Adamant

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Justice League

Chapter 1

A Heroine Reborn

Night
Banks of Karamenderes River
Turkey

It was cold night along the banks of the ancient river. A cold wind blew, howling,off of the ocean in the far distance, whipping through the verdant grass that adorned the high banks. The sky was dark and clear, no sign of the moon could be seen, leaving only the smallest light of the stars.

In this remote region, it was not the safest of places to be without a light or torch to guide them.

This didn't deter the hooded and cloaked figure that walked this night.

The figure, small and slim, walked slowly, weary but determined. Eyes that glinted even in the dim light of the stars, cast there emerald glow along the banks as it walked. Searching, seeking.

It was absolutely silent, the being's footsteps absent in even the most keen of ears, breath not even noticed, like it was a ghost, a spirit of someone long dead.

It continued walking slowly, every grain of dirt examined in it's keen gaze. Mid-step, it seemed to halt, freezing. Emerald green eyes narrowed, focusing on a spot on the opposite bank, clear to the being but an impossible feat for anyone else.

It seemed to be just another small lump of dirt, a regular part of the river, but to the being's sight-that-was-more-than-sight, it seemed to stand out from the rest of the near identical environment. It extended it's senses, seeking to identify the source of this odd sight.

Steel, was the first feeling the being received from the odd spot of dirt, a resonance of it's history, followed swiftly by more feelings. Water. Time. Death. Hate. Purity. Blood. Corruption. Madness. All these feelings were felt by the mysterious person, a cacophony of oddity that had it's mind awhirl. But there was a last thing that was felt, something that it had been looking for, that had it's hope rise.

The feeling of Femininity.

The figure hissed in satisfaction. All of it's hard work had payed off. A hundred days of walking the banks of this river, and now his task was almost complete, having no doubt found what it had seeking.

But it was on the other bank, quite some distance from the figure, and there was no way to cross it. Swimming was also out of the question due to the extremely strong current, the depth of the water and the cold night air. It would be almost suicide for anyone to try to cross it during the day, let alone the night.

The figure was undeterred.

Shifting to face the water, it's emerald eyes locked on it's destination, it sprinted down the bank. Even sprinted seemed to be such a lame word for the figure's movements. Crisp and flowing as it flew down the bank, it's legs moving and pumping faster than a piston in a revving V8 engine. The sheer speed of it's advance towards the dark watery depths, if they were able to see it's flight at all, would have reminded anyone of a certain renowned speedster.

Moving so fast that the air didn't even gain time to even whistle in it's ears, it approached the water, never stopping, and when it looked like it was about to plunge a booted foot straight through the surface of the water...

It didn't.

Instead, even if the figure kicked up water like it was stomping in a puddle, the figure ran across the surface of the water, as if it were solid earth, reaching even greater speeds. The dim starlight bounced off of the water droplets sent flying, making the being appear to be centre of a small galaxy. It was a truly breathtaking sight.

But that did not matter to the person both hooded and cloaked. Beauty did not hold any sway over it's heart, it merely found such things pointless. At least in reference to itself.

Reaching the other side in moments, the being took a large spring from the water's surface, putting itself high into the air, beyond the reach of anyone of mortal ken, and landed lightly, like a feather, without a noise, beside the small piece of earth that had drawn it's attention. It didn't waste any time, not even to grimace at the water whose body it had had to cross with an ability it never liked to use, the origins of which were known and abhorrent to the being, and sunk to it's knees, soil and mud staining it's cloak and ignored.

It reverently stroked the untouched earth, as if it were a loved one, and felt the verdant earth respond, a soft resonance that danced within it's soul, as something deep beneath this little patch of land, dead and gone but still leaving echoes of it's former strength and power, caressed the figure.

The figure jolted slightly, throwing it's head back as it revelled in the feelings it received, it's good falling back to expose the face of the figure.

It was the face of a male youth, maybe not even in his teens, with a face as pale as moonlight and angles as sharp and defined as a sword with becoming unattractively bony. Long inky black hair, caught in a braid, vanished down his neck and fell into his cloak, even as his fringe concealed a small marking or scar on his forehead. His closed eyes hid emerald eyes trapped in rapture, but did not prevent slight tears to form, joy and happiness in every drop of salted water that escaped.

"I have found you," he uttered softly to no one, merely speaking, announcing, to the world, that his long task was almost at an end, "I have lost you once," a pale hand gripped the earth, turning his knuckles white at the pressure he exerted, and stretching the skin on top his hand enough for a marking, a small intricate pattern that was mostly faded, to stand out starkly, "but now I have chance, we have a chance, to walk the this world, together, as we should have been able to when I was born. When you had birthed me."

His eyes snapped open, gems of green burning with a soul deep fire of determination, "And I will not let it slip away."

So saying, the young man, for, despite his apparent age, only a man could have the steely determination that was present in the youth's eyes, one that was brought about by sacrifice and hard work, by the shedding of blood and tears to reach a goal nigh unattainable, pressed his hands deep into the portion of earth that echoed with the power he had been able to sense.

A whispered Word, a flexing of Will, and lines began to be drawn in the loose earth, as if the invisible hand of a god was drawing a picture in sand. It slowly began to form a pattern, intricate and complex, on the empowered earth, encompassing the young man and his precious spot of earth, until it stopped a moment later. Completed.

Another Word, the same as the first, and another flex of Will and the now inscribed earth changed, becoming harder, more solid.

As stone.

The male nodded in satisfaction as he inspected the inscribed obsidian slab in place of the patch of earth that was there before. Big as a couple of hula hoops, there was more than enough room for someone to stand in it and not risk touching the sides.

He snorted slightly to himself. Such a simple use of magecraft, even for one as limited as he in scope if not power, and he didn't need to use anything but his own will/od/prana/whatever you wish to call it. He didn't need to use a wand like those foolish morons in Britain.

Still, now was not the time to get sidetracked, the hour was upon him. He was in the right place, he had the materials he required (he patted the breast of his cloak, checking that the contents were still there. It was, much to his satisfaction) and he had more than enough power to pull it off.

There were still a few variables, all of them out of his control, but he would deal with them at a later time.

Still kneeling, he reached for an inner breast pocket of his cloak, searching for, and swiftly finding, his most precious treasure. Withdrawing his hand, he looked at it's contents with satisfaction.

About the size of a boxer's clenched fist, the white jewel of an indeterminate nature in his hand glowed and pulsed with a rainbow light before his dazzled and awed and loving eyes. No matter how many times he stared at the jewel, it never failed to bedazzle him. To know that, in the palm of his hand, rested the one hope for Her to walk the world, free once more, was humbling and made him very protective of it.

Having someone's literal soul in one's hand would do that, let alone what one would do if their own mother's soul was in their hand.

He gently, worshipfully, placed the faceted orb in the very centre of the obsidian slab, exactly where a small hollow was placed, and, with a slight click, was in place.

He gently breathed out as he stood to his feet, readying himself for the final, and hardest, task ahead. It would all of his strength, all of his Will, all of his power, but the results would be worth it.

To see Her again, to bring her back to where she rightfully belonged, any price was worth paying. Any price.

He hardened himself as he began to summon the full force of his power.

The world seemed to go still, losing focus, before a soft hum began to emit from the young man, growing louder and louder with every passing second, as he began to glow with a bright light as well. The humming and light, became louder and brighter, shaking the very air and scorching the earth he stood on lightly. A heaviness was present, like a weight on someone's shoulders.

A minute passed as the power kept gathering, the very earth was shaking violently, like an earthquake had just struck and kept on going, even as licks and flares of incandescent blue fire or power or energy surged around him, tearing earth and sky asunder with booming explosions and thunderous cracks. The sky above swirled chaotically as a wind picked up and the power in the air gradually began to form massive storm clouds, lightning and power leaping from cloud to cloud.

If one were to see it from a distance, it would have seemed like a piece of Hell's own inferno had risen from the earth and blanketed the land, creating a scene from the Apocalypse.

His body was shaking, feeling the pressure and stress from channeling and holding as much power as he was. He could feel his veins pop, his muscles strain and stretch and his bones crack as his very soul seemed to burn. But he held on, he was almost there. Just a skerrick more power, and then...

She could come back.

A brief pause, and then, when he felt he couldn't hold any more power, he reached the threshold. The level of power that he needed to perform the ritual.

He wasted no more time.

Even as the earth shuddered, thunder roared, flames billowed and lightning crashed, his voice was heard, a deep bellow of Command and he spoke the Words.

A rolling litany of Words as old, or older, than the race of man. A language that once had been on the tongue of all that lived, a language that could command even Kings on their throne or, by the same token, enforce a King's rule completely. Words that twisted and warped the world to one's will.

With a fierce resolve, the man poured his Will and gathered power into those words, bending the world to his will, commanding it to give him what he desired.

And the world complied.

The jewel pulsed faster and faster, a rainbow strobe light that would have blinded any man bar the one before it, too wrapped in his spell and ritual to care. The faceted orb then began to go soft, almost melting, even as it swelled in size as the inscriptions on the slab glowed incandescently with power.

The jewel, malleable, shifted and swirled, like a fast moving lava lamp, as it hovered now above the hollow. Stretch and twisting, it began to shape itself, a form beginning to take shape.

The man poured on the power, Words coming faster and more forcefully, even as he began to slowly tire, sweat running like river down his brow.

The shape was now humanoid, like a glowing wax sculpture that had yet to be painted. Slowly details began to emerge. An enlarged chest, full and buxom, indicated it's female nature, even as soft but firm curves took shape.

Sweating profusely, and barely standing, the man nevertheless never halted his Words, never stopped enforcing his will. He knew the ritual was nearing it's end.

Crackle-BOOOM!

With a thunderous crash, so close to the man as to feel the heat, lightning struck, a prelude to the downpour of heavy rain that started not a second later. The man ignored it.

The once gem was fully shaped now, into a woman, tall of stature and of beauty unsurpassed. Hair as black as a raven's wing and a face as delicate as china, which was belied by the well muscled bare torso and limbs, the shaping of a warrior, not a courtesan, even if her beauty surpassed such comparison. As naked as she was born, she hovered, her eyes closed, upon the slab, glowing a fierce blue.

The males eyes, still determined and steely, focused on her face, his Words still not stopping. Yes, this was Her, the features screamed it to him.

Time for the end game.

The cadence of his Words changed, no longer commanding, but calling.

"Ye Death," his voice called, still in the same tongue, but somehow understandable now, "I call upon the debt thrice owed. Your promise to keep thrice made. Let this woman know life once more, until your grasp takes her."

The man repeated this twice more. Each successive chant made the air seem to chill, colder and colder, hoarfrost running beneath the rain and wind, spidering around the man and woman. A heavy weight, filled with darkness, but not evil, simply existing, filled the atmosphere, as if the hand of God himself began to descend upon them, engulfing all within it's shadow.

It wouldn't have been far wrong.

With the last chant, the youth brought his hands to his sides. The air now felt like gravity had increased by orders of magnitude, the blaring blue flames rising like tower towards the sky, pillars of lightning continuously shattering the night that seemed never ending rather than extremely close together. The world itself gathered for the final beat, the crescendo.

A Word was roared out of the youth's throat, a single Word with a multitude of meaning but could be summed up in one word.

Live.

The last syllable was uttered as the youth brought his hands together in a thunderous clap to rival any made by lightning. A massive explosion of light and power was emitted from the youth. Clouds were scattered far and wide, the rain eradicated into a fine mist, the wind halted and reversed and the earth sunk as if struck by a hammer even as the fires were snuffed out like cheap candles.

The heavy presence also vanished, it's job done and debt repaid with it's actions. It was now free from the non-existent yoke of it's former Master. A brief pulse of gratitude was all that it left behind for the exhausted young man.

Sinking to his knees in exhaustion, the young man could only grin crookedly as the bright blue eyes of the woman snapped open, before he passed out, joy dancing in his heart for the first time in years.

His task was done, he had completed his mission. She was back.

Darkness overtook him even as those blue eyes locked onto his form, a word, a cry, on her lips as he sunk into the depths of rest.

"Harry!"

Next Day
Noon
Banks of Karamenderes River

A slow whistle was heard from within the group as they came upon the aftermath of a disturbance in the region the night before.

"Now that's a hole," Flash said with slight admiration, looking at an immense crater, as if an angry god had put his foot down, in the bank of the ancient river, already filling with water.

The 'bootprint' was abnormal in being almost exactly spherical, fifty metres deep and double that wide, the epicentre appearing to be a no longer existent part of river, at least according to the maps of the area. Flash had seen bigger holes, too many times to count, but there was something about it that inspired awe, a show of power. whatever or whoever had done this sure had a hell of a kick to them.

"Admire later, Flash," grunted the Batman of Gotham, his masked eyes alert as he looked at their surroundings, seeing many things that Flash probably didn't, as he tried to make sense of it, "this is important."

Beside the Dark Knight, a pensive Wonder Woman nodded in agreement, "Very true," she agreed as she turned to the last of the group, a certain fishnet wearing stage magician, who was looking half way between scared out of her wits and filled with utter awe, "Have you found anything Zatanna?"

The named magician shook herself back to the present and nodded, "Yeah. I can definitely tell you that some major, big league magic took place here. Something that even I wouldn't touch," she glanced at them, a flicker of worry crossing her beautiful features, "this is definitely the place, guys and gals."

The Dark Knight nodded in satisfaction, at least they weren't on a wild goose chase with this lead into trying to find out the cause of the Magestorm as it was being called in the locker rooms back at the Watchtower.

The event had taken place in the dead of night, causing sirens to blare and red lights to spin as an all call signal had gone out on the station. Assembling quickly, the present company among them, they had been informed by Jonn of the emergency.

Not five minutes earlier, a massive pulse of energy, that was still steadily rising, was felt by various contacts and machines in Turkey. The pulse had managed to knock out the majority of electrical equipment. Computers, phones, pretty much anything with a circuit board was turned into little more than a plastic decoration. Thankfully, in the aftermath, it was discovered the small amount of nth metal that was present in each earpiece of any Justice League representative had prevented it from happening to them.

With all the lines knocked out, they could only rely on eyewitness accounts and satellite imagery on information about the storm that had developed, unnaturally, almost immediately afterward. Winds like a hurricane but stronger by an order of magnitude, pillars of lightning crashed down, shattering whatever it struck like it was made of glass. The pillars were so close together as to be perceived as a continuous beam of godly power. An immense deluge rain dropping the average month's total rainfall in the space of less than an hour. Flares of blue fire, reaching for the sky, were also reported as being seen. But the biggest thing that was noticed was by the magical community at large. The sheer mystical power of whatever was done in this remote province of Turkey was, literally, felt around the entire world world by mystics, sending them all into hysterics.

Then, as quickly as it had arrived, another pulse of power, much stronger than the first, erupted into brilliance.

Before everything vanished.

Within the space of a heartbeat, it was as if this phenomenon had never existed, the only evidence being the destructive aftermath and devastation.

Needless to say, a response from the Justice League was quickly scrambled for a two pronged mission. The first part, assigned to many of the new additions to the League, was the clean-up and aiding the locals to restore and repair. A menial job in the scheme of things, but all the nuts and bolts, from the low to the high, needed to be done to keep the entire machine working.

The second branch, consisting of three of the original seven Leaguers and one of the more accomplished mystics on the roster, were given then mission to investigate into the cause of the Magestorm.

An investigation that had the magician's neck hairs standing on end.

'My God,' Zatanna thought with a pale face, 'the sheer POWER...'

As a mystic, one of established lines, great power and a more than decent education into the arcane arts, she was sensitive to magic traces. Residues of spells cast that linger in the environment. As a rule of thumb, the more powerful the spell, the heavier the trace and the longer it lasted before dissipating.

If she was correct, and she feared she was, the residue of the spell that had caused the Magestorm would not dissipate for centuries to come. Heaven have mercy, it would still affect the environment, making a magic heavy area, capable of distorting the laws of nature, that would draw what few magical beings were still on earth like flies to honey.

The legend of Mount Penglai in ancient China, with it's reputation for trees with jewels for fruit on it, was an example of what such an area could do, could become.

Beyond that though, she could feel the slightest trace, buried beneath the wild magic, of the caster's own power.

At least she thought it was.

As far as she could tell, there were three...beings...involved in this. One was a caster, human by the feel of it, but with nuances that had her puzzled. The feel was similar to a werewolf's own magical aura, human based but with changes to show a more primal addition. It wasn't exactly that, but it showed that the caster probably wasn't completely Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

The second had her on edge, as it spoke volumes about the spell the caster had performed. The second signature was a human's, but a human's with more power than she had ever encountered, closer to a deity or a high spirit. Again, there was also a nuance to the aura, but it was more defined, complete. A complete balance between what was human/mortal and what was not.

But the scary part of it, was that this being was summoned.

A summoning ritual was performed here, one of great power.

Meaning the Magestorm, instead of being an intentional act, was merely a side effect, a consequence to performing the ritual. It had only been made because of the sheer amount of magical power that had been thrown around like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Zatanna bit her lip in worry. She wasn't feeling too confident at the moment, but drew some comfort that she had a powerhouse like Diana at her side. When they, inevitably, had to track down the caster, she knew that the Amazon had the best shot at putting the caster down. The others, while they could maybe win and defeat the caster if it came down to a battle, would be grievously hurt.

With the spells and power that this caster probably had, she wasn't looking forward to the clash.

The last signature worried and puzzled her. It was most definitely not human, nor of anything living. There were only the smallest traces of it, like it was only there for a brief moment, but it still spoke volumes of it's power that it's residue, however small it was, was detectable among the chaotic morass of the magic of the ritual. That something of that power had even been here at all, even if she did not know who or what it was, was concerning but not immediately pressing.

She mentally recorded the last signature, resolving to look it up in her library later.

Now, she had a mission to perform.

"What ever happened here," she began to inform her colleagues, "was massively powerful and came from only one caster."

Diana blinked, tilting her head in question and letting her earrings catch the sunlight, "Is that unusual?" She asked slightly puzzled, "I will admit I have little knowledge in the way of mysticism, but it seems odd that only one person was able to do this," she said giving a wide gesture to the annihilated landscape.

Zatanna nodded, "I could count the number of mystics who could pull off that storm on two hands. Even less when you consider that the storm was not the purpose of the spell. It was merely a reaction of the environment to the sudden presence of an immense amount of magical energy."

"Say what now?" Flash said with a dropped jaw, not believing what he had just heard. Diana's widened eyes were not far behind, a soft gasp escaping her mouth.

Only Batman stood unmoved, narrowing his eyes at the female mystic. At least outwardly.

The stoicism of the Dark Knight was truly legendary.

"And the true purpose?" Asked the hero from Gotham, keeping his razor sharp mind focused on the mission at hand. He would revisit the implications of the magician's statement at a later time.

"A summoning," Zatanna replied grimly, "not sure what or who was summoned, but they are definitely packing some serious heat. Summoned and summoner alike."

Wonder Woman frowned seriously. The mention of summoning niggled at the back of her mind, trying to tell her something. It was like she was making a jigsaw, but she didn't have quite enough pieces.

"Alright," sighed Flash, "it's just another day at the office then. Weird spell storms, monstrously powerful magic users, possible summoning of an eldritch horror from the depths of beyond," he sighed again, "yeah, just another Tuesday."

"Can you track the caster?" Batman said, ignoring the groans and moans of Flash. The undisciplined man was grating to the serious hero's nerves at times. This being one of them.

Zatanna frowned slightly. It was possible, but it would be hard to parse out enough of the energy signature to make a proper tracking spell. Even if she used her 'reverse words' branch of magic to give the general spell a bit more 'oomph', which would guarantee a connection, to any proficient mage, it would be the equivalent of an air raid siren, warning them that they were being spied upon.

On the other hand, if she took her time...

"Yes," she answered, "but I need a bit of time, just enough to isolate a portion of the caster's energy signature in order for the spell to work. I could do it quicker, but it would be like having an entire brass band declaring our intentions to anyone of the lookout. If the one who pulled this off had any sense at all, he or she will be waiting and watching for reprisals. Give me an hour though, and even the sharpest eyes and most keen of ears won't even notice us coming."

Batman didn't even hesitate, his own patience and skills leaning toward a more stealthy approach, "We can give you that hour. In the meantime, while you perform your spell, Wonder Woman and I will question the locals. Flash, you keep an eye on Zatanna."

"No prob', Bats," Flash said with a grin, blurring for a moment, before returning to normal sight, reclined on a comfortable boulder nearby, reading from what looked to be a comic book. Several more were also resting at his side.

Batman scowled and sighed in long suffering exasperation, even as the rest of his group shared a small smile of humour. He acted like such a child at times, but Flash knew when it was time to get serious.

Usually.

"See you guys in an hour," Zatanna said as she faced the crater, brow furrowed in concentration, as her hands wove the spell web she needed, soft mumbling of gentle spells barely reaching the Gothamite's ears.

"Let's go," Batman said softly to Diana and began walking to the nearby village, Wonder Woman easily keeping stride with him, "the locals should have some information on recent events."

Diana nodded in agreement, even as she frowned back at the now floating and mumbling magician accompanied by a comic reading speedster. She had a feeling about the place, as if it called to her, like a portion of Themyscira was laid out in front of her. But she knew that was impossible.

She shook her head and followed Bruce. Hopefully, answers from the locals would be forthcoming.

Hidden Cave

Location Unknown

The woman gently rested a wet cloth on the head of the sleeping child, with loving care. Her deep blue eyes gazed with worry, astonishment and sheer joy at the fitfully sleeping young man from behind the loose locks of her raven wing's dark hair.

"What have you done, my child," she whispered, her voice soft and ringing like a wind chime, "what hast thou done, what prices hast thou paid, to bring forth this woman?"

She looked at her pale, yet hardy and battle strong, hands flexing them.

"What bargains have you made, to return me to life?"

She stayed by her son's side, unwilling to move, even as she absently began to sing a nameless, wordless tune, one that her mother have once sang for her so long ago. As she watched her child relax beneath the calming, soulful, tune, she began to wonder, her mind sent adrift to the day she had first met her child. A day that was both warming and sorrowful.

A day when she had been called from the Throne.

FLASHBACK

The streaks of light fell away from the Repentant Queen as she arrived upon the mortal plane, her voice already speaking the ritual words as she appeared.

"I, Servant Lancer, have come forth in response to your summons. I ask of yo-gaaaaah!"
The Repentant Queen was partially through the ritual words when she finally took in her surroundings properly, or rather the state of the person within the surroundings.

She was in a small room, with cold wooden floors. Heavy benches and a large round table, followed by what she now knew as a stove, indicated she was in a kitchen. But that was the least of her concerns.

Aside from her, there was only one sign of life within the room that she could see, and the only sign of life she could feel within the home entirely.

A small child, in overly large and drab clothing, laying on the floor in a puddle of blood. Most probably the child's own.

She moved swiftly, dropping to her knees and gently feeling for the injury without another word. Confirmation of summons could wait, a child was on the verge of death.

The child, a boy she was now pretty sure, whimpered slightly as she found the wound. A stomach wound, liable to be from a large knife or short sword. A quick glance showed it was from a stab rather than a slice.

She was also quick to notice the general state of the young child. Thin, small and bony, unhealthily so. Old scars that looked too close to the whip marks on a horse's flank for her own piece of mind, old burns and bruises, some of them recent large and very ugly.

It painted a picture she did not like.

"Shhhhh," she hushed the little one, gently turning him over even as she tore the table cloth from the table, heedless of the smashing noise it made, and tore it to strips to wrap up the serious wound of the child, "shhhh. It will be alright child, I promise."

As she turned him over, she glimpsed his face and it was all she could do not to gasp at that moment, followed swiftly by grabbing a chokehold on her rage in order to prevent herself from hunting down the animals that had dared to do this grievous harm to the child.

Raven's wing black hair, the same as her own, with half lidded pain-filled green eyes, so much like the sea and a mirror of his sire's and his maternal line. The shape of the face was a childish masculine version of her own, noble and sharp, with a hint of softness and an almost healed scar, shaped like a bolt of Zeus' own lightning, directly in the middle of his forehead.

She had only met him once, the day he was born, before she had passed away, but she still knew her own son.

As, thankfully, green eyes began to close, losing unconsciousness, undoubtedly through a combination of exhaustion, pain and blood loss, she gently spoke the name of the child. One that she had imagined he would perfectly live up to, her own blood and the blood of his damned sire ensuring that.

"Hareois Adamastos," she crooned, trying to comfort the unconscious boy.

She didn't waste anymore time, stepping outside and then leaping, higher than most of the houses in the suburb, and going in search for a hospital.

She would not lose her child, not when he was in her arms again.

FLASHBACK END

That first day, that first hour, had been harrowing to her, knowing that her son's life was in her hands again. In the past, she had not done well in looking after her family. Her sister, as bright and battle glorious as she had been, had fallen to her spear. It was a complete accident, the spear she threw had been aimed at the magnificent stag they had both been ambushing, but, sudden twist of it's body, it had evaded the spear, letting it travel on.

And plant it's tip into the heart of her sister, Hippolyta.

So it was understandable that she had been very nervous on caring for her son, one that had had a very unique birth.

Thankfully, everything had worked out well enough at the time, but it had been terrifying, waiting in a pure white room, in a place so different from her old home, as she looked again and again for news of her son.

She suspected it was the child's blood, on both sides she grudgingly admitted, that had allowed him to pull through that day, especially with the bad condition he had already been in.

But the past matters little, the now was more important. Like how in Hera's name she had been taken from the Throne of Heroes. She wasn't just summoned, she could feel that, it was like she had be reincarnated in full, a physical body, full memories, the works. She didn't feel the constant pressure of the world attempting to reject her presence but she had all the powers that she had as a Heroic Spirit. Stronger and faster than she ever was a Servant. All of her Noble Phantasms were at her command now. Her horse, Aeras, had been unable to be summoned when she was a Lancer class Servant when her son had first summoned her, but now she was able to call him to transport her and her unconscious child to a small cave she knew of off the Trojan coast, on Samothrace.

All of these little things, showed that the child resting before had done the impossible.

He had completely removed her from the Throne of Heroes, incarnating her as a mortal once more.

She knew that, even if it was considered impossible, her son had been able to do it, but not on his own. What she knew of his magic, what little she had known and passed on to him before her time with the Heaven's Feel Ritual had come to a close, of his nature, told her that such a thing was impossible for her son to achieve. That meant that higher, or lower, powers were at work, using her son, her wonderful Hareios, as a pawn in their eternal games.

Her beautiful face became a rictus of anger. Not this time! She may have been manipulated into facing her son's sire earlier than she should have, thus leading to her defeat, despoilment and, eventually, death, but she would not see that happen to her child. Not while she now drew breath!

A faint sound, one that was more of a stirring, brought her attention back to the young man, her child, as his eyes began to flutter, trying to open and awaken.

A moment later, green eyes snapped open, boring into the sapphire blues that hovered above them. A crooked smile grew upon his young, so terribly young and yet so old, face and spoke the words that lit a fire in her heart and brought tears of joy to her eyes.

"Welcome back, Mother," he said softly, extending a callused and rough hand up other face, gently brushing away the tears, "it is good to see you again."

The words were somewhat awkward, an understanding that her son was unused to such situations, but she didn't care.

Her arms moved swiftly, engulfing her beloved child, and bringing her tightly to her chest, her tall frame, even kneeling, able to tower over his own now tall, for his age, height.

"My son," she whispered into his hair, scruffy mess that it was, "my son, my son."

Even as her own eyes closed, those words kept repeating, again and again, as if to show to the world her pride and joy, and declaring him hers.

It would be some time before either of them broke the embrace, one that had been three, nearly four, years in the making, a goal that had been strived for by a youth not yet a decade old and had succeeded.

It was a meeting of a miracle.

And woe betide those who would separate them.

Karamenderes River

One Hour Later

"I've got it!"

At the call from the magician, Batman and Wonder Woman, along with the now alert and not-reading-comics Flash, quickly moved toward the fishnet wearing mystic.

"Report," the Dark Knight of Gotham growled. He had been on edge about this situation since he had heard that magic had been involved. Mysticism always made him uncomfortable; there was seeming no rhyme or reason to it and just didn't compute logically, making disasters out seemingly the most straightforward of cases and complete catastrophes out of anything larger.

What was worse, was that this ritual, according to Zatanna, wasn't one that could be thrown together anywhere. A summoning like this needed a catalyst, a location that met certain criteria. Combined with the questions asked to the locals, who had answered that a strange man, definitely not a local, had been seen scouring the the banks of the river for over three months, and the conclusions he was reaching were nothing good.

Zatanna sheepishly laughed a little, showing nervousness, "It turns out I was being a bit too cautious. Whoever did the summoning didn't bother to cover their tracks and I can take you there in less than a moment, but I was just erring on the side of caution."

"Hey. Relax, Z," grinned Flash, "you may have taken a bit longer, but it's not exactly like we're on a schedule. Besides, if it means it saves us walking into death's jaws, I'm happy to wait a little. I'm used to it anyway."

He blurred a little, showing what he meant. As a speedster, even the quickest of people seemed that they were moving in slow motion, so he was used to living at the snail's pace of normal people.

"Understandable," grunted Bruce, slight approval lacing his voice. It always paid to be careful, even if it wasn't needed in the end. Though he had a feeling that they might at the end of this, "What can you tell us?"

A gesture and a quick reversal of words had a magically holographic map appear in front of them all, "Alright. This," she pointed to a point on the map, blowing it up to show Turkey, and a red dot signifying their position, "is where we are. In the ancient days, it was called the plains of Scamander, which is also the ancient name of the river. Incidentally, it was on these plains that the Trojan war took place."

Flash whistled, impressed. He might not be the most learned or historically savvy, but even he had learned about and knew of the Trojan War. Arguably, it was the greatest romantic tragedy, right behind Romeo & Juliet. He had also read the Iliad and the Odyssey out of curiosity and a dare in college. These stories took on a whole new meaning after crossing paths with various members of the associated myths. The Amazons, Hades, even Circe if the stories Diana told were anything to go by.

The ravishing magician's hand moved up and to the left, indicating a roughly north-westerly course, the map changing to show an island in the Northern Mediterranean, "this is where the spell caster is right now. The island of Samothrace, part of Greece. The caster is currently in a cave near the Hieron ton Megalon Theon."

"The Sanctuary of the Great Gods," Diana murmured in translation, her eyes fascinated, "It was a great temple, long ago. Many of the more famed figures of the Man's World in ancient times went there to initiate themselves into the secrets of the priesthood."

"Can you take us there undetected?" Bruce grunted, examining the map himself.

"Easily," Zatanna nodded, "I scouted the area magically when I realized that the caster hadn't booby-trapped his trail. Took a while too, due to the residue of divine magic hanging around. There is nothing stopping me, or any thing to alert the caster. Best case scenario, it looks like the ritual drained the caster of his strength and power for a time. The mage is currently running on empty. If that is true, the only thing we would have to worry about would be the summoned being, if they choose to interfere."

"'If they choose?'" Batman questioned with a raised eyebrow hidden behind his mask.

"That's the funny thing," Zatanna said, scratching her head, "usually when a summons takes place, the summoner generally has a way to control what he has summoned. A mystical binding, a true name, even blackmail or other such things. This one doesn't. The summoned is free to do as they wish."

"Curiouser and curiouser," muttered Flash, sagely stroking his non-existent beard in thought.

"Drop us close by," the Batman ordered, "not on their doorstep, but close enough that we can approach easily and safely. It will give us a chance to reconnoiter the situation and assess our options."

"Can do, Boss," Zatanna chirped, before focusing her magic, "Tropelet."

Within a blink of an eye, the group vanished.

Hidden Cave

Samothrace

"It is good to see you again, Mother," Harry repeated, releasing his birth mother from his embrace and looking into her sapphire eyes.

Heaven's above, he had dreamed of this moment for three long years. To see her again, to feel soft skin, to listen to her bell like voice, to breath in her scent in comfort. To know that she was real and not just a facsimile.

"And I you, my son," whispered the Repentant Queen, before her beautiful face turned serious, staring into her child's eyes, "but I ask you; how have you done this?" She asked, waving a hand at yourself, "you are strong and powerful, as befitting of my son, I know this, but resurrecting me?" She shook her head, "it is not within the scope of your abilities. The ones you learnt from me, anyway."

Harry frowned, looking away from the one who was closest to his heart. She was absolutely correct, it was not within him to be able to resurrect anyone, let alone someone whose soul was claimed by the Throne.

But there were others out there, some of them more accomplished than he, that may have been able to do so.

That said, few of them were on the side of Angels.

Thankfully, he had managed to avoid contracting with them as a way to contact someone, one with a very powerful and, more importantly, neutral and trustworthy reputation, had pretty much fallen into his lap, along with a bargaining chip.

The price had been high and taxing, but the being had been satisfied. There was even the possibility Harry could have merely ordered the being to do so during the fulfilment of the price, such was the power of the objects that were mentioned in the favour, but in the end he chose not to.

He may not have the most honourable reputation, and he couldn't give a rat's diseased arse about that, but when he gave his word, he damn well kept it. The alternative would have been to receive a beating of a lifetime from his mother in the form of Discipline.

The very word still sent shivers up his spine and turned his guts into water.

All in all, he thought he made a good deal to get his mother back. Unfortunately, he didn't think she would agree.

Deals with the ultimate force of death generally have that kind of reaction from concerned and worried mothers.

"Hareios," the Queen warned, seeing his reluctance to speak. She did not want lies or simple platitudes from her only child, she only wanted the truth.

Hareios sighed before speaking, his head hung low, "I made a bargain."

The queen sighed to herself. She suspected as much, but there was little to say about it now, even if she had warned her child to be careful on which beings he trucked with, "Who?"

Hareios raised his head, bright green meeting sapphire blue, "Death."

A simple word. Five letters that sent the Queen mentally staggering. Her son had dared to to dance with Death herself?

"The price?" She croaked in surprise and fear. What had been done, her resurrection, her severance from the Throne whilst retaining her abilities it conferred, a body of flesh and blood. It was no small thing, and the price would be of similar value. And there was precious little of things of said value that could be considered savoury. It scared her slightly of what her son had had to do to achieve his goal with her.

"Has already been paid," he said gently, before continuing swiftly as she looked ready to burst, "it wasn't sacrifice of any type. She just wanted a few things that were stolen from her, ripped from her very essence, returned to her. She was unable to get them herself, something about higher rules, but she was able to provide me with the location and description of the items. I had managed to get the last item just before I came to the Troad, looking for your resting place, with a little help from my adopted family's journals. It was a straight exchange. The three items for three favours. One, to release your soul from the Throne as is her right as she who rules over the souls of the dead. Two, to return you to the living in a body of flesh and blood, doing so with a rite that she had given me the knowledge and the ability to perform just the once before removing it from my memory. And lastly, to not take you in her arms again until your days have passed," with a slight grin at her, he chuckled, "at that will not be for quite sometime as your Amazonian constitution is restored."

The Queen blinked hard, trying to understand everything he had said. What he had done...Olympus above! At such a young age, to have completed a quest for a higher being, something straight out of her time. And it was all for her, not for glory or adventure, just so he could see her again.

His last words also struck a cord. Her Amazonian gifts, the raw unbridled strength and power, the eternal youth and ability to heal in the earth, had been lost to her after she had killed Hippolyta. But now, even with the enormous power she had as a fully incarnated Heroic Spirit, she could feel the soft thrum, the heavy heartbeat of the earth itself, that she had almost forgotten, showing her that she was restored to her full Amazonian gifts.

Gifts that, surprisingly, were present in her son, to a degree. Not exactly the same, but the abilities were extremely similar. She growled softly to herself. It was those gifts that had helped to keep him alive when he should have been dead a dozen times over due to those pigs called the Dursleys.

Regardless, despite his accomplishments, there was only one thing she could do, only one response she could give, in this situation.

Whap!

A heavy swat to the back of the head showed her displeasure.

"What were you thinking?" She hissed, pride, anger and heart-pounding fear running through her veins, "what have I told you about making bargains? What in the name of Hera possessed you to do such a foolish thing?"

Her insides were aquiver. Making a bargain of any stripe with powerful beings was always fraught with extreme danger. Because they sat so highly on their thrones, and humans so low, it was rare for them to actually follow through on their end of the deal, thinking that respect only came for equals or superiors. And if by some chance they did, there was a better than even chance that the being had twisted the deal enough make the mortal's life absolute hell, just out of sheer spite or on a whim.

It frightened her deeply that her son could have been among that number.

The chastised boy raised his head to look her deep in the eyes, "I just wanted to see you again," he said softly, "Ever since I had met you years ago, ever since I knew you were my mother, ever since you were forced to return to the Throne, I have been striving to unchain you from your past. The Hate-skinned," he spat the title, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, "robbed you of the life you could have lived. I merely wanted you to live one yourself, unburdened by the mistakes of the past."

Her eyes softened. Such a child, both mature and childish at turns, a forthright and realistic worldview comparable to a world weary adult combined with a child's desire and fledgling ambition. Combined together, it made for a very determined young man, one that would brave the hatred of the world in order to achieve his goal.

Such a precious child. She was proud to call him her son.

"You should not have done so," she said quietly, "even if I so dearly wanted to see you again. To see you grow into the man I know you could be. I would not have wished you to risk your life in order to bring this Kinslayer back," she uttered the loathed but truthful word, "I will not have my son live in the past when his future, so bright and glorious, shines ahead of him."

Hareios Adamastos, also known as Harry James Potter to the mentally deficient stick users, merely smiled tiredly, the spell he had performed still making him feel a little drained, "Perhaps I shouldn't have," he admitted, "but it was my choice," he said firmly, green eyes ablaze, before dropping them, "and I will take any consequences that arise in my own two shoulders, whatever they may be."

The Queen looked at the resolved features of her son. He truly was her son, he had inherited her stubborn nature. Though she had no doubt that the son of Thetis, accursed as he was, also added to it, much to her disgust.

Her eyes suddenly widened, her ears pricking up, as she sensed something. Multiple somethings. Multiple Powerful somethings. Her spiritual senses expanded as she tried to locate the source of them. She absently noted that her son had merely kept his head down, probably in thought. And possibly had sensed the intrusion. He must be truly exhausted for such inattention to his surroundings to happen.

She found the source almost immediately, practically on the doorstep to the hidden cave she had found and secreted away when she had been to Samothrace in ages passed.

She analyzed her options swiftly, her mind weighing the pros and cons of each one. But there was really only one option with her son as tired and exhausted as he was.

"I have no doubt that there will be consequences," she answered easily, hiding her mental preparations for conflict, "but that will be for another time," she gently caressed her offspring's cheek, "rest for now. You are still tired from the ordeal. We will speak more when you are recovered."

She gently pushed a slightly resisting young man back onto the makeshift bedroll. He struggled a little more, before slowly relaxing into repose as she wordlessly sang a soft tune. He was deeply asleep mere moments later.

The Queen gently caressed his relaxed forehead and hair, pure love for her son in her eyes of blue gems, "You have given me a new life, my son," she said softly, her eyes hardening with determination, "now it is time for a mother to protect her own son's."

She stood gracefully and then walked toward the cave mouth, her senses stretching out again to locate the intruders. She quirked a lip slightly as she noticed they were within a stone's throw of the cave.

Time to get some answers.

The four heroes arrived in the scrub just off the ruins of the main temple at the Sanctuary, hidden from sight.

Zatanna took point, "The cave is pretty close, maybe a hundred yards at most as the crow flies, but it is a steep uphill climb, so it will take a little longer. It's hidden behind a thick copse of trees on a ridge that is barely accessible even to mountain goats."

"Lead on, Zatanna," spoke Diana, even as she looked at the ruins of the ancient temple with slight sadness. She could see, could feel, the majesty that this place once had, but all that was left was the tumbled stones and broken or missing columns before her. It was a sad sight for the Amazon, to see such splendour of a part of her culture reduced to this.

The four quickly made a move, quietly but swiftly as they made there way up the hill. Flash had to hold onto Zatanna a bit, much to his masculine pleasure, as her high heels were not the most suited for the terrain.

Reaching the copse, the slid easily through it, game faces on and senses alert...

"Welcome, strangers." A soft voice called.

Not that it did them much good.

The four looked at the source, and oaths were muttered. Three of them looked between Diana and the strange woman they could now see resting on a boulder outside the entrance to a small cavern.

It was like looking at a mirror.

Dark hair, sapphire eyes, slimly muscled body but lean and tall body that still retained a figure that rivalled the Amazon hero's own. The only difference was that Diana was in her battle wear and this figure was wearing what was either a white toga or a Greek chiton and that the woman near the cave seemed a bit older.

Sapphire met sapphire in identical wide-eyed looks, shock and surprise on both features, before the new woman's eyes narrowed.

"An Amazon?" Questioned the stranger, hopping to her feet, taking in Wonder Woman and ignoring the others, "and wearing the Royal Raiment no less," eyes narrowed further, "who are you, child, to wear such exalted arms? Arms that should have never left the shores of Themyscira?"

A weight seemed to settle on the area, as if the air had grown close and thick and charged with power. The members of the Justice League suddenly found that the woman was suddenly not as harmless as they had first thought.

Before Diana could answer, Batman butted in, "She is a member of the Justice League. And you are?"

"My name is unimportant," she growled in anger, displeased with the interruption with her possible talk with a fellow Amazon, even if it seemed that they were on the opposite sides of the field of battle at the moment, "I however do ask what it is that you want here?"

Zatanna had a chilling feeling as she looked at this woman, something niggled at these of her senses, scratching at her mind in warning, like she should what this woman was. One that carried power around her like a cloak and held herself as a warrior true. Some primal instinct screamed at her, telling her to GET AWAY NOW!

Unfortunately, Flash, motor mouth that he was, was the one to open his yap.

"Sorry for disturbing you, Lady," he said with a quick sheepish grin, "it's just that we're on the trail of a rather powerful individual that has caused a great deal of damage."

Flash got the feeling that that was the wrong thing to say as sapphire eyes suddenly became cold as ice and dark as pitch in response.

"So you are looking for him," growled the woman, who suddenly began to glow a bright blue before a white flash made them all cover their eyes.

When they recovered not a moment later, it was to see the chiton was gone, replaced by fierce Ancient Greek armour. Shining greaves and bracers, a woven mesh corslet and a high crested helm covered her as she had a crescent shield strapped to her left arm and a series of spears, points gleaming, clutched in the same hand. In her dominant hand, however, was grasped a massive battle axe, a labrys, the two blades bright and gleaming and seeming to hunger for battle.

"You will not take my son from me." She snarled, a disturbing image for those use to seeing the generally calm face of Diana. The woman's face, a mirror of Wonder Woman's, had no such gentleness to it at that moment.

With a mighty leap, battle was joined.

Well folks, what do you think?

I have received enough reviews make this a permanent project. I still have a few kinks to work out, but I can say now that a new chapter is now in the works And should be out in about a fortnight, circumstances permitting.

Enjoy the story and please leave reviews,

Kujikiri21