The Rise of an Empire

CHAPTER ONE

❛PAST EXPERIENCES MAKE US STRONGER❜

❝Be patient. Everything you want, if it's true, and most importantly: if it's meant to be yours, it will happen.❞ — William Shakespeare

HERA SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that the sentence: “Be careful what you wish for, for you may receive it! ", it was real.

Especially with her.

After all, Hera Potter, like the thousands of Potters before her, was blessed with the famous Potter luck.

Or was she cursed? Hera Potter couldn't say.

All Hera knew with all the certainty in the world was that the situation she found herself in began with a single wish.

Desire to belong.

Privet Drive, Little Whinging — SURREY
— July 30, 1995

The sun was high in the sky, kissing her skin hard and Hera felt her blood burn inside her.

It had only been a few weeks since her vacation from school started and she still felt exhausted.

And why?

Well…

If she were to talk about everything bad that happened in the last year, there would be a set date, after all, everything that left her with her heart tight inside her chest started at the beginning of her fourth year at Hogwarts — one of the many Schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry of the world — with the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament.

But if she went even further, Hera could tell when it all started. Fourteen years ago, when Lord Voldemort attacked her home, killed her parents and, when he tried to kill her, he was hit by his own spell, disappearing for many years while she suffered a lonely and painful childhood with her mother's relatives, where her fame was of no use to her.

However, if she were more accurate in admitting where everything started to go wrong, she could say it was when she found out about the hidden world of magic.

Exactly four years ago, Hera discovered the real reason why her relatives hated her so much.

She was a witch. 

After everything that happened around her as she grew up, Hera must have realised that she was different, that she was special. And she was happy to know that, wanting to have as little in common with her beloved relatives as possible.

So, when Hagrid broke into the old shack that her uncle rented to escape magic and everything that came with it, he told her that magic was real and she got to know the Wizarding World like every eleven-year-old wizard or witch — if they were muggle-born (son of non-magical parents) or raised by muggles, which was her case — Hera was very happy. She had something that was only hers, that no one could take away.

At first, she was tremendously enchanted by the Wizarding World. How could she not? At some point, whatever it is, all children believe in magic and knowing that magic really existed was a childhood dream come true.

But later, after she actually realised what she had gotten herself into? After spending months, years in the Wizarding World, Hera wonders if it was a good idea to accept studying at Hogwarts.

You must understand, however, that Hera's problem was not with Hogwarts itself, after all she loved that castle, just as she loved her magic.

Hogwarts was her home.

Is her home.

Then no. Her problem wasn't with Hogwarts. It was with the people who lived in the castle.

It was with the wizards and witches who stared at her at all times and then mocked when they saw that the girl-who-lived was not how they thought she was, how she should be.

It was up to the teachers at the school who saw what she went through every day with the other students every year and did nothing to intervene, in fact some even supported the students in their ridiculous actions.

It was up to the adult wizards who were in charge of the government, who should do what is right and instead only do what benefits them most.

It was with the entire Wizarding World as a whole.

Entering the World of Magic at the age of eleven, when she still saw things with the innocence of a child — despite the cruel childhood she had —, clouded her vision for the problems that the Wizarding World had, problems that she would face every damn day, precisely because of who she is.

All hail Hera Potter, the girl-who-lived.

How foolish!

Did they not think about what she went through to get that ridiculous nickname? All that fame was more of a curse than a blessing.

Discovering the way her parents were taken from her broke her heart. How could the world be so cruel? Why did people have to be so mean? Why did Voldemort go after her family among so many others?

Voldemort.

That was the name of the person Hera hated most in the world. In all her years of life, she never thought that she could hate anyone more than she hated her loving relatives.

But it happened.

When Hagrid told her how her parents died, what really happened to them and not the lie that her Aunt Petunia kept telling her, Hera, for the first time in her young life, hated someone to the point of wanting to kill.

Of course she regretted it soon after thinking about it, but it always stayed in her head, hidden in the darkest corner of her mind, invisible at first, but still there, looking for a single opportunity, ready to go out and take her mind with hatred and the desire for revenge like a possessed monster.

“It won’t be revenge” — the monster whispered in the back of his mind with his malicious words, venom dripping into each word. — “It will be justice! Don't you want justice for your parents? For what happened to them?”

Over time Hera learned to ignore her darkest thoughts, but it wasn't easy and with each encounter she had with her parents' killer, she let anger, hatred and bitterness fill her, wanting to cause pain to the one who was responsible for her sad and miserable life.

But even though she felt all of this, she still felt guilty. She kept thinking about what her parents would say about her. Would they be proud of her? Of the person she has become? Would they feel disgusted? Were they sickened by the dark feelings she had against Voldemort? Did they hate her? Would they understand?

These questions repeated themselves many times in her mind and it got even worse with each encounter she had with the dark wizard.

First, when she had her encounter with Quirrelmort at the end of her first year, where Hera vomited for weeks thinking about the hatred her parents surely felt for her from wherever they were after they died after what she did.

She had killed a man.

The fact that he was possessed by a megalomaniac killer wasn't important. The fact that he tried to kill her wasn't important. The fact that he wanted to help Voldyshorts at that time was not important. None of that was important. Even if Quirrell was evil, Hera had no right to decide whether he lived or not. He was still a person.

And she cruelly killed him.

She took the life of a person who was just eleven years old. She was just a child.

Like it or not, a situation like this leaves trauma in an adult and leaves an even worse trauma in a child.

And the worst of all? Nobody spoke to her. No one tried to see if she was okay. Nobody asked the elders why she had to be the one to deal with that situation, if there were adults for that. No one tried to understand her in any way. Nobody tried to help her. They — especially Dumbledore — just congratulated her on dealing with a villain from the wizarding world, as if it was okay to kill people out there, as if she wasn't a murderer.

She despised them.

And, as if the trauma that her first year at Hogwarts left her with wasn't enough, her second year was the same, in fact it was worse. Worse than being stared at by everyone at school and later ridiculed for being introverted, hated for being intelligent and envied for her fame. All of this suffocated her. It was frustrating.

The wizards wanted to meet her and have her friendship not because of her, never because of her — Hera, just Hera. They never managed to see her for real — but because of who they thought she was. Hera Potter, the girl-who-lived.

How pathetic that they think she loves her damn fame. Her fame could go to the fifth place of hell, for all that matters! Hera couldn't care less.

Curse...

Didn't they know that the title girl-who-lived only served to throw it in her face that she survived while her parents couldn't? That with this fame came the orphanhood of both parents?

They were completely foolish!

They didn't know her.

Damn. How much would she give to have a family that loved her? That loved her for who she was, that cared for her, that was proud of who she was, regardless of everything, that he appreciated her. She. Hera, just Hera. She would give all her gold if it were possible to get her parents back. But it wasn't and they didn't understand.

After a while, she thought they would leave her alone, that she would be like any other witch.

It was not.

Nothing Hera did to try to live her life in peace was enough. Nothing was enough for them.

To them she owed them everything. In her twisted mind, they were the ones who made her what she is today. She owed them.

They didn't want her for who she was. They wanted the girl-who-lived. They wanted a heroine they could worship one hour and hate later, a heroine who would protect them even as they slandered and bewitched her in the hallways.

That's what happened in his second year.

When the attacks began and people were petrified, everyone became suspicious of Slytherins, due to their obvious prejudice against muggle-borns and half-bloods. That is, until she committed the stupidity of talking to a damn snake in front of the entire school.

It was the end of it, then.

Everyone turned on her, casting spells at her back in the hallways, destroying all her things, making her trip on the stairs. She missed the number of times she ended up in the Hospital Wing, with Madam Pomfrey being the only one to take care of her and try to protect her, even if she didn't achieve much, being a witch against the entire student body. Even the teachers — who were supposed to take care of her — didn't care what the students did to her, they turned away, letting the students do whatever they wanted with her.

Hera then understood what McGonagall said when she spoke in her first year. Your home will be like your family. Her family, in fact.

Like the Dursleys.

And then when she saved them — not that she wanted to put herself in danger, but like her first year, she was forced to — they didn't even say sorry. They acted as if they hadn't done anything to her all this time, as if it was her duty to save them, regardless of what they did to her.

She hated them.

Hera wanted to live her life, just be a normal witch, but they wouldn't let her.

They wanted, wanted, wanted, wanted everything from her. They wanted their life. They wanted her emotions. They wanted her friendship. They wanted her protection. They wanted her forgiveness. They wanted her fame. They wanted her gold. They wanted her understanding. They wanted her knowledge. They wanted her magic. They wanted her life. They wanted her soul.

It was like that in her first year. It was like that in her second year. It was like that in her third year. And it was even worse in her fourth year.

Damn Triwizard Tournament.

When Dumbledore announced the return of the Triwizard Tournament, responsible for the deaths of many wizards and witches, Hera felt in her gut that she would be involved in this tournament, even if she didn't want to.

And just as she predicted, it happened.

Her name came out of the Goblet of Fire, declaring her as the fourth champion and what followed after that announcement was even worse than what happened in her second year.

The same night, after returning desolate to Gryffindor Tower upon learning that there was no escape for her, that she would have to compete one way or another, that she could die while competing, Hera was expelled from the tower. Her belongings were thrown at her feet and her owl, her sweet Hedwig, who was not to blame for anything, was thrown hard at her feet trapped inside the cage, unable to escape and unable to survive the injuries that the fall caused to her. Her first friend had died and all because of petty and jealous teenagers who didn't even realise that she could die while doing chores.

Hera hated them even more after that.

She isolated herself from the entire school, studying alone in a wonderful room that the house elves showed her, the Room of Requirement. It was her greatest triumph in all her four years at Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement was where she slept, where she studied, where she cried over Hedwig's death, where she wondered why all this happened only to her, where she screamed and raged and where she prepared for the three tasks. Her breakfast, her lunch, her dinner, everything was made in that room with the help of the house elves and the school didn't see her until the first task.

Dragons.

Those stupid adults wanted her, a girl just fourteen years, to fight and defeat a dragon. And they even had the audacity to say that the Triwizard Tournament would be easier this time.

Idiots.

Fortunately, while reading about the previous tournaments, she separated herself with a sequel. The first task always involved dangerous beasts and, considering her Potter luck, Hera turned her attention to the worst beasts of the magical world, such as dragons, basilisks and such beasts.

And she had nailed it.

Dragons.

In the end, Hera didn't even need to do much. And wasn't it a surprise that dragons understood Parseltongue? It was a very productive conversation, if she admitted it to herself.

But even after Hera won without hurting herself, without hurting the dragons, without destroying the dragon eggs and in the shortest amount of time possible, everyone wanted her to be disqualified from the tournament for “cheating” by talking to the dragon. The audacity of these wizards!

She didn't listen to anything they had to say, it didn't matter to her anymore at that point. All she wanted to know was when the next task would be. Only that.

Even when Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape tried to give her detentions and take away points, acting as if they were disappointed in her. Even when the Gryffindors tried to get back on her good side, as if they hadn't kicked her out of the tower and killed her owl. Even when the school tried to get her to forgive them. She didn't hear them.

Hera remained in the Room of Requirement, studying every type of magic that existed on earth, and to take that decision opened his eyes.

Hogwarts was so delayed, compared to other schools of magic.

Albus Dumbledore, in all his prejudice and hypocrisy, excluded much magic from the curriculum. So much magic, so many interesting subjects that could be learned and he banned it, making many wizards ignorant of their magical heritage.

How she was before discovering the other side of magic.

All this time at Hogwarts, after learning that she was a witch, Hera thought that there were only two forms of magic: dark and light.

She was mistaken. She was very mistaken.

The first of the many slaps she received in the course of her discoveries about magic was when she discovered that Dark Magic was not exactly darkness. It was just another kind of magic. What could make a magic dark, in fact, was the wizard's intention.

Realising this opened her horizons.

So many incredible branches of magic that she could learn there alone, without receiving hateful looks and judgement from the other wizards. After all, staying in the Room of Requirement meant being free to learn whatever she wanted. The Room of Requirement was a blessing in disguise, in her opinion.

So, while Hera didn't need to show her face for the second task, she studied, studied and studied, all the branches of magic that the room insisted on showing her.

Blood Magic. Ritual Magic. Elemental Magic. Ancestral Magic. Cosmic Magic. Astral Magic. Battle Magic. Wordless Magic. Wandless Magic. Light Magic. Gray Magic. Dark Magic.

Her repertoire of spells increased immensely, her magic came easily to her and she almost no longer needed to use a wand or speak anything, which was a triumph for her within the Great Lake and an even greater triumph in the third task.

When the Goblet of Fire spat out her name, Hera knew that the Dark Lord was pulling his strings once again, especially after the dreams she had had about him the summer before fourth year. And when Dumbledore, her Magical Guardian, did nothing to get her out of the tournament — something she discovered he could easily do by reading the tournament rulebook in the Room of Requirement — she knew he wanted to use her as bait to discover the Dark Lord's plans. What little trust she still had in him was gone after that.

In the end, Hera was right. Voldy had engineered all of that to take her to him and, by not removing her from the tournament, Dumbledore helped her plan a lot, taking what Voldyshorts wanted most — her — straight into his arms.

The entire experience that followed after that was horrible.

Wormtail — the damn cowardly rat — knocked her out with a spell as soon as he could, without giving her the chance to react. Unfortunately, Voldemort was a sadistic man and loved to make her suffer, in any way possible. So, wanting to traumatise her in her last moments of life — at least that's what he believed —, the Dark Lord ordered Wormtail to wait until she woke up to begin the ritual.

Hera can say with conviction that that scene will never leave her head.

The bones rising from the grave, the sound of the earth cracking to let them through. Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son! The sound of the knife cutting into Wormtail's hand, the bone breaking with the blow, the gurgling sound of the severed limb hitting the bottom of the cauldron. Flesh of the s-servant, willingly sacri-ficed, you will re-revive your master. The feeling of that same knife cutting into your skin, drawing your blood, the crimson liquid dripping slowly onto the bubbling potion. B-blood of the enemy, forci-bly taken, you will resurrect your foe. And worst of all: the return of the Dark Lord.

In her heart, Hera thought that it hadn't worked, she hoped that it hadn't worked, that Wormtail had made some mistake and because of that, the potion wouldn't work, killing Tom Riddle as a result. Unfortunately, her wishes were not granted.

Voldemort resurrected worse than ever, raving about the “beautiful” story of his life as his Death Eaters arrived to watch him humiliate his greatest enemy.

In her mind and in her heart, Hera knew that that night only one of them would make it out alive. She hoped it was her. 

💭💭💭

“You are standing, Hera Potter, over my father's remains," he hissed softly. “A muggle and an idiot... Much like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, didn't they? Your mother died trying to defend you as a child... And I killed my father and look how useful he proved to be after he was dead…”

The Dark Lord let out another laugh. Up and down he walked, looking to the sides, and the giant serpent continued to circle in the middle of the grass. Hera thought he was crazier than ever.

“Do you see that house over there on the hillside, Potter?” he pointed to the old ruined mansion. Hera didn't look where he was pointing, wanting to keep her eyes on him at all times, alert. “My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived in the village, fell in love with him. But she was abandoned when she told him what it was... He didn't like magic, my father…” Voldemort laughed, an ugly, bitter sound. “He abandoned her and returned to his muggle parents before I was born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a muggle orphanage... But I swore to find him... I took revenge on him, this idiot who gave me his name... Tom Riddle…”

And he walked without stopping, his eyes darting from one tomb to another.

Hera, in her mind, asked for this entire monologue to end quickly. She wanted to duel him soon, because despite the possibility of her not surviving the fight — with Voldyshorts having years and years of experience and a huge repertoire of spells, compared to hers — at least all that nonsense would end and she would be free.

She would win anyway, in her opinion.

If she won the duel, Tom Riddle would die and she would live in peace as she wanted so much. If she lost the duel and died, she would see her parents and would greet Death like an old friend. Her only regret would be leaving Sirius behind, her father in all but blood.

Hera returned her attention to the present when the Dark Lord spoke again.

“Just look at me remembering my family history…” he commented softly and Hera had to contain herself a lot so as not to roll her eyes. “Well, now, I'm getting very sentimental... But look, Hera! My real family is coming…”

"Speak seriously! Such nonsense” — Potter exclaimed in her mind, shaking her head at the Dark Lord's idiocy.

The air was suddenly filled with the sound of fluttering cloaks. Among the tombs, behind the yew tree, in every dark space, there were wizards apparating. Everyone wore hoods and masks. And one by one, they stepped forward… Slowly, cautiously, as if they could hardly believe their eyes.

Inside her chest, Hera's heart sank when she found herself surrounded by several adult wizards, who could kill her at any time. The only thing that made her calmer was knowing that Voldemort wouldn't let them kill her — wanting to kill her himself — but that wouldn't stop them from hurting her.

As the Death Eaters arrived and organised themselves, the Dark Lord stood silently, waiting for them. Then a Death Eater fell to his knees, crawled over to Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

“My lord... My lord…”

The Death Eaters behind them followed suit; one by one, they approached, kneeling to kiss Voldemort's robes, then stepping back and standing, forming a silent circle around Tom Riddle's grave, Hera, Voldemort and the sobbing, shaking heap of robes that was Wormtail.

The brunette had never felt more ashamed of wizards than when she saw that scene. How pathetic it was to see them crawl on their knees to kiss and worship the ground Voldemort walked on. Where was their dignity? Their pride? They were all pathetic in her opinion.

When everyone finished the ridiculous scene, the Death Eaters returned to their seats, leaving empty spaces in the circle, as if they were expecting more people. The Dark Lord, however, did not seem to expect anyone else. He looked at the hooded faces around him and, although there was no wind, a rustle seemed to run through the circle as if a shiver ran through it.

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort in a low voice. “Thirteen years... Thirteen years since we last met. However, you answer my call as if it were yesterday... So we remain united under the Dark Mark! Or maybe not?”

He resumed his menacing expression and sniffed, flaring his slit-shaped nostrils. Hera wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sight, finding it uglier than ever.

“I smell guilt,” he said. “There is a stench of guilt in the air.”

A second burst of shivers ran through the circle, as if each member had the desire, but not the courage, to walk away.

“They are even more cowards than I thought” — Hera thought, feeling disgusted with all of them.

“I see all of you, whole and healthy, with your powers intact, so developed, and I wonder... Why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their lord, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

Nobody spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was still on the floor, crying, his arm bloody.

“And I answer myself, whispered the Dark Lord, ”because they must have believed that I was defeated, they thought I was dead, perhaps. They mixed with my enemies again and claimed innocence, ignorance and witchcraft... And then I ask myself, but how could you have believed that I wouldn't rise again? You, who knew the measures I had taken, long ago, to protect myself from human death? You who had proof of the immensity of my power, at the time when I was more powerful than any living wizard?”

Hera let out a mocking noise or heard his statement, being completely ignored by the Dark Lord.

“And I answer myself, perhaps you believed that there could be an even greater power, a power capable of defeating even Lord Voldemort... Perhaps you will now give your allegiance to another... Perhaps to that champion of the common people, muggles and mudbloods, Albus Dumbledore?”

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle became uneasy, some murmured and shook their heads.

Voldemort ignored them.

“It's a disappointment for me... I confess that I'm disappointed…”

One of the wizards suddenly threw himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to toe, he prostrated himself at Voldemort's feet.

“My Lord!” he exclaimed. “My lord, forgive me! Forgive us all!”

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

“Crucio!”

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and screamed; Hera was sure that the sound spread to neighbouring houses...

If it were another day, another time, when she was still innocent, Hera might even hope that some help would arrive. Perhaps the muggle police, wanting to see the disturbance in the area, perhaps aurors assigned to see what caused the huge spike in magic the ritual released into the air, perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore wanting to rescue her from the hands of his former student... But she no longer had hope. As with all her encounters with the Dark Lord, Hera would have to escape alone and she knew it.

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater crumpled to the ground, panting.

“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly, revealing the identity of the masked Death Eater. If he was going to reveal the identities of his henchmen at one time or another, why would they wear such masks? “Stand up. Are you asking me for forgiveness? I don't forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years... I want a payment for those thirteen years before I forgive them. Wormtail here has already paid part of the debt, hasn't he, Wormtail?”

He looked down at the mutilated wizard, who continued to sob and Hera felt satisfaction at the pain the cursed rat felt. He was the main cause of her parents' death. The Dark Lord killed them, yes, but it was Wormtail who handed James and Lily Potter into the Dark Lord's hands on a platter. In her opinion, the traitor was more to blame for the death of her parents than Voldemort, who cast the Killing Curse.

“You came back to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your former friends. You deserve to feel pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?”

“For the first time in my life I agree with this idiot who calls himself the Dark Lord” — Hera exclaimed in disgust in her mind.

“I know, my lord, “Wormtail moaned pathetically, “please, my lord... Please…”

“Yet you helped me recover my body,” said Voldemort coldly, watching the servant sobbing on the floor. “Even as useless and treacherous as you are, you helped me... And Lord Voldemort rewards those who help him…”

Voldemort raised his wand again and twirled it in the air. A thread that appeared to be made of liquefied silver extended from the wand and hovered in the air. Momentarily formless, the thread stirred and then transformed into a shining replica of a human hand, clear as moonlight, which flew out and attached itself to Wormtail's bloody wrist.

The wizard's sobs stopped abruptly. His breath rasping and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as if he were wearing a luminous glove.

The wizard flexed his shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a stick from the ground and pulverised it.

“Milord,” he whispered. “My lord... It's beautiful... Thank you very much... Thank you very much…”

He came forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

“May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail,” said Voldemort.

“No, my lord... Never, my lord…”

Hera laughed, catching the attention of the wizards before her. Ignoring them all, Potter looked only at Voldemort, regarding him with barely concealed contempt. The Dark Lord smiled mischievously.

“Honestly, if you believe this pathetic wizard's hoax…” Hera turned her eyes to Wormtail, who shrank when he found himself in the crosshairs of burning green eyes. “You're even more of an idiot than I thought, Tom.”

Voldemort laughed at the insult, ignoring her again as before. Hera didn't care, content to just watch the drama unfold before her.

Realising it was safe for him, Wormtail stood up and took up position in the circle, never taking his eyes off the powerful new hand, his face washed with tears. Voldy then approached the man on Wormtail's right.

“Lucius, my cunning friend,” he murmured, stopping in front of the wizard. “I hear that you have not renounced your old habits, although you present a respectable image to the world. I believe you remains ready to take on the leadership of a little torture of muggles? However, you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your adventures at the Quidditch World Cup were funny, I must say... But wouldn't your energies have been better spent trying to help your lord?”

“My Lord, I have always been constantly alert,” Lucius Malfoy's voice was heard coming from beneath the hood. “If there had been any sign from you, any rumour about your whereabouts, I would have immediately gone to your side, nothing would have stopped me…”

“However, you ran from my mark when a loyal Death Eater projected it into the sky last summer,” Voldemort commented carelessly, and Lord Malfoy abruptly stopped speaking. “Yes, I know everything that happened, Lucius... You disappointed me... I hope for more loyal services in the future.”

“Naturally, my lord, naturally... You are merciful, thank you…”

Voldemort continued walking and stopped, noticing the space — big enough for two people — that separated Malfoy from the next Death Eater.

“The Lestranges should be here,” Voldemort said quietly and in her mind, Hera remembered the wizards responsible for Neville Longbottom not having his parents with him growing up, just like she did. “But they are buried alive in Azkaban. They were faithful. They would rather go to Azkaban than renounce me... When Azkaban is opened, the Lestranges will receive honours that will overtake all your dreams. The Dementors will join us... They are our natural allies... We will call back the banished giants... All my devoted servants will be returned to me and an army of creatures that everyone fears…”

He continued his walk. He passed some Death Eaters in silence, but stopped in front of others to speak to them.

“Macnair... Eliminating dangerous animals for the Ministry of Magic now, according to Wormtail. You'll have better victims soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide them…”

“Thank you, my lord... Thank you,” Macnair murmured.

Bored with waiting, Hera turned her mind off what was happening, thinking deeply about what she would do if she were able to get out of there alive. Potter knew that she couldn't return to Hogwarts without proof of what happened there that night, no one would believe her, not when the hatred everyone felt for her was through the roof. Hera didn't mind at all, to be honest. Who cares what the sheep think? And all the wizards in the Wizarding World were sheep, following Dumbledore's every word without hesitation, as if he were Merlin himself reborn.

Idiots. All of them.

But what would she take as proof? Wormtail needed to go with her for sure, the brunette wanted her godfather free, as it always should have been. Voldemort could also be a great test, but how would she take him? If something happened between the two and Hera won by luck, she would have to fight every wizard there to get his body. However, the idea of ​​taking the body of Voldyshorts with her had some merit, so she spent the next few minutes thinking hard about a spell that could knock them all out at once.

The raised voice of a Death Eater brought her attention back to what was happening.

“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful…”

“Enough,” said Voldemort.

He then came to the largest gap in the circle, and stopped looking at it with those still, red eyes of his, as if he could see people standing there.

“And here we have six Death Eaters missing... Three dead in my service. One too cowardly to return... He will pay me. One who I believe has left me forever... This one will be killed, of course... And one who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service.”

The Death Eaters stirred; Hera saw that they looked at each other behind the masks.

“He is at Hogwarts, this faithful servant, and it was thanks to his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…” he pointed to the girl tied to the tombstone and Hera left her face neutral, without showing any emotion. “Yes,” said Voldemort, a smile twitching his lipless mouth, as the circle's gazes converged on Hera. “Hera Potter was kind enough to join us to celebrate my resurrection. We could even call her my guest of honour.”

“It's a pleasure to be invited to this magnificent event, of course,” Hera couldn't help but say, mocking them all. “However, I must say that your resurrection was not what I expected, Tom. It was all so,” the brunette tilted her head to the side, pretending to think of an answer, /“pathetic. But what could I expect from a Dark Lord as false as you? Grindelwald has done more than you ever have in all these years, hasn't he? While he has expanded his rule over the other continents, all you have done in all these years — twenty years, I would guess — is play tug-of-war with Dumbledore. The wizarding world of Britain was foolish to fear you.”

There was silence at her words and Hera delighted in the hatred she saw in Tom Riddle's ruby eyes. He was furious and she loved it. Then the Death Eater to Wormtail's right stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from beneath the mask.

“My lord, our desire to know is great... We beg you to tell us how you achieved this... Miracle... How you managed to return to us…”

“Ah, what an extraordinary story, Lucius!” said Voldemort. “And it begins... And ends... With my young friend here.”

“Now, Tom... I didn't know you thought so highly of me,” Hera mocked the wizard, revelling in the anger in his eyes. Voldemort, however, did not give in to her games, unfortunately. “I'm afraid I don't think the same of you, unfortunately. You killed my parents, you know? That's not something we just forget.”

He walked leisurely and stopped next to Hera, causing the eyes of the entire circle to turn to the two. The snake continued to crawl in circles.

“You know, of course, that many call this girl my undoing!” said Voldemort quietly, his eyes fixed on Hera, whose scar had begun to burn so fiercely that she would have screamed in agony, if the years of abuse she had spent at the hands of her loving relatives had not given her a high tolerance for pain. “You all know that the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill her. Her mother died trying to save her, and, without knowing it, protected her with a protection that, I must admit, I had not anticipated... I couldn't touch the girl.”

Voldemort raised a long white finger and brought it close to Hera's face.

“The mother left traces of her sacrifice in her... This is ancient magic, which I should have remembered, it was foolish to have forgotten it... But that doesn't matter. I can touch her now.”

Hera felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch her, and she thought her head was going to explode from the pain. She, however, did not show the pain she felt. She wouldn't give the idiot Dark Lord that taste.

Voldemort frowned at not receiving the result he expected. He, however, chuckled softly in the girl's ear, then moved his finger away and continued to address the Death Eaters.

“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was refracted by the woman's foolish sacrifice and bounced back against me. Ah... The pain that surpasses pain, my friends; Nothing could have prepared me for that. I was ripped from my body, I became less than a spirit, less than the most insignificant ghost... But still, I remained alive. What I have become, not even I know... I have come further than anyone else on the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal, to overcome death. And now I have been tested, and apparently one or more of my experiments were successful... For I did not die, although the curse should have killed me. However, I was left as powerless as the weakest creature alive and without any means of helping myself... For I no longer had a body, and any spell that could have helped me required the use of the wand…”

Voldy took a deep breath, momentarily stopping his monologue as he stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes, his white fingers caressing his wand tenderly — that is, if a wizard like him knew what that word meant.

“I only remember forcing myself, without sleep, without ceasing, second by second, to exist... I went to live in a distant place, in a forest and waited... Surely one of my faithful Death Eaters would try to find me... One of them would come and perform the magic needed for me to recover my body... But I waited in vain…”

A shiver once again ran through the circle of attentive Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

“I only had one power left. I could take possession of other people's bodies. But I didn't dare go where many humans lived, as I knew that the aurors continued to travel abroad looking for me. Sometimes I inhabited animals, snakes, of course, were my favourite, but I wasn't much better inside them than as a pure spirit, because their bodies were ill-equipped to perform magic... And taking possession of them shortened their lives; none of them survived long... So... Four years ago... The means for my return seemed guaranteed. A wizard, young, foolish and gullible, crossed my path in the forest where I lived. Ah, he seemed exactly like the chance I had dreamed of... Because he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school... He was docile to my will... And he brought me back to this country and, shortly after, I took possession of his body to watch him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I couldn't steal the Philosopher's Stone. I could not obtain eternal life. I was stopped... I was stopped, once again, by Hera Potter…”

“ Anytime, Tom!” the brunette replied cheekily.

Silence again; nothing moved, not even the yew leaves. The Death Eaters remained very still, the twinkling eyes in their masks fixed on Voldemort and Hera.

“My servant died when I abandoned his body, and I became weaker than I had ever been. I returned to my distant hiding place, and I won't pretend that I didn't fear then that I might never regain my powers... Yes, that was perhaps the darkest hour of my life... I couldn't wait for another wizard to fall from the sky to I had taken over... And I had already given up hope that any Death Eater cared about what had happened to me…”

A couple of masked wizards in the circle moved uneasily, but Voldemort paid them no attention, lost in his memories.

“Then, less than a year ago, when I had practically abandoned all hope, it happened... A servant came back to me: Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was forced to expose himself by those who in the past they had been his friends, and he decided to return to his master. He looked for me in the field where it was rumoured that I was hiding... Helped, naturally, by the rats he found on his way. Wormtail has a curious affinity for rats, doesn't he, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him that there was a place, in the middle of an Albanian forest that they avoided, where small animals like them met their death at the hands of a dark figure that possessed them…”

Hera rolled her eyes, tired of hearing the nonsense that came out of Voldemort's mouth, despite recognizing the advantages that knowing about it would bring her.

“But the return trip didn't go smoothly for me, did it, Wormtail? One night, hungry, at the edge of the forest where he expected to meet me, he foolishly stopped at an inn to eat something... And who would he find there, if not Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic?”

Potter knew exactly who they were talking about. She heard the stories about that witch's disappearance, as well as the reports that appeared in the Daily Prophet for several days. Well, now she knew exactly what happened to that poor lady.

“Now see how fate favours Lord Voldemort. This could have been the end of Wormtail and my last chance at regeneration. But Wormtail, revealing a presence of mind that I would never have expected from him, convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on an evening walk. He dominated her... And brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who could have ruined everything, instead proved to be a gift that exceeded my wildest expectations... Well, with a little persuasion, she became a veritable mine of information.”

Hera raised her eyebrow, curious to know more about what Bertha Jorkins might have said in her last moments.

“She told me that this year there would be a Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. And that she knew a faithful Death Eater who would be happy to help me if I looked for him. She told me many things... But the means I used to break the Memory Spell that dominated her were strong, and after I extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were irretrievably damaged. She had served her purpose. But I couldn't take possession of her body. I discard it.”

Voldemort smiled, that hideous smile, his red eyes glassy and cruel.

“Wormtail's body, naturally, was hardly suitable for possession, as everyone assumed he was dead and he would attract too much attention if he were seen. However, he was the physically valid servant I needed. And, although he was a mediocre wizard, he was able to follow the instructions I gave him and which would give me back a rudimentary and weak body but my own, a body that I could inhabit while waiting for the essential ingredients for a true resurrection... A few magic spells my own invention... A little help from Nagini,” Voldemort's eyes turned to the snake that circled the tombstone without stopping, “a potion made with unicorn blood, snake venom provided by Nagini... And soon I regained an almost human form and was strong enough to travel.”

“I wish he had died in this endeavour…” — Hera thought. — “But even my luck doesn’t go that far.”

“There was no longer any hope of stealing the Philosopher's Stone, as I knew that Dumbledore would have taken steps to destroy it. But I was willing to embrace mortal life once more before pursuing the immortal. I set more modest goals... I accepted having my old body and my old strength back. I knew that to obtain this, which is an old piece of Dark Magic and the potion that revived me tonight, I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, right, Wormtail? The meat donated by a servant… My father's bone naturally meant that I would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of an enemy... Wormtail wanted me to use some wizard, didn't he, Wormtail? Some wizard who had hated me... Like so many still do. But I knew what I needed, if it was to rise again more powerful than I had been before the fall. I wanted Hera Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago, because the lasting protection that her mother had given her would circulate in my veins too…”

Hera clenched her jaw as she listened to him talk about her and her mom, imagining the many ways she could kill him slowly and painfully. He deserved it, anyway.

“But how to catch Hera Potter? Because she has been protected far more than I think she knows, protected in many ways created by Dumbledore long ago when he was given the charge of looking after the girl's future. Dumbledore invoked ancient magic to ensure the girl's protection while she was in her relatives' care. Not even I can touch her in their house... Then, of course there was the Quidditch World Cup... I thought her protection would weaken there, away from her relatives and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to try to kidnap her in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. Afterwards, the girl would return to Hogwarts, where she lives under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool, from morning to night. So how could I capture her?”

Voldemort looked back at Hera, who looked at him with hatred and contempt. She hated him more than she thought it was possible to hate someone.

“Well... Taking advantage of Bertha Jorkins' information, of course. Using my trusty Hogwarts-based Death Eater to ensure the girl's name was inscribed in the Goblet of Fire. Using my Death Eater to ensure that the girl won the tournament, that she touched the Triwizard Cup first, a Cup that my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey to bring her here, away from Dumbledore's help and protection, even the comfort of my arms open to welcome you.”

Voldemort hissed like a snake, pacing back and forth as he glared at the reason for his misfortune.

“When my faithful servant told me that he was unable to find Hera Potter during the days leading up to each task, I confess that I lost hope that my plan would succeed. How happy was I to know that the Potter girl could survive without help? Because despite the anger of watching her survive and pass each task against all odds, I knew that at the end of the tournament I would still get what I sought. Her blood. And here she is... The girl you all believed was my downfall…”

Voldemort walked forward slowly and turned to face Hera. He raised his wand.

“Crucio!”

It was a pain that surpassed anything Hera had ever suffered; even the years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys didn't compare to this. Her very bones seemed to be on fire; her head was undoubtedly splitting along the scar, her eyes were spinning wildly in her head; She wanted everything to end... For her to lose consciousness... To die...

However, she bit her tongue, not wanting to scream, not wanting to show weakness before Voldemort. She wouldn't let him win.

The taste of blood flooded her taste buds, the crimson liquid flooding her mouth, but Hera didn't stop. The pain on her tongue was nothing compared to the pain that curse caused. She held on, strong in her goal of not showing weakness.

Then it passed. She hung from the ropes that tied her to Voldemort's father's tombstone, looking into those glowing red eyes through a sort of mist. The night rang with the din of strained laughter from the Death Eaters, surprised that she wasn't screaming as she received her lord's curse.

Voldemort cocked his head to the side as he looked at her, like a curious child.

“Do you see how foolish it was for you to assume that this girl could ever be stronger than me?” pondered Voldemort, as if she hadn't just endured her torture curse without screaming once, where wizards more experienced than her lost their voices from screaming so much. “But I don't want any mistake to remain in anyone's mind. Hera Potter escaped me by pure luck. And I will prove my power by killing her, here and now, in front of you all, where there is no Dumbledore to help her and no mother to die for her. I'll give Hera a chance. She will be able to fight, and you will no longer have any doubts about which of us she is stronger. Wait a little longer, Nagini,” he whispered, and the snake moved away, slithering through the grass, to the place where the Death Eaters were standing and watching. “Now, untie her, Wormtail, and give her back her wand.”

Wormtail approached Hera like the little rat he was, and the girl tried to straighten herself up to support her body before the ropes were untied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled the pad of cloth that was gagging Hera and then, with a single movement, cut the ropes that tied the girl to the tombstone.

There was perhaps a split second in which Hera might have thought about running away, but when she saw the masked diners staring at her intently, pleasure on their faces as they witnessed what they thought were the last moments of the girl-who-lived, as well as the her desire for revenge for the death of her parents at the hands of Voldemort made her remain there. The brunette walked forward with the posture of a warrior queen, at the same time the Death Eaters closed ranks, tightening the circle around her and Voldemort, and the spaces that would have been filled by the absent Death Eaters closed.

Wormtail left the circle and went to where the Triwizard Cup lay — the reason for her being there against her will —, and came back carrying Hera's wand, which he brutally thrust into the girl's hand without even looking at it. Hera snorted in pure derision at the scene. The coward was good enough to betray her parents, causing their death; good enough to trick her godfather into getting him arrested for a crime he didn't commit; good enough to escape the justice he deserved for his cowardly acts, but he couldn't face a simple little girl.

Pathetic.

Then, shrinking from the look of hatred on the face of what was once a smiling baby who called him uncle, Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching diners.

“You learned to duel, Hera Potter?” Voldemort asked softly, his red eyes glowing in the dark.

Upon hearing the question, Hera remembered, as if from a previous life, the Dueling Club at Hogwarts that she briefly attended two years ago, before realising the futility of it all, due to the incompetent teacher who ran the club, Gilderoy Lockhart. However, one good thing that came out of having her name come out of the Goblet of Fire, declaring her as the fourth champion of the Triwizard Tournament, was that Hera learned many things that would help her survive, including swordsmanship and duelling.

Hera knew very well to whom she owed all the credit for her extensive magical knowledge. Hogwarts, which along with the Room of Requirement, was a blessing in disguise in her life.

Returning to the present, the girl looked closely at the horrible monster in front of her.

“I guarantee myself in a duel, Tom, if that's what you want to know,” the brunette answered the question asked previously, holding her wand tightly, trying to extract bravery through it.

“We bow to each other, Hera,” said Voldemort, bowing slightly, but keeping his snake-like face raised towards Hera, who raised her eyebrow mockingly. “Come on, good manners must be observed... Your parents would like you to demonstrate politeness... Bow to death, Hera… How they bowed! ”

“How dare he!” — she shouted, in the privacy of her own mind.

The Death Eaters laughed again. Voldemort’s lipless mouth laughed. And Hera felt her hatred for them increase.

“Since you beg in such a cute way,” the witch sneered, bowing mockingly, smiling mischievously at the anger on Voldyshorts' face.

“Very well,” said Voldemort softly, as if she hadn't just mocked him in front of all his henchmen, and when he raised his wand, Hera raised hers as well. “Now you face me, as a woman... With your back straight and proud, the same way your mudblood mother died…”

Hera's grip on her wand tightened at Tom Riddle's audacity to speak of her mom as if he had not cruelly killed her, while she begged him to spare her only daughter's life.

“Now... Let's go to the duel.”

The wizard raised his wand before Hera could do anything to defend herself, before she could even move, and she was hit by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was as intense and as devouring as when it was first thrown at her, so much so that Hera no longer knew where she was... Red-hot knives pierced every inch of her skin, her head, without a doubt, was going to explode in pain; but just as she didn't scream the first time, she wouldn't scream now either.

Then everything stopped.

Hera turned around and tried to stand, without showing weakness; her trembling and weak legs preventing her from succeeding, as Wormtail had done when he cut off his own hand; she staggered sideways towards the surrounding Death Eaters, and they pushed her back towards Voldemort.

“A little pause,” said the wizard, his snake nostrils flaring with anger, “a little pause... That hurt, didn't it, Hera? You don't want me to do that again, do you?”

“Are you tired yet, Tom?” the girl mocked, unconcerned with the pain she could still feel throughout her body. “I imagine all those years without a body haven't helped much with your magical resistance. Do you need to rest, Riddle? We can get some rest if you need it so much.”

Voldemort didn't respond. She was going to die like her parents died so many years ago, that's what those cruel red eyes were telling her... She was going to die, Hera wise from that. The pain she felt, along with the negative thoughts she had been accumulating since the Triwizard Tournament began, told her that there was nothing she could do to prevent her death... But she wasn't going to make it easy. She wasn't going to obey Voldemort... She wasn't going to beg... Hera would die as proud, bold and courageous as her parents and if possible, she wouldn't die before taking Tom Riddle with her.

“You think you're very brave, don't you, Hera Potter? Do you think you will escape? I can't say you will, after all, not even your parents escaped that Halloween night so many years ago,” said Voldemort gently. “Reply! Imperio!”

And Hera had, for the third time in her life, the sensation that all thoughts had been erased from her mind... Ah, it was bliss, not thinking, not letting herself be carried away by her fears and worries, it was as if she was floating, dreaming...

Just answer “no”... Say “no”... Just answer “no”...

“I won’t say” — said a stronger voice in the back of his head. — “I won’t answer…”

Just answer “no”...

“I’m not going to answer, I’m not going to say that…” — the voice thought fiercely.

Just answer “no”...

“I ALREADY SAID I WON'T ANSWER, DAMN IT!”

And these words burst from Hera's mouth; echoed through the cemetery, and the dreamlike state she had been immersed in suddenly dissolved as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. The pain that the Cruciatus Curse had left throughout her body was renewed, her awareness of where she was, of what she was facing was renewed, the exhaustion she felt throughout her body was renewed...

“Will not?” said Voldemort softly, and now the Death Eaters weren't laughing. Cowardly idiots, Hera wanted to scream, how can you let him do this to a child the same age as your children?! “Aren’t you going to say “no”? Hera, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die... Maybe a little more pain?”

Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Hera was ready; with reflexes born from Quidditch practice, she threw herself to one side on the ground and cast an ancient spell, long forgotten by wizards.

“Reflexus imago,” whispered the brunette in the dead of night, making a transparent barrier place itself in the place where she was before, and when the spell hit the wall, the spell reflected back to Voldemort, like the Killing Curse did years ago, destroying his body. Upon seeing this, the Dark Lord quickly banished his spell, looking at her full of curiosity.

“Don't you really know how to do some duelling tricks, Hera? I dare say I'm impressed — really,” said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, approaching her while the Death Eaters laughed tensely, surprised that she — a little witch of only fourteen years old — could actually duel the most powerful and cruel Dark Lord of all time. The witch, however, was not intimidated, facing him with firmness and courage. “But these cheap tricks won't save you from death. How long do you think you can last with just these weak spells? Does this mean you'd rather I end the duel now, Hera? Or is it better if I let you hope before I kill you? Come on, Hera... Let's play, then... Your death will be quick... Maybe even painless... I couldn't say... I never died…”

“There's a first time for everything, isn't there, Tom?” Hera mocked the wizard, raising her shoulders. “Don't worry, dear Riddle... If one of us is going to die tonight, it's you,” she said firmly, a promise leaking from every word.

“We'll see, Hera Potter,” the wizard said coldly.

Hera continued to look at the Dark Lord and realised that her entire cycle of pain and death, everything that linked her to Voldemort, would end there at that moment. Either he would be the one to die or it would be her. There was no hope... No help from anyone. She was alone as she always had been.

When she saw Voldemort come even closer, she knew only one thing that transcended fear and reason — she wasn’t going to die without a fight like a defenceless and unprepared child; she wasn't going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet… She was going to die standing up like her dad and mom; she was going to die trying to defend herself, even if she didn't feel up to Voldyshorts' experience, even after everything she learned in the Room of Requirement all these months… Voldemort had decades of experience, while she was only four years old.

Before Voldemort could approach again, leaving less space between them, Hera prepared herself... She grabbed her wand tightly, wielded it in front of her and aimed at Voldemort.

The wizard was ready and so was Hera.

When Tom shouted “Avada Kedavra!”, Hera quietly chanted “Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est”, the words of the spell fresh in her memory.

That one who is broken, becomes whole again.

A few months ago, while reflecting on her previous encounters with Voldemort after dreaming about the evil wizard once again, Hera wondered how exactly he could have survived the reflected Killing Curse. She had her mom's sacrifice as an answer to her survival, but Tom had no excuse.

Then, while thinking about possible answers to her question, the Room of Requirement helped her once again and she found the reason for the Dark Lord's survival, an abomination that only Voldemort was capable of.

Horcrux.

An abomination.

An aberration.

And Voldemort created seven — as if just one wouldn't destroy the entire balance between magic, body, mind and soul.

Sickened by the discovery, Hera actively searched for a solution — the witch didn't want to spend years and years looking for every Horcrux the Dark Lord made, she had neither the patience, nor the time —, and thanks to Merlin and Hogwarts, of course, she found this spell in a book in the Room of Requirement while searching.

That one who is broken, becomes whole again.

It was a spell widely used in Ancient Egypt, when pharaohs created horcruxes thinking that they would be immortalised and their kingdoms would be eternal. They weren't.

Horcruxes were not capable of immortalising anyone. In fact, the wizard who made a horcrux lived less than normal, because a horcrux didn't just share his soul; It also shared their sanity and their magic, which was responsible for the wizards' long lives.

However, as Hera did not speak the ancient egyptian language and did not have enough patience or time to learn it, the witch looked for the spell in another language. Fortunately, a version of the same spell existed in Latin, which brought her to where she was.

A jet of green light shot out of Voldemort's wand at the same time that a jet of white light shot out of Hera's — and the two met in the air — and suddenly, Hera's wand began to vibrate as if an electrical discharge was entering through it; her hand was attached to her wand; she could not have let it go if she had wanted to — and a thin beam of light now connected the two wands, neither red nor white, but an intense, rich gold — and Hera, following the beam with an astonished and admiring gaze, saw that Voldemort's long, white fingers also gripped a wand that was shaking and vibrating.

And then — nothing could have prepared Hera for that — she felt her feet lift off the ground. She and Voldemort were being lifted into the air, their wands still linked by that thread of flickering golden light. The two were moving away from Voldemort's father's tomb and finally landed on a patch of clean, tombless land...

The Death Eaters screamed, asking Voldemort for instructions; they approached and regrouped in a circle around the two, the snake at their heels, some wizards drawing their wands, desperate to help their master...

The golden thread that connected Hera and Voldemort fragmented: although the wands remained linked, a thousand other threads sprouted and formed an arc over the two, and were crisscrossed all around, until enclosing them in a golden web like a dome, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters prowled like jackals, their screams strangely muffled…

Priori Incantatem. Hera knew very well what that was.

Priori Incantatem.

The witch had read about the subject out of curiosity in the Room of Requirement, after thinking about the connection her wand had with the Dark Lord's wand.

“Don't do anything!” Voldemort screamed madly at the Death Eaters, and Hera saw the wizard's red eyes widen at what was happening, she saw him struggle to break the thread of light that continued connecting his wand to Hera's; the girl squeezed the wand tighter, with both hands, and the golden thread remained intact. “Don't do anything unless I tell you to!” the Dark Lord shouted again at the Death Eaters.

Then a beautiful, unearthly sound filled the air... It came from every strand of web light that vibrated around Hera and Voldemort. It was a sound the girl recognized, even though she had only heard it once in her life, as she fought to survive in the Chamber of Secrets… The song of the phoenix…

It was the sound of hope for Hera... The most beautiful and most welcome she had ever heard in her life... The girl had the sensation that the sound was inside her and not just around her... It was the sound she associated with Dumbledore, despite not really liking him, and it was almost as if a friend was speaking in her ear…

Don't break the connection.

“I know” — Hera said to the music. — “I know I shouldn’t…”

But she had barely finished saying that, and the thing became much more difficult to do. Her wand began to vibrate more violently than before... And now the thread of light between her and Voldemort changed too... It was as if large beads of light were sliding back and forth on the thread connecting the wands — Hera felt herself shudder violently, as the beads of light began to slide slowly and steadily towards her... Now the movement of the beam of light was coming from Voldemort to her, and she felt her wand vibrate with indignation...

"No!" — Hera exclaimed in her mind, as indignant as her wand. — “I won’t let him win! ”

As the leading light bead approached the tip of Hera's wand, the wood in her fingers heated so much that the girl feared it would burst into flames. The closer the bead came, the more violently Hera's wand vibrated; she was sure her wand wouldn't survive direct contact with the bead; She looked like she was about to fall apart under her fingers...

Hera focused every ounce of her mind on forcing the bead back to Voldemort, her ears filled with the song of the phoenix, her eyes furious, staring... And slowly, ever so slowly, the beads shuddered and stopped, and then, suddenly, equally slowly, they began to move to the opposite side... And it was Voldemort's wand that began to vibrate very violently... Voldemort seemed perplexed and almost afraid of what was happening... Nothing was going according to the dark wizard's plans and the witch knew it very well.

One of the light beads twitched inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand. Hera didn't understand why she was doing that, she didn't know what she would get... But she began to concentrate as if it were another thing to learn, just as she had recently begun to do in her life, on forcing that electricity bill to return to Voldemort's wand... And slowly... Very slowly, slower than the brunette would like, if she was honest with herself... She moved along the golden thread... She shivered for a moment... And then it did contact…

Knowing that this would be her only chance to succeed, while Tom was distracted and unable to deflect any spells, Hera returned to quietly humming the spell she found in one of the Room of Requirement's old books, her heart full of hope that she had success.

“Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est. Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est. Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est. Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est. Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est.”

Hera hummed the spell over and over again in a soft, sweet voice, as if the spell were a beautiful lullaby, her eyes always attentive to what was happening to Voldemort.

At the same time that the bead touched the dark wizard's wand, Voldemort's wand began to emit resonant screams of pain... Then... The wizard's red eyes widened in shock — a dense, smoking hand flew from the tip of the wand and disappeared... The ghost of the hand he had made for Wormtail... More screams of pain... And then something much larger began to sprout from the tip of Voldemort's wand, something huge and grey, something that looked like it was made of the most solid and dense smoke... It was a head, then a chest and arms... The torso of the old man that Hera saw die at the hands of Voldemort in a dream, at the beginning of summer.

If at any point Hera could have dropped her wand in fright, it would have been then, but instinct made her keep holding it tightly, so that the thread of golden light edged with white from the spell she was chanting just a few seconds ago remained intact, although the dense grey ghost of the unknown elderly man — was it a ghost? It looked so solid — emerged in its entirety from the tip of Voldemort's wand, as if it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel... And this strange shadow stood and surveyed the wizards around it, looked at Hera and Voldemort, at the golden web and the wands that touched, slightly surprised, leaning on a cane and spoke.

“So he was a real wizard?” asked the old man, with his eyes on Voldemort. “Killed me, this one... Face him, girl…”

It was a distant voice like an echo, Hera looked at Voldemort... The wizard's wide red eyes still expressed shock... Just like Hera, he hadn't expected something like that... And, very indistinctly, Hera heard the frightened screams of the Death Eaters, surrounding the golden dome...

But already, before they could get used to the shadow of a dead man, another head was appearing... And this one, grey as a statue of smoke, was that of a woman... Hera, both arms trembling with the effort to keep the wand still, she saw the woman fall to the ground and straighten up as the man had done, examining everything carefully...

Bertha Jorkins' shadow stared wide-eyed at the fight before her.

“Don't let go!” she exclaimed, and her voice echoed like the old man's, as if it were coming from far away. “Don't let him catch you, Hera, don't let go of your wand!”

“Well, it’s not like I’m not trying!” — she complained in her mind, not wanting to be rude to someone who had already died.

She and the other shadow began to surround the walls of the golden web at the same time that the Death Eaters moved quickly outside... And as they surrounded the duelists, Voldemort's victims whispered words of encouragement to Hera and hissed others, which Hera could not hear, to Voldemort.

The little witch, however, still attentive to what was happening around her, saw dark balls, nothing more than mere shadows, enter the golden web that trapped her and Voldemort, without the other wizards noticing, crossing the Dark Lord's back, doing the wizard scream in pain and shock, not knowing what was causing it.

But she knew.

Her spell was working perfectly.

Now, another head was emerging from the tip of the wizard's wand... And Hera knew, when she saw it, who it would be... She knew, as if she had been expecting it since the moment the old man came out of the wand... She knew because the woman who appeared was the one she had thought more than anyone else tonight...

The smoky shadow of a long-haired young woman fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up and looked at her... And Hera, her arms shaking wildly now, returned the gaze of her mom's ghostly face.

“Your dad is coming, my love…” she said softly. “He wants to see you... Everything will be fine, darling... Hang in there…”

And he came... First the head, then the body... Tall, his hair wild as Hera's, the smoky shadow of James Potter sprouted from the tip of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground and rose as he had done his woman. He approached Hera, looking at his daughter with longing and concern, and spoke in the same distant and resonant voice as the others, but in a low tone, so that Voldemort, now with his face livid with fear as he saw his victims surrounding her, he couldn't hear what they were saying...

“Honey, I need you to listen to me. Can you do this, pup?” her father asked her and Hera wanted to cry when she heard him call her by the same nickname that her godfather used when talking to her. Unable to speak due to the strong emotion she felt, the little witch just nodded. “Good. When the call is interrupted, we will only remain for a few moments... But we will give you time... You need to get to the Portkey, it will take you back to Hogwarts... Do you understand, Hera?”

“I understand, dad,” panted Hera, struggling to hold on to the wand, which was now beginning to slip away and slip beneath his fingers. “But I can't do that, I'm sorry.”

“Why, luv?” her mom asked, her features twisting in concern.

“I need to kill Voldemort. He is mortal once again,” she explained to her parents, her heart filled with anguish at the possibility of hurting them with her actions. “Besides, I need to take his body to Hogwarts as evidence, just like Wormtail. He deserves to face justice and my godfather deserves to be free.”

“Ah, puppy,” her dad began, slowly raising his hand as if he wanted to touch her but had fear of not being able to do it. Wanting to at least try, James placed his ghostly hand on his daughter's shoulders and Hera smiled with teary eyes. He could touch her. “We are so proud of you. Don't doubt that for a second.”

“We love you, darling,” her mom whispered, stroking her daughter's unruly strands, so similar to her husband's unruly strands. “We will always love, no matter what happens.”

“I love you too,” the brunette whispered back, shedding the tears she had been holding back for a few seconds. “Will you stay with me?”

“Always,” they said.

“Do what you need to do now,” her dad whispered, stroking her hair one last time. “Prepare to cast the necessary spell... Do it now…”

“NOW!” shouted Hera; in any case, she didn't think she could keep holding the wand for a moment longer, she lifted it into the air, with a violent jerk, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light disappeared, the song of the phoenix fell silent, but the shadows of Voldemort's victims did not disappear, they advanced towards the wizard, shielding Hera from his gaze... And while they did this, the witch seized the moment, the only opportunity she would have to cast the spell. Thinking about all the pain he caused, about the people who died for no reason, about the painful childhood he condemned her to by killing her parents, about the terrible years her godfather had to suffer because of him and Wormtail. And then, she cast the spell she never thought she would cast. “Avada Kedavra!”

Voldemort realised the spell coming towards him only at the last moment, his ruby ​​eyes widening in fear and horror, before the Killing Curse struck his chest.

The reaction the spell caused was immense. Hera, like the Death Eaters, was brutally thrown backwards, hitting her head on a random tombstone in the cemetery, quickly being knocked out.

The brunette woke up a few minutes later, still disoriented by the impact she had suffered. Her ears were ringing and her eyes were unfocused, unable to see anything in front of her. Calming herself for a moment, Hera let her body and mind return to the present, thinking deeply about what had happened before she passed out.

And then, she remembered everything.

The third task. The Triwizard Cup. A portkey. Cemetery. Wormtail knocking her out with a spell and tying her to a tombstone. The ritual. Her blood taken by force. Voldemort resurrecting. The Death Eaters. The duel. The Priori Incantatem. Her parents. The Killing Curse.

“I think when the Killing Curse hit him, the reaction it caused was what knocked me out,” Hera whispered to herself, before looking at the several fallen wizards ahead. “It knocked everyone out, apparently…”

Slowly getting up from the ground, fearing that her shaking legs would make her fall again, the brunette took advantage of the opportunity given to her.

Gripping her wand tightly, the little witch went to each Death Eater, casting the same spell on each one — a stunning spell —, taking the opportunity to break all of their wands, taking immense pleasure in thinking about how those damned wizards would return home without a wand. She did the same thing with everyone, except when she arrived in Wormtail. On the rat she cast the spell she learned a few days ago in the Room of Requirement.

“Obfirmo tuam interiorem animalis, si meretur,” she whispered in the dead of night, smiling savagely at the pale purple glow that penetrated Peter's skin, letting her know that her spell had worked. “I say well done to you, Peter. You managed to delay the justice you deserved for thirteen years, but now it has arrived and you won't be able to escape this time.”

Taking a moment to come to terms with everything that had happened that night — especially the fact that she had seen her parents, killed Voldemort, and captured Wormtail — Hera thanked Mother Magic for managing to survive against all odds.

After that, without wanting to waste time, the little witch levitated Wormtail's body, to the place where the Dark Lord's body was — casting a cutting curse on Tom Riddle's chest to ensure his death —, and when the bodies of the two were together, Hera took Tom and Peter's wands, put them both in her pocket, grabbed their arms and with intention, called the Triwizard Cup to her.

“Accio!” she exclaimed, looking at the Triwizard Cup lying several metres away from her.

The Cup flew through the air towards her, hitting her chest hard and at the same moment she felt the jolt in her navel that meant the Portkey had been activated... She flew away at high speed in a whirlwind of wind and colour, taking Tom Riddle and Peter Pettigrew along with her.

The three were going to Hogwarts...

💭💭💭

And she did it.

Of the two, she was the one who survived.

She survived Voldemort and his idiot henchmen and managed to bring with her to Hogwarts the body of the late Dark Lord — as well as his wand, so that not even the foolish Minister for Magic could tell she was just an attention-seeking liar — and Wormtail's body.

At first, the Minister did not want to accept the truth of the situation: that she was kidnapped inside the school, through the Triwizard Cup, to be used by the Dark Lord as an ingredient for the regenerating potion that would give her a body, only to be killed by her a few minutes after resurrecting. And when he saw Peter Pettigrew with her, a recognized hero who received an Order of Merlin, First Class for his heroic deeds before his "death", the Minister went crazy, raving about how Hera Potter was just a crazy girl, who liked to get attention with her lies.

Hera didn't even try to defend herself. She just raised her eyebrow, handed Voldemort and Wormtail wands into the hands of a very surprised Albus Dumbledore and left, quickly returning to the Room of Requirement before she could be approached by anyone. Professor “Mad-Eye” Moody even tried to get her to accompany him to his office for a talk, but as she didn't trust anyone at the school — especially after learning from the Dark Lord himself that there was an unknown Death Eater infiltrated in Hogwarts — she quickly refused.

So, after quickly losing him, the little witch walked with purpose to the Room of Requirement and asked for a fire and some floo powder for the magnificent room, she called her godfather to stay with her, which he gladly did. This is how they spent the last days of the school year. Talking about her parents, seeing some memories in the pensieve that the Room of Requirement kindly offered, crying horribly at what they went through in their lives, getting to know each other and their tastes, creating intimacy and later, calling each other family — Sirius asked if he could adopt her by blood and magic, effectively making her his daughter and she gladly accepted, as she loved Sirius and considered him like a father. Hera really enjoyed the time she spent hiding with her godfather and she was happy to see that he was improving much faster after spending all this time with her — even more so after Dobby and Winky (her bonded house-elves) saw how thin he was, taking it upon themself to make him fat by the time they said goodbye.

The little witch only appeared at Hogwarts again after the confusion of the third task when the school year was over and they had to take the train to go home. Dumbledore still tried to talk to her, but when he saw that he wouldn't have any success trying, he gave her the prize of a thousand galleons for winning the Triwizard Tournament, quickly disappearing after that.

And then, she was here, stuck once again with the damn Dursleys.

Thank Merlin her godfather was in the process of getting his freedom, so she could go live with him, Albus Dumbledore's unimportant opinion be damned. She no longer cared what he said. No more.

“Girl!” her aunt Petunia called her inside the house, taking her out of her mind and Hera rolled her eyes, hating her aunt's shrill voice even more. How her beloved mom — beautiful, loving and intelligent — ​​could be related to this witch, Hera would never know. “Come and make dinner for my Duddydums! Quickly!”

“I'm on my way,” you witch, she finished in thought, removing the gloves she used to work in the front garden, washing her hands in the kitchen before starting to make dinner that she wouldn't eat. Her relatives were petty like that.

After finishing the damn dinner, her aunt handed her a stoned bread, with a small piece of cheese and a glass of water, sending her to Dudley's second room — that room was never hers —, locking her there.

Huffing that her aunt didn't even have the decency to let her take a shower, dirty as she was after spending hours at a time tinkering in the garden, Hera waved her hand in front of her body, casting the wandless cooling spell — she would be forever grateful to the Room of Requirement — ​​before calling for Dobby, who quickly appeared.

“What can Dobby do for his best friend and beloved lady?” asked the house elf and the witch smiled gently at her friend.

Since she accepted Dobby and Winky as her house elves — it's more like they demanded that she accept them — when she started sleeping in the Room of Requirement, the two elves have undergone great changes. Both were taller and reached their shoulders, spoke more clearly and wore uniforms made especially for them. Their magic was also greater and they had the appearance of healthy little humans — she knew that was how they were before they were enslaved by the wizards and the whole house elf thing happened. Hera really enjoyed seeing this change, as did they.

“Good evening, Dobby,” the brunette greeted him, laughing at the toothy smile she received from the elf. “Can you throw this away for me?” she asked him, placing the poor dinner her aunt gave her into the elf's hands, leaving him scandalised by what she received to eat. “And bring me a real dinner?”

“I can do that for you, yes,” he agreed quickly, making the bread and cheese disappear with a snap of his fingers. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, no,” she denied softly. “I just need to know if everything is okay with Sirius. Is he eating properly? Is he taking care of himself?”

After Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place — where he hid from the aurors, despite not liking that house at all — just before she got on the train that would take her back home, Hera ordered Dobby and Winky to take care of him, until she could do it herself. The elves accepted her orders happily, liking her godfather as much as they liked her.

“Sirius is fine. He's getting healthier” Dobby informed her.

“Good. That's good,” Hera smiled gently at the elf. “You can go then, Dobby. Thank you so much for doing this for me and for taking care of Sirius when I can't. Send my thanks to Winky, please.”

“I will do it, my lady,” the elf agreed happily. “I'll bring your dinner in a few minutes.”

And so it was done.

Hera happily ate the food Dobby had brought for her, as well as the generous piece of treacle tart he brought, knowing how much she liked that sweet treat. After thanking the elf and handing him the dirty dishes, the little witch went to finish her summer activities, busying herself with her work and some studies on the side, without wanting to do everything at the last minute like she always did.

Busy as she was, so absorbed in the books that she had managed to copy from the Room of Requirement, she didn't even notice the hours passing, so that Hera didn't even notice the clock hand pointing towards midnight, making it clear that it was another day.

And not just any day.

It was her birthday.

The brunette only realised what day it was when the incessant knocking of owls on her window took her away from her reading. There were two, one that she realised was her beloved godfather, and the other she didn't know, a large owl with coal-black feathers.

Quickly opening the window, Hera let the owls into her room, giving the few owl snacks she still had from when Hedwig was alive and water to the animals exhausted from the journey. The fierce-looking black owl just left its letter and drank some water, flying away soon after.

Shrugging, the brunette turned to Hades — her godfather's owl —, gently stroking the feathers of the proudest owl she had ever met before focusing her attention on the letters she received.

One was from her godfather — as she already knew — and the other was from a place she only saw a few days before each school year began.

Gringotts.

She received a letter from Gringotts.

TRANSLATION OF PHRASES THAT ARE NOT IN ENGLISH

“Reflexus imago” — Reflected image;

“Qui fractus est, iterum sanus factus est” — That one who is broken, becomes whole again;

“Obfirmo tuam interiorem animalis, si meretur” — Lock up his inner animal if he deserves it.

BOOK ONE: The Rise of an Empire
BOOK TWO: Whispers in the Wind (Spin-off)
BOOK THREE: A Dance with Dragons
BOOK FOUR: The Fourteen Flames of Valyria