything is fine." She stated, not turning from her work. "What do you think he would do if I suddenly came back, covered in blood and potion, crying that Voldewort had returned? He'd stick his head so far up his own arse, it would take old Moldyshorts showing up at the Ministry with flowers on bended knee before he would believe it."

"Why do you keep butchering the Dark Lord's name like that?" Lucius found himself asking. The other parents all looked curious about this too, hidden as they were behind their masks and such.

"First of all, you should stop calling him the Dark Lord. You are a grown arse man, and a lord in your own right. Act like it." She scolded, turning slightly to face him and the others. "Refusal to say a name gives that name power, but mutilating it to the point that people can't take it seriously anymore strips that power away*. So, robes and masks, if you please. I can free you from the Dark Mark, if that's what you want, but we're going to have to have a long conversation about how you treat people and magical creatures, and what I won't tolerate."

Everyone started quickly disrobing, thankfully wearing robes under those, and handing over their masks. She set each robe with a sticking charm to a mask, and then had them float to where they'd been, using the Pettigrew illusion to alter them as if it the rat animagi had set this all up himself. It was actually quite an ingenious bit of magic, and Lucius watched as an illusion of Potter 'arrived' via trophy portkey. The scene played out as usual, though the construct of the Dark Lord looked flawed and even more misshapen than before, dissolving quickly as 'Pettigrew' was captured by an escaping 'Potter'. She then turned to them, and it was only then that Lucius realized how drained she was.

"How are you even able to do that?" Lucius asked, gesturing to the illusion she'd just banished.

"Oh, uh…No one told me I couldn't, so I just…did?" She shrugged, and Lucius could feel his right eye twitching. This, this is why Severus insisted she apprentice with him.

"You're not going to be able to stand up for much longer, let alone free us." Lucius warned. "At least, not right now."

She reluctantly nodded in understanding. "Could one of you take what I did, and plant the memory in his head? Mine too. Oh, and obliviate him of the actual activities of the night. That would be great."

"Why hide the attempted return?" Lucius asked, after looking from the parents and back to her.

"Besides Fudge being an Ostrich?" She asked weakly. They all nodded. "I won't be. I'll tell those who will actually listen, but those tend to be the people not in power, people who can actually do things. So, could one of you do the thing? Maybe before I pass out?"

Quote

Refusal to say a name gives that name power, but mutilating it to the point that people can't take it seriously anymore strips that power away – Kintatsujo (found on Pinterest)