Harry Potter, Justice League 1. Chapter 1

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 &amp; 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


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League or Harry Potter

AN: hey folks! Sorry it has been such a long time. I know many of you wanted to see this become an actual story much sooner, but, sadly, real life and other ideas beckoned. However, I am pleased to announce that this is now a true project which will be worked on gradually.

I will try to make this as good as I possibly can, despite my lack of, and limited, knowledge of the Justice League, which I only know about from the cartoons made in the Naughties, name JL and JL:U. So don't expect me to touch base too much with the wider DC verse, save perhaps for the Teen Titans. I have only read a single comic in my life in regards to DC, which was the Kingdom Come graphic novel.

Still, I hope that you will find this fairly good.

So, without further ado, on with the shoooooow!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Queen meets Princess**

The mage would be the first to go, Penetheselia decided as she leapt into the throng of her adversaries. Her ilk were always difficult to battle, having tricks up their sleeves that most warriors would have difficulty against. You never truly knew you had defeated a mage unless you saw their corpse burned or buried with your own two eyes.

Sometimes not even then.

Removing her from the battlefield was a priority. All of the others seemed to be more inclined to close combat or weapons use of some variety or another. This mage wouldn't have that inclination, more than willing to fire spells. Ones that could easily turn the tide in the engagement and affect her surroundings, maybe even herself if the power she felt from the mage was accurate.

Remove a danger and make the battlefield more predictable. She could deal with warriors and struggle, she was _made_ for that, but magic was a bother, even if she herself knew more than a bit about it and could harness it's power.

It was also something that could allow the indecently dressed woman to bypass her, to gain access to her child, making her a danger.

And mothers destroyed those who endangered their children.

They seemed startled at the speed of her movement, though the dark cowled man hid it well.

Not that it did them any good.

Landing firmly, yet lightly, she moved quickly, with all the skill she had developed over a lifetime of war, battle and conflict, backed by the power of divine blood and driven by her desire to protect her child.

The clenched bundle of spears spun in her grip, an almost impossible feet for any normal warrior, even those of great power, burdened by the restraints of reality.

Even though she was reborn, made mortal and living once more, she was not.

The spin slapped the crimson clad male away, faintly hearing a few cracks, as the broadside of the spears and the face of her crescent shaped shield smacked into his rib cage, sending him flying with a pained yell. Hopefully that would remove him from the fight. She wanted to kill him, her instincts practically demanded it of her, but she tempered that desire with her own knowledge, information she had received upon her rebirth.

She didn't know his name, or his powers, but she knew he was of the self titled 'Heroes' of this age. They were just overpowered officials in her opinion. They were not warriors of eld, striking down foes. These ones did not have the will, the heart, to fight and, more importantly, kill for the sake of their fellow man.

Costumed pretenders, engaging in an endless game of cat and mouse between their 'Villians'.

She honestly wasn't sure that Archer, the golden haired and red eyed arrogant prick that he was, didn't have the right of it. That this new age, and those that inhabited it, were little more than dregs, the leftovers of the past, insects beneath the might of those who came before, who blazed the trail for their continued existence.

If it wasn't for her son, wiping the slate clean, starting anew, would have sounded appealing.

But, regardless of her opinion, he was still considered a 'Hero', one with a fair amount of reknown and backing. Killing him would only create more problems down the line, as his patrons would seek restitution in the form of either her life or liberty.

Which would threaten her son. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

So, to protect her son, she would hold back the killing blow.

For now.

As her spears as shield swept away the red clad man, her battle axe also swept toward the mirror of herself, the younger Amazon, the flat of it aiming to do the same as to the crimson weakling.

CLANG!

Divine bronze met the crossed bracer clad arms of the younger Amazon, preventing any injury. Penthesilea raised a small eyebrow at the resistance she met. This one was stronger than she had thought, and not just because of the powers of the Royal Raiment. Enhanced strength was not one of the qualities it conferred on the bearer. She should know.

She had worn it before.

Still, even with the braced arms and her own strength, the young Amazon still underestimated her might, the force of the blow lifting her off the ground and away, blue eyes wide in surprise.

The Repentant Queen frowned slightly.

If the current circumstances were not as they were, she would have taken the young one to task. The first rule of combat, in any form, was to never underestimate a foe's strength and ability. That lesson had saved her more than a few times.

The Queen knew that the younger Amazon wasn't out of the fight, merely moved away for a time, and would most likely be back into the thick of things swiftly and would be ready to meet her own power after having felt it's strength first hand. But that brief absence opened a window for her to fulffill her first objective.

But she would have to get through the cowled male first.

Letting the momentum of her axe swing carry her, her spears then aimed to swat aside the narrow eyed and glaring male figure, the speed of the swing almost undetectable to normal humans. It would have be quick, the advantage she had with her surprise attack and speed was wearing off quickly from the mage. It seemed that the young mage had a little combat experience, or at least enough not to completely freeze at the first sign of an attack.

The Queen mentally notched the mage's danger level a little higher. Mages are dangerous, as a rule, but mages with battle experience are worse yet.

The spears she wielded, much to her surprise, didn't cleanly strike the male, only grazing the chest armour, cutting a clean slice through it like a hot knife through butter, as he leapt back, grasping onto the mage as he did so, carrying her away from the danger zone.

_Smart_, she thought, _and an impressive reaction time. He was able to guess my plan and dodge my blow, all within a moment. Very impressive._

_This might be a bit harder than I thought._

She launched herself after them, the ground cracking beneath the force of her leap and their movements at a snail's space compared to her own, making her easily able to catch them.

She was already in cowled man's face, able to see the slow widening of his eyes, as she rammed her shield face into him in mid air.

She heard the slight cracks with her sensitive ears, though not as many as she hoped, as his rib cage fractured and cracked, launching him like a bullet from a gun backwards into the mage, slamming them into each other and sending them flying.

Much to her dislike, she didn't have the time to ensure that they stayed down.

Dropping her spears as she landed agilely, she spun around and lifted her shield, bracing her body for the blow that was about to strike.

BOOOOM!

The air shook and the earth beneath her feet cratered and split, sending dust and soil,and stone flying, as a super powered Amazon fist met the crescent shield of a former Amazon Queen.

Blue eyes, two pairs of them, locked in a silent battle of determination. The younger, more innocent, of the two, were filled with the fires of belief and will, an unstoppable force that would see her will carried out.

In contrast, the older ones were ice to the others flame. Cold and impassive, these eyes nonetheless carried a deep seated belief, an utter certainty, as foreboding and stoic as the mountains. She would not move, would never yield, an immovable wall.

Penthesilea frowned internally, hiding her slight discomfort. This young one had surprised her. She could clearly see that the younger warrioress was flying, exerting her strength downward onto her crescent shield.

She was no ordinary Amazon. None of her kin had ever shown such strength or the gift of flight. The strength alone was making her, a resurrected Heroic Spirit, begin to struggle, even if it was hidden from her younger country woman's view!

Such strength and power couldn't be solely attributed to the Armour of Athena, the Royal Raiment, that she wore. The armour _did_ in fact increase the wearer's strength, but she could feel that the Armour wasn't completely activated, only the passive and most basic of abilities currently active.

Meaning that the strength she showed, while increased by the Armour only _slightly_, was mainly her own natural strength.

It also meant she couldn't afford to play around, to hide her true strength any longer, if she wanted to defeat them.

"Begone!" She said, commandingly at the airborne Amazon, her face still like the stones, grave and unyielding, "you are not wanted here!"

The Queen fiercely dug into her well of power, taking advantage of the slightly surprised state of the younger girl and shoved with her shield as she imbued her power into her muscles, making herself stronger for that brief moment, launching the woman higher, giving herself room to breath for a moment and enact her next plan.

The situation was getting too uncertain. Her own strength was matched by that of the other Amazon, something that still surprised her, and, much to her dismay, she could feel soft words floating through the air, discordant and seeming reversed, along with the tingle of rising magical power being summoned.

She had failed to take out the mage, damn her luck. She didn't dare take her eyes off of the floating warrioress to look at what the mage was doing, that would be the height of stupidity, but she knew it boded ill for her.

And for her son.

She had no other choice now, but to use one of her trump cards. Her spears were of no use at that moment, scattered on the ground behind her, having fallen into the newly created crater in which she stood and leaving her unable to use their associated abilities. Her axe was out, it was far too destructive, laying waste to everything before it and may just cause harm to her son.

Thankfully she had one trick that may work.

Power erupted from her body, surging and seething, as she called out a name of a friend, one that had taken a death blow for her when she had been driven to battle against the Hate-Skinned bastard that had killed her.

"**Aeras!"**

And the world was swallowed in a storm of white.

* * *

Bruce grunted as he was thrown backwards again as the woman screamed a word, tossing him on his backside, also knocking down a spell working Zatanna, interrupting her own spell.

He was annoyed at himself and very cautious at the moment. He had underestimated the woman, not having expected the power she had shown at the first part of the engagement.

He mentally swore to himself to fix that. Extra training time was needed.

Being human, albeit a well trained human, he was use to being outweighed in the power stakes, whether it be by strength, speed or powers. It was because of this, and the fact that she had attacked the rest of the team first, that he had managed to barely avoid the first spear strike against him and his agile mind noticed the way she had looked at Zatanna, like a cat looking at it's prey, which lead him to getting her out of the way.

The shield tackle, however, came too fast for him to counter, her speed making it look like she had teleported in front of him.

The resulting injuries had almost knocked him out, but his iron will and determination to not fall had managed to make him pull through.

Zatanna, however, had been knocked out, which wasn't a good thing. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the summoned being, an entity of magical power and skill. The magician would most likely be needed if they wanted to succeed this day.

A quick application of smelling salts from his belt had her up and awake and was beginning to cast a moment later after her initial dizziness had ended.

Unfortunately, before Zatanna could complete a powerful enough spell to bind the woman, (the more specific her incantations were, the more powerful) the woman had yelled something, a name.

"**Aeras!**"

The sound was loud, louder than it should have been even if it was yelled. It was like a command, a spoken declaration to the world that _would be carried out._

And the world had answered.

Winds, more powerful than anything the Batman had encountered naturally, had thrown him away, again, making his, at least, cracked ribs flair with enough pain to whiten his vision and leaving him gasping desperately for the sweet air of life.

Even despite that sorry state, a weakness he dislike intensely, he could feel the temperature plummet, his harsh breaths steaming the air even as a groaning Zatanna, who had been thrown with him again, levered herself up.

"I'm really getting tired of this," she growled lowly, her expression _beyond_ annoyed and treading into pissed off female territory.

Bruce didn't particularly wish to be on the receiving end of such ire.

"That makes two of us," he grunted out, looking at her for a moment, "are you injured?"

"Just my pride," the magician retorted, her beautiful face set in a scowl.

"Nothing important then," a voice grunted out in jest, making Zatanna and Batman turn towards the staggering figure of Flash, who was cradling his ribs as he moved gingerly towards them, a pained smile on his face. Batman felt something inside himself relax, thanking heaven that the speedster was alright.

That didn't mean he had to put up with his poor jokes though.

"You look like crap," Zatanna said bluntly as he approached, Batman listened to her with half an ear, even as he tried to keep an eye on the fight that continued between the two Amazons, and he had no doubt that their adversary was one.

"And you aren't a daisy yourself," Flash responded, "but we can talk later. I'll help Diana."

Before he heard Zatanna protest, knowing that having Flash fighting in that state was dangerous, a crimson blur rushed past him, rushing toward the Amazonian women, intending to lend his injured strength to the battle.

BOOOM!

A thunderous explosion, a shockwave of power, burst from battling women as they struggled on the ground, his lips tightened in anger as he saw that Diana's skin was marred by several dozen cuts, evidence that she hadn't abandoned her superior position in the air willingly, the elderly looking one's axe striking hard at the unbreakable bracers Diana wore even as she was wreathed in an aura of power, seeming to make herself stronger and more powerful.

"Tlah!" He heard Zatanna command, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as felt the power backing that mystical demand. Though it begged the question of who it was directed at; an injured and foolish Flash? Or their current adversary?

He was quickly answered by the slight glow around the elder Amazon, a golden tint that appeared within the raging sapphire blue.

Only for it to disappear, not doing anything notable.

"Damn," the magic user growled in annoyance, "she's too powerful for the majority of my spells to affect. I'll need to pull out the big guns to even be able to do something and they take time. Considering how fast she can move though..."

Bruce could understand what she was saying. As it was, he could barely keep up with the speed that the Amazons both fought at. In a fight, speed generally ruled, offensively and defensively. If Zatanna needed time to cast a powerful enough spell, chances are the woman would notice her gathering her power, the first lunge had shown that the woman had perceived the magician as a priority threat and thus it wouldn't be a stretch to say that she could feel or otherwise perceive magic, especially as she was purportedly a magical being herself, and attack the showgirl magician before she could perform anything of note.

The odds, despite them outnumbering the woman, seemed to be in her favour.

Then again, he wasn't one to just give up, even if then opponent's hand had nothing but trumps. Odds don't decide the battle, the warrior decides the battle.

Odds do help though, especially when you have allies on your side, it raises morale.

"Prepare whatever you need," he said gruffly, going through mental exercises to eliminate the pain he felt. He could deal with them later. "The rest of us will keep her from you. Just find the right spell to keep her still for a moment. Wonder Woman will do the rest."

He moved quickly towards the battle, ignoring what complaining he heard from the magician. Now was the time to be serious, not to indulge in childish whining. Hopefully, Zatanna would understand that much at least.

* * *

Diana, Princess of Themyscira, gritted her teeth as she tried to hold her ground against her foe.

The foe she fought was an older mirror image of her, with eyes that were both filled with shadow and light. It didn't need to be said aloud for Diana to know that the woman she fought was experienced in ways she was not.

And it was showing.

It was rare that Diana ever met someone who could challenge her, strength for strength. Clark certainly could, even overpower her in physical might if push came to shove and had been in the sun long enough. But he also lacked something, the raw martial skill brought about through constant training, that allowed her, who didn't have such a lack, to contend with him on an equal plane.

Bruce, and possibly Black Canary, were, arguably, the only ones who could challenge her in sheer skill in the Justice League, and maybe the planet, and she had enough might and power to offset their skills and defeat them.

So it was a big surprise to find that this woman was able to meet her, blow for blow, strike for strike, with a skill that was above even her own. It was only because of the armour she wore, and the fact that she could fly, that she was still able to meet the woman in battle, even if her wrists were beginning to feel bruised and sore from defending against the labrys the woman wielded with skill that left her breath taken.

And that was another thing. The things the woman had said, referring to the armour as the 'Royal Raiment', something that no one outside of the Amazons should know. The way she fought, the weapons she used, even her features. They all screamed that the woman was an Amazon.

But she had never seen her in her life.

The population of Themyscira was small and new Amazons were brought about through the extremely rare pregnancy between one of the couples on the island (as a gift of service or favour from the Gods, who had ways of bending reality.) or the even rarer female strangers washing up on shore, the last one having occured nearly two centuries ago, before Aresia at least. In light of this, and the fact that she was the 'Princess', she knew all of her people by sight and name.

And this woman wasn't one she had seen before of recognised.

It was a conundrum and disconcerting, making her confused and uncertain, which didn't help her at all in the fight.

She raised her hands, crossing them at the wrists, blocking the labrys as it came down with a thunderous boom. She felt her feet sink into the hard earth from the force of the strike, even as she felt her bones rattle slightly. But she didn't yield, holding back the blow.

"UUUUUGH!"

Diana grunted unladylike as she felt the sole of her opponents boot thunder into her abdomen, tossing her away like a rag doll. The pain was great, but not something she had not experienced before, and was able to catch herself in mid air, taking flight in order to get some breathing room and breath back. She was mentally thanking the gods for the armour she wore. If she didn't, chances were that her ribs would have been crushed by the blow.

Hera's grace, her foe was so powerful!

A sudden darkening of the light, a shadow moving across the sun, was all the warning she had.

She didn't think, only reacted as her instincts, pounded into her from training with her mother, told her, crossing her wrist above her.

CLANG!

The axe like weapon struck wrists once more, her foe somehow managing to reach her, even this far above the ground. The force was enormous, like a mountain had struck her arms, and caused her to plummet back to the earth, the woman following her down, her weapon locked with her bracers and eyes resolute and focused on hers.

She was plunging too fast, her body too shaken from the blow it had just received, to break off and fly away. All she could do was let them both fall, a falling star of steel.

It was at least better than the first time she was swatted out of the air. She didn't know the meaning behind the spell the woman had called, but the effects of being smashed out of the air by a hellishly powerful wind, colder than ice itself, and feeling like she was being cut by a thousand blades, had been an experience she was not eager to repeat any time soon.

The ground was coming up fast, her Amazonian heritage, a heritage tied to the earth and it's power, told her that much. The sheer force of the blow followed by a collision with the earth and then her foe landing on top of her was going to hurt like Hades, but she didn't have a way out of it, not on her own.

Thankfully, she wasn't on her own.

A bare three feet from making yet another crater in the ground, and she felt something grasp her by the shoulder, spinning her rapidly out of the lock, her blue eyes seeing the shock in her foe's own, before she was carried swiftly away.

By a crimson blur.

BOOOOOOM!

The earth shook once more, cratering and splitting deeply, as her foe landed.

Flash set Diana down at the edge of the scrub line, a small distance from the edge of the new crater. "Oooo-we," he whistled in mild awe, "someone's been eating their Wheaties," he frowned slightly, "or isn't watching their weight."

"Most probably the first," she said dryly, with a small smile of amusement, even if she never took her eyes off the newly made and dust cloud filled crater, awaiting her foe's next move. The woman had shown herself to be more battle aware and far less impeded by anything that could cloud the senses than her. Stepping into the cloud would be folly. Choosing the lesser of two evils, Diana chose to let the cloud dissipate before resuming combat, despite the fact that it gave the woman a chance to prepare an attack in some form or another.

"Yeah," the Flash fake mused, a small smile on his own lips, "I can see that. She doesn't have the figure to throw her weight around."

The air whistled shrilly as something cut through it, coming towards them, making them move away, their faces now serious once more. And not a moment too soon.

A spear, so fast that it was barely seen even to her experienced Amazonian eyes, burst from the dust, passing through where Flash had been standing, and kept going.

Soundlessly, their foe bounded out of the dust cloud, following close behind the lethal projectile, her weapons brandished. Her blue looked at the target of her ire, the crimson clad speedster, with slight annoyance.

That didn't stop her from trying to cleave him in twain.

Once, twice, thrice. To the eyes of a just reacting Princess of the Amazons, the labrys her foe held was a blur, even to her eyes. It swung much faster than it had against her, winds whipping up at the older woman's strikes, such was their force. If even one had hit Flash, he would have been grievously injured. At best.

Thankfully, Flash was equal to the challenge, his image flickering as he moved fast enough to dodge the blows.

"Watch it, Lady!" He cried out, blurring backwards to get away from the last blow, "you could hurt someone with that."

"That's the point." The woman growled, before swiftly sidestepping Diana's lunge from behind, spinning away and using that extra force to bring her labrys around, aiming to plant it right between the shoulder blades of the one who wore the Royal Raiment. "Foolish."

Diana could feel the sharp edge of her enemy's blade approaching, aiming for her life. She didn't panic, doing so would not help the situation. She immediately threw herself into a roll with a lunge, the labrys luckily passing through the gap between her feet as she did so, and kept rolling to bring herself back to her feet, her eyes focused back on her foe, a grim faced Flash at her side.

It was a stalemate now, and each side of the confrontation knew it. The woman was fast, powerful and much more skilled. The pair of Flash and Wonder Woman, however, were shown to be just as fast and just as strong and outnumbered the woman. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Thankfully for the Justice League members, they were not the only ones there.

Whir-whir-whir.

Sounds cut the through the tension, small black blurs aiming for the woman, as Batman landed beside his comrades.

"Hmmmph!" The woman grunted as she watched the projectiles approach with disinterest, "is that your best?" A simple swing of the axe and a powerful wind surged forth, powerful to halt the missiles in mid-air, frozen in their tracks, before falling to the earth in the dust at her feet, useless. "Disappointing."

In response, Batman merely swept his cape across his eyes, covering them. Having worked with the Dark Knight long enough, the other two also followed his example screening their eyes.

BANG!

White light seared the air as the Batarangs exploded like a flash bang, the emergence of a second sun directly in the foes face.

"Ahhhhh!" She screamed, in shock, surprise and pain, staggering back from the onslaught of light and sound, her iron clad defence dropping.

"Wonder Woman!" Bruce called shortly. Wonder Woman instantly read what the Dark Knight wanted without him having to say it. Her hand went to her lasso.

"Flash!" The hero of Gotham called as well. Nothing more was said to the speedster, but he too received the message loud and clear.

"On it!" The hero of Keystone City responded and was gone, not even a blur to the Dark Knight's sight.

The woman staggered backward a little more, but was quickly shaking off the effects of the flashbang. It would only take a moment more for the woman to recover. Moments that Batman wasn't willing to let her have.

CLANG!

The woman was practically launched forward, the strength of the speedster's kick to her back amplified by his own speed. The woman had no time to brace herself, off balance as she was, and was sent flying toward the other pair, her hands still impressively clutching her weapons despite the slightly dazed state.

Then the lasso was thrown, accurate and precise, looping over the head and around the elbows of the woman, before drawing tightly.

"No!" The woman cried as she fell to earth, digging a trench as her body skidded along. The desperate realisation in her voice told the Princess of the Amazons that the woman knew well that she was in an almost helpless state.

Power filled the air as the woman finally stopped, her face to the sky. Diana couldn't help but flinch at the desperate emotion, the sheer despair that now cloaked the woman's visage, so different from the mask of a focused and determined warrior that she had seen previously.

"You will not have him!" The elder Amazon cried in desperate rage, her power rising even higher. "Feathe-."

"Silence!"

Her next words were halted by Wonder Woman's command as the lasso, glowing a bright gold, enforced her spoken command on the captured enemy, halting what Diana instinctively knew were words that would have boded ill for them.

The woman's eyes widened, even from where she lay in the dirt and stone, as her jaw snapped shut, swallowing the words she had been about to speak. She tried to struggle to her feet, seeming willing to fight even in the state she was in.

"Be still." Diana said softly, but commandingly. Again, the lasso glowed brightly, enforcing a new order on the captured woman. The thrashing stopped, frozen in mid movement, but her eyes, glaring at the assembled heroes in hatred, said everything.

"Well," Flash said with a sigh, rubbing his tender ribs with a wince, "that was bracing."

"Indeed," Diana said with a small nod, never taking her slightly sad eyes off their fallen and helpless adversary. She was a good warrior, an excellent one in fact, better than Diana herself was. To see such a powerful figure brought low like this...wasn't something she liked to see, even if it was her victory.

"It's good you managed to capture her," Zatanna said as she approached, looking at the woman warily, even tied up as she was. It had been the magician that their foe had gone for first, so she was understandably a little nervous around her. Especially considering..."I'm sorry I wasn't much help, but my magic just couldn't seem to get ahold of her. It was like it broke on contact."

"Hmmm," hummed the Batman in thought, looking at the fallen foe. She had been skill and powerful beyond belief. The only reason that they had prevailed was because of her own self-confidence and a little bit of deceit and numbers on their part. "I think it's time to get some answers."

"On that I quite agree." A voice rumbled behind the heroes, much to their shock and surprise that someone had managed to sneak up on them. Spinning around, they failed to notice the widening eyes of their captive as she too heard the voice, her angered rage turning into frantic desperation, wanting to escape the coils of the lasso.

Spinning around, they were all confronted with a sight that had them taken aback. Zatanna and Diana in particular looking horrified.

There stood a figure, a boy, tall and slightly broad, but also clearly not an adult. His burning green eyes stared at them, as if wanting nothing more than to snuff out their existence. He leaned heavily on a long spear made entirely of metal, breathing slightly hard, as if tired or exhausted but determined to stand. He was barefoot and bare chested, clad only in loose pyjama like bottoms, revealing a toned torso, muscular and made to be used, with a clear six pack.

However, it was his skin that had them reeling back, shocked and dismayed.

They could all clearly see the metallic scales that covered every inch of his flesh, looking more like razors, that all interlocked. Drops of crimson blood coated the edge of each 'scale', showing that this wasn't normal or natural. In addition, from odd places, weapons protruded from the flesh.

A spear point from out of his collar, part of an axe head from his stomach area, a bronze sword blade pointing out from his left armpit. These and more littered the boy's body like a disorganised armoury of blood soaked weaponry.

It was a horrifying sight, made even worse by the fact that the boy was so young looking, not even a teenager, and was not even showing even a hint of pain.

"You all," the boy rasped, like steel grinding on steel, at them as their minds tried to reboot from the macabre sight before them, "have exactly five seconds to release my mother peacefully...or I will kill you where you stand and leave your bodies for the crows."

The power that the boy emitted, like a surge of heat from a furnace, showed them he wasn't joking around. The sound of steel grinding was also heard as the weapons protruded more, odd shaped lumps they could see also rising beneath the steel scaled skin. It didn't take a rocket scientist guess what they may be.

"Great Hera," murmured Diana, her shock almost taking over her mind.

"One," the boy growled, the power getting stronger, the grinding growing louder.

"Whoa, whoa," Flash said, shaking his hands in front of him, "calm down a bit, kiddo-"

Shing!

"Yipe!" The speedster yelped, holding a hand to his face, a long cut along his cheek bleeding.

The others blinked heavily. They hadn't seen what had happened, only the silvery flash of gleaming light vanishing into the distance. Bruce, however, noticed that one of the swords that had protruded from the boy was now missing.

"Spare me your platitudes and excuses. I am not in the mood. My request is simple; Release my mother or die. Make your choice. Three seconds."

None of them had any doubt that the boy would do it. Despite his youth, there was little innocence in those eyes. Only a cold determination and resolve to carry out his word, heedless of the consequences.

Before Batman could think of anything, or try to take down the boy, Diana quickly spoke, "We only have questions that need answering. Your mother," she frowned at the word. They were supposed to be a summon and summoner pair, weren't they? So how did the spirit end up being the summoned? "attacked us before we could fully explain ourselves. Please, just let us talk."

The boy looked at her carefully, as if examining her for the truth. He seemed to blink suddenly, as if taking in something, his features betraying shock, "You're Wonder Woman," he said in slight awe, "the Amazon, yes?"

Diana nodded carefully, not quite sure what he had just noticed. She was fairly distinctive amongst the League, so being recognised was hardly anything unusual. That said, it usually came to people quicker than what the boy had shown.

So what had rocked the boy, the young man?

Said boy glanced down at the ground in thought before looking at his 'mother', and Diana wasn't sure if that was the woman's true title. Then again, the boy's features and current state made it difficult to make a decent comparison.

The summoned and summoner's eyes met, his thoughtful green and her previously frantic but now more thoughtful blue. An unheard conversation seemed to take place between them without words being spoken. The members of the League didn't try to interfere. Many of them were sore and bruised, if the two before wanted to resolve this whole debacle peacefully, they were willing to wait for a while.

The soundless discussion ended, the woman's blue eyes relaxing a bit, seeming to both agree and seem resigned. Those burning emerald orbs rose to lock with Diana's own.

_"Release my mother and we will both accompany you and your comrades to wherever you think it necessary to have a discussion," _he said calmly, trying to stand straighter_, "you have my Oath that we will not attempt to leave or assault you, so long as we are treated cordially."_

Diana and the others were startled slightly when they heard thunder in the cloudless sky when the boy had finished speaking, making Diana's eyes, and Zatanna's shortly after, widen in realisation of what the boy had done.

He had made an Oath. An Oath of Binding that constrains the swearer to actions they have sworn to. Even if the boy wanted to break the Oath, his own body would force him to the Oath. In this situation, it was guarantee that no further conflict, at least physically, would take place, something that would allow them to release their attacker from their grasp with little to no worry.

On the other hand, the way he had performed it should have been impossible.

Oaths are reliant on the power of a third party being invoked to ensure it is kept. Meaning, that one has to swear to a deity or some other cosmic entity of power, invoking their name to get their attention and swearing the Oath. This was the case of humans and other mortal races.

However, this boy had clearly invoked an Oath, Zatanna could feel the power of it lock in place around the boy, but had not sworn before a being of power. That generally meant one thing.

That he was a deity himself. However that was doubtful, as any deity in the situation they were in before would have simply knocked them aside like they were nothing in order to retrieve his 'mother'. Not to mention, as powerful as he was, and Zatanna couldn't help but be a little cautious on that, he still didn't have the power of a god.

It made things confusing, to say the least, for the two females.

Nonetheless, Diana knew that they were all relatively safe, an Oath, once made, was impossible to break to her knowledge. A flick of her wrist, and the woman was untied from her lasso.

The woman blurred, her speed immense, and between one blink and the next, had gone from lying in the dirt behind the members of the Justice League to standing beside the steel scaled boy, looking at them out of the corner of one of her eyes while scanning over the boy with the other.

"Harry," the woman said, concerned and worried, like a mother after a sick child, "you shouldn't be up. And what in the name of Hera have you-"

"**_I did what was necessary, Mother_**," the boy responded calmly, "**_they are not our enemies, not at the moment at least. They are just undoubtedly looking into the disturbance that I kicked off when I summoned you_**." His face turned to the watching quartet, "_**is there any place in particular that you would be willing to talk us? I am afraid that having a place to call 'home' is somewhat of a luxury to me at this point in time."**_

The League looked between themselves. They had just gotten confirmation, from the horse's mouth as it were, that they had found the instigator of the Magestorm. That it was a young boy was a shock and a half, especially considering the amount of power that Zatanna had said was used to create it. Furthermore, it was again confirmed that it was only a side effect to a ritual, a summoning, a summoning of the caster's own _mother_, if they were to be believed. A mother of clearly Amazonian birth and horrendously powerful. Something wasn't adding up.

But now they were willing to talk. Far be it from them to refuse such an offer, especially since the boy had been more than willing to kill them all, something which had Bruce, Wally, Zattana and Diana on edge, to free his mother until he had recognised Wonder Woman.

The whole situation was confusing. They needed a place where they could control how things went. There was only one real place that they could do that.

"The Watchtower," Batman grunted, eying the fussing woman as she looked at her son. A warrior turned worried mother, not that he could blame her considering the state the kid was in. If she was the boy's mother, his doubts over which were starting to fade as he watched the interactions between the two, and he was her summoner, it was little wonder that she had attacked first. No mother worth calling themselves that would let their child come to harm if they could prevent it.

The boy looked at the Dark Knight, who suppressed the urge step back slightly at the sight of those intimidating green eyes, a fire burning in their depths, "**_I am afraid that we would be unable to get there. Space flight is not something my mother or I are competent in._**" The voice, for all the steely texture it had, was dry and a little self-mocking. A slight twitch of a razor clad lip showed it was an attempt at humour by the boy.

It needed work.

"We'll handle the transportation," Bruce grunted again, lifting a hand to his ear, and suppressing the urge to groan in pain as his ribs protested loudly, "Watchtower. This is Batman."

"_Batman. This is the Watchtower,_" responded the current hero on monitor duty, Martian Manhunter, "_How can I help?"_

"Six to beam up." Batman said shortly, he wanted to get this done as fast as possible. He noticed the eyes of the boy had narrowed slightly, cocking his head to the side. Had he heard J'onn's voice? Something to think about, "also contact Superman and Green Lantern. We've managed to find the cause of the Magestorm."

"_Very well,_" J'onn's voice was calm as always, despite the information that he had received, "_messages are being sent now. Beam up in five seconds. Prepare for transport_."

"Brace yourselves," he warned the boy, Harry the woman had called him, "we're going to be teleported up to the Watchtower."

The woman clutched her son's scaled shoulder, Batman noticing that the flesh of her hand was uncut, holding her axe in her shield hand and her spears were now gathered in a large quiver-like bag on her armoured back and her helmet still on. She also looked ready to defend herself and her son at a moments notice.

The boy merely nodded, looking unconcerned.

"_Transporting now_." All the League members heard, before all the occupants of the clearing vanished.

* * *

Harry didn't grunt as he appeared in the alien environment he found himself in.

Metal coated the place everywhere. Loud clicking of computer keys and various beeps and other electronic sounds created a digital symphony in his razor clad ears. Lights flashed and computer screens, more complex than any he had ever seen or used, circled around the wall of the pit he found himself in like stars in the sky. Looking higher, above the lip of the pit, his burning green eyes could see the actual stars through a thick pane of glass.

_So this is the Watchtower of the Justice League_, he mused, eying the distinctive form of the Martian Manhunter as he floated down toward them, his mother grasping hard on his shoulder.

"**_Be at ease_**," he whispered to his slightly bewildered mother as soft as he was able with his current steely rasp of a voice, "_**consider this to be a meeting between warring kings before the battle has started. A time to discuss before swords are drawn. No harm will come to us here."**_

Couched in ways her more ancient mentality could understand, the values, beliefs and social interactions of modern times being very different from those of her first life, she quickly nodded, before frowning slightly, looking at him with a slight glare that made him stiffen slightly in apprehension, some almost unused and forgotten instinct placing him on the defensive.

The wonders of a mother's power over their children.

"We will be talking later about how and why you did this," she stated firmly, gripping his scaled shoulder firmly to emphasise her words.

Harry winced inwardly. He would not be looking forward to that conversation.

"Greetings," the Martian said to him and his mother, "if you will please follow us, we can sit down and discuss the course of events." He ended his words with a gesture toward the rest of the team that had had faced them.

Harry nodded and followed the Martian, his mother at his side and tense.

They were both quickly lead through the metal hallways, Harry's bare foot making gentle scraping noises against the floor and soft thumps as he used his spear as walking stick, to a meeting room, dominated by a large round table with a number of seats.

Two of which were already occupied as they entered.

Superman and the Green Lantern. Harry knew these two by sight, their exploits on Earth and beyond were well known and televised often, whether controversial or otherwise. Both of them looked serious at that moment, at least until they saw him, and then their eyes had widened, faint horror in Superman's. The Lantern seemed made of slightly sterner stuff, his green eyes flick over him, assessing. He knew that kind of look, that brief scan.

Harry wondered what service that the Lantern had served in.

"Please take a seat," the Martian intoned politely, moving toward his own, passing through the table intangibly in order to do so. This made the ever present hand of his mother's on his shoulder tense. He could understand why. Intangible foes were a pain in the ass to fight unless you had the right trick or gimmick up your sleeve. Energy attacks generally worked, like fire or lightning, even mental attacks were effective, though he wasn't stupid enough to do so against the Martian, his mental prowess was well documented and known. As long as you didn't target the physical, you could generally find a way to take them down.

It was still difficult though.

Harry slid easily into a seat, his back to a wall and with a clear path directly for the only exit. His other side, away from the door and shielding him from the League, was taken up by a slightly anxious mother, her blue eyes looking at the members of the League hard, wary of any treachery or attempts to hold them. A sensible precaution, in his opinion, but perhaps not necessary.

Heroes, or at least _Super_heroes, were generally an honourable bunch. He guessed it came with the territory.

They were arrayed out before he and his mother, a roughly three quarter circle that nearly engulfed them. Exactly opposite was their Amazon member, Wonder Woman, who was looking carefully at his mother, thinking deeply. Trying to remember something.

Harry was pretty sure he knew why. His mother's looks and the superheroine's own were strikingly similar. Too similar to be anything but related. Though the boy was at a loss as to how. Last he had known, his mother had accidentally killed her younger sister on a hunting trip and they had both lost their youngest sister, Antiope, thanks to Theseus and Heracles.

It was something to brood on. But not now.

"Thank you for coming," Superman said, Harry's ears noting the sincerity and yet unease in the voice. His outward appearance looks like it shook the Kryptonian up a bit. Good. "I believe some introductions are in order before we ask-"

"**_There is little need_**," Harry interrupted, holding up a hand in a gesture to stop, exposing a misshapen bulge below the skin of his palm. He noted the slight flinching of several of the assembled, those not familiar with or just couldn't quite handle his rasping voice and mangled appearance. "**_You are all well known enough to not need to introduce yourselves. As for us,_**" he gestured to his mother and himself, "**_we would like to keep our names to ourselves at present. You can call me Adamant._**" He looked to the side, raising an eyebrow of slivered steel to his mother.

"And I, Lancer." She said softly, calmly, even as she sat at ease with her weapons ready.

He noticed the slight frowns of disappointment on the faces of the Flash, who had a small bandage on his cut cheek, and Superman. Obviously they had hoped for a more co-operative answer or at least his real name. Fat chance. He liked his secrets kept just that.

And his mother's name would probably open a can of worms the size of Themyscira itself.

"Very well," Superman said in agreement. He was obviously their spokesman. The Man of Steel (a title that Harry thought ill described the man) then got down to business, "I take it you understand the reason we have encountered you both?" The question was more of a statement.

"**_Not precisely_**," he disagreed. It was true. He knew the most likely reason, but he didn't know the exact reason they had sought him out. He glanced over at his mother, smiling softly, an expression that, with his current form, was quite unnerving. Metal and flesh simply wasn't meant to blend that way. "**_All I know for certain is that my mother was protecting me for those who could have done me ill. I can take a guess as to why your comrades found themselves at my doorstep, certainly, but I would prefer to hear it 'from the horse's mouth' as it were."_**

He noticed the Green Lantern tense, scorn and anger in his visage. He wasn't anything above a Lieutenant then. If the man was willing to show his anger like that, then he wasn't used to playing the politics that the upper echelon of militaries the world over had to contend with daily. He was betting on Sergeant. He had that hard-nosed and meticulous vibe.

"Don't play coy," the Lantern growled. Definitely Sergeant then.

"**_I rarely play, Lantern,_**" Harry responded back, his voice deliberately calm. Letting them get to his temper would do little for him at the moment. "**_Playing is for children. Something that, despite my apparent age, I am not."_**

"We encountered you after following a trail of magic," the magician, a well put together one if Harry was honest, said, cutting in over the Kryptonian and the Lantern, tapping her long and freshly manicured nail on the metal table top, "a trail of magic from a place in Turkey. Which was hit by a storm of supernatural proportions and strength." Her eyes focused on his own burning green, not looking away. As a practitioner of magic, and not one of those insipid wizards, she had probably seen worse things than what he currently looked like. Hell, had probably _wrought_ worse. Real magic was rarely for the faint of heart.

**_"...Are you asking if I played a part in it's creation?"_**

"No," the beautiful mage shook her head, her eyes never leaving his, "I am saying that we _know_ that you played a part. Your aura is too similar to the traces I was able to sense to be anything but the caster. What we really want to know is why and what spell, a summoning spell no less, you used that caused a massive world wide panic amongst the mystics and created a superstorm as a _mere side effect?_"

Her raised voice at the end showed those that knew her that she was being serious. Reading between the lines, Harry had a feeling that she was more than a little unsettled. If she truly had scanned the location he had performed the ritual, she probably knew how much heat he was packing.

And how outclassed she would be if it came down to a mystical brawl. In the power stakes anyway.

"That is none of thou concern," his mother spoke up, glaring at the, in her mind, impudent girl that had dared to raise their voice to her son, "the storm may have scared a few fools, but there was little damage done, and no deaths as far as I am aware. What care have you that we have done this?"

"Little damage may be an exaggeration," the cool and logical voice of the Martian spoke up, making Harry relax slightly. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that the Martian would be unmoved by emotion or bias, despite his friendship with those here. Logical was pretty much his middle name if the reports were correct about this being from the planet Mars. "A great deal of land within the envelope of the storm was heavily hit, and the majority of electrical devices within the closest cities have ceased functioning, something that is of grave concern considering that dependence we have on such things. Restoration and replacement will take sometime, considering the amount of those affected."

His mother snorted, "Mere trivialities. A little hard work has never killed anyone. Lazy men."

Harry's lips twitched slightly at the last statement. Although she had voluntarily exiled herself, abdicating her claim to the throne from which she had ruled long and justly, despite her shame at harming and killing her precious sister, she was still an Amazon at heart. And they had few good things to say about the male gender.

Thankfully, as her son, he was mostly exempt from such harsh views. Mostly. Unless he did something monumentally stupid.

Leaping in front of a veritable wall of flying weapons being one such act. Damned Archer and his damned Gate.

Still, now wasn't the time to indulge in his satisfaction of being a general blind spot in his mother's view of the world. Serious matters were at hand, and the company he was keeping weren't best pleased, judging by a few flushes.

"**_The spell, or rather ritual, I used was a one off,_**" he began to explain. Best to be relatively up front. "**_It was only with aid of another, of a higher being, that I was able to pull it off. My own brand of magecraft does not lean at all heavily to summoning...let alone resurrection."_**

That got their attention real quick, especially from magic user of the bunch.

Resurrection wasn't the most common event around...even if the higher-tiered heroes and villains strangely seemed to run across it at one point in their careers.

"Resurrection?" inquired Superman in slight disbelief. Harry noticed that his eyes drifted from his mother and to Wonder Woman several times with a visible frown. Guess the Man of Steel wasn't just all muscle if he was able to notice the similarities between the two Amazons.

"**_My mother had departed this world of life the day I was born,_**" he said, looking down. The might-have-beens chased his thoughts for a moment, the what-ifs burdened his mind. Judging by the sad expression on her own face, his mother was on the same train of thought. "**_It was only through luck that a young British couple were passing by when my mother lay dying after giving birth to me and took me in at my mother's last request._**" His eyes stopped flaring with power, becoming comforting emerald embers that warmed the soul. His earliest memory was of the Potters, horrible as it was, and he thanked them daily for their willingness to take him in, to treat him as their own. They were good people, until Voldemort stole their lives and future from them.

There will be a reckoning in regards to that case of affairs, this he swore to the very depths of his heart. It was the least he could do for all that the Potters had done for him.

"**_They were murdered about fifteen months later._**" He said with a derisive snort, aimed at the Fates.

"...How?" Zatanna asked, softly, intently, "how were you able to bring your mother back? Wait, scratch that," the magician looked ready to pull her hair out, trying to understand the sequence of events, "_What_ the hell is your mother? She sure as hell isn't human."

"I am as much a human as the young Amazon is," his mother retorted, slightly angered at the implication of the magic user. 'Not human', indeed.

That statement seemed to settle a few of them. The features were obvious. But the Amazon in question, on the other hand...

"Who are you?" Wonder Woman asked intently, "you look like me, you fight like an Amazon, you recognised the armour I don. You know things only an Amazon would. Yet, I do not know you. I have never seen you, nor know your name. Also no Amazon has given birth for close to a century, let alone to a male child, and none have been killed or slain for at least three times that long."

"...That involves a long tale, child," his mother answered, tired and sorrowful. He wanted nothing more than to glare at the heroine for making his mother relive the horrid memories of long ago, "and not something I am willing to part with at this moment. Suffice to say that I was an Amazon and I have born a son. Anything else I won't say unless I need to."

**_" I believe we have drifted away from the purpose of this meeting_**," Harry interrupted, seeing the dissatisfaction in the eyes and demeanour of the League's strongest woman.

"Indeed," the low rumble of the Batman rolled out, "this is about obtaining information, the reasons you have caused a worldwide disturbance...and why we shouldn't punish you for it."

Harry raised a steely eyebrow at the Dark Knight. Well, that certainly upped the stakes a bit. He could feel his mother tense, ready to leap to her feet to protect them both. He gently reached out, patting the hand that clenched to his misshapen steely shoulder comfortingly, or at least as well as hand made of razor blades could. He was under Oath, they should both be safe as long as they didn't attempt to attack the mother and son duo.

"**_Property was destroyed and damaged, most of which can be fixed easily enough with time,_**" he said easily, pointing out the facts as he knew them, "**_I have yet to hear of any damage to life or limb."_**

"Thankfully," Superman said calmly, "there were no injuries or deaths thanks to the storm...though the mystical community is in an uproar."

Harry snorted derisively, clenching the spear at his side. "**_I care little for the insipid wand wavers that hide in the cracks of humanity while preaching their superiority. Perhaps this little incident will shake them out of their hide-bound squalor and arrogance._**"

He ignored the slightly confused looks on all but the sorceress, who looked she wanted to agree. It seemed that the Justice League had yet to encounter the idiots that plagued the Ministry of Magic in whatever country. How good for them.

Harry had few good memories about the Wizarding World. From what he knew, they were an offshoot of Homo Magi, ones whose power over the forces arcane were not as advanced or as powerful as the main branch. He wasn't sure of the exact differences, but he knew that the fact that they had to use foci of some description, generally a wand but other things such as a staff, a ring, a sutra or other things had been used, in order to perform their magic, save for a few inborn abilities, like Apparition and such.

Wizarding children, at a young age, are able to perform accidental magic because their magical core, the center of their power, was still chaotic, surging and tossing like a stormy ocean. It was the reason why Wizarding culture didn't start practical magic schooling until the ages of ten or eleven, a time just before puberty truly started to set in for most children and when the core started to calm.

Despite these gifts, it didn't stop them from being the most infantile, idiotic, stupid and bigoted slice of humanity that he had ever encountered in his short life so far.

Whatever the case, whatever the reason, it still didn't mean that the entire society wasn't a flock of sheep with nary a brain cell between them.

Hogwarts really had been a waste of time.

"Yeesh," Flash said with a flinch, startled at the vitriol and venom in the voice of grating steel, "don't spare the horses, tell us what you really think."

Harry chuckled grimly, "**_Do you have a lifetime to spare? I could list the faults of those fools for at least that long. Likely longer."_**

"This still doesn't answer the questions we all have," the Green Lantern growled out, ignoring the questioning looks at the steel clad boy, "you almost caused a catastrophe, a country wide disaster."

"**And I would do it again in a heartbeat if it was necessary," **Harry responded shortly**, "the only reason I had for performing the ritual...was to have my mother released from that which bound her after her death, so she could be beside me again."**

He could see the confusion in the eyes of them. Understandable. If he hadn't lived through what he did, his words would have made little sense, often contradicting themselves.

He sighed heavily, looking down, "**_To answer one of the mage's questions, the ritual I used was not one I knew, nor do I have the knowledge of it any longer or the power or the ability to pull it off again. I obtained it through a Bargain._**"

He heard the sorceress choke slightly. It wasn't often that you heard the term nowadays.

"A Bargain?" He heard Wonder Woman say in question.

"A deal with a higher power," Zatanna explained, her voice strained in shock, "but it is more than that. The deals you see in villains and others are made out of implied integrity, strange as it may seem, with nothing but the involved parties' own decisions keeping them. A Bargain is an old form, connecting both of the involved parties to the power cosmic. You can back out of a deal, betray your word. But a Bargain is binding and cannot be escaped from. Each party must follow up on what was agreed on, the power cosmic will force the parties involved to fulfil their side so long as it is within their power, even if they don't want to. Even if you were to kill yourself to escape it, the power cosmic would make your corpse move to carry out your side and a God's powers would twist on themselves to make sure the deity carried out their is how powerful it is. They were designed to be a way for mortals to ensure that higher beings wouldn't simply cheat them out of their due." He could feel those frightened eyes, those shocked eyes, turn to him. "Who did you Bargain with?"

Green eyes became flame again. "**_Death_**."

"...you, a kid, albeit a powerful one," Zatanna began to slowly expand, as if holding her mind together by sheer will in the face of this revelation, "was able to Bargain..._with one of the Endless themselves?! Are you insane?!_" Her disbelieving screech had many in the room holding their ears in pain.

"Ow," moaned Flash, "watch the volume, Z!"

"**_Teleute was the only being powerful enough to do what I needed to happen_**," the boy explained, his muscles tensing beneath the shriek of the mage, "**_as the force of Death, she has complete and absolute Authority over the souls of those passed on, trumping any other God of death or any other afterlife. It made what I wanted a guarantee, as long as I kept my side."_**

"Great Hera," Wonder Woman said, looking shocked to the core. He didn't blame her. Meeting the Endless was not something one could shrug off easily.

"And what was your side of the Bargain?" Growled the Batman suspiciously, taking over the questioning as Zatanna looked like she was in lala-land, "what did you have to do?"

Harry looked at the Dark Knight, his eyes burning, "**_There were some...artefacts...that belonged to Death, ones that she was unable to collect herself. I merely retrieved said items and gave them back to her in return for the aid to perform the ritual and my mother's soul."_**

"What artefacts?" Green Lantern jumped in, harsh and severe.

_**"It doesn't matter, they no longer exist in the form they were previously. They have been returned to Death, their owner and rightful Master, as they should have been long ago.**_" That was all that Harry was willing say in regards to the Hallows. He didn't want the information about the Hallows origin, or even existence, leaking out and some unscrupulous bastard with more power than morality to pull off something similar. He had a feeling Teleute wouldn't like that one bit.

He knew he wouldn't.

He sighed heavily, leaning his head against the large spear he held. This was getting nowhere. "**_Look_**," he said bluntly to the serious and troubled looks around him, "**_the Magestorm, as you have called it, was a one off thing. It won't happen again. You have said that there were no injuries to anyone, just some broken electronics that need replacing. I fail to see what you need from us. We would have simply kept travelling, living our lives together, had you lot not taken it into your head to search for us. I am tired and exhausted from the magic use and just want to lay down and sleep for a year. We don't want any more trouble."_**

"We understand that," Superman said quietly, "and I sympathise, Adamant, but you have to understand, the Turkish Government is very volatile at the moment, and want the culprit to be brought before them to answer for the damage, damage that will be quite expensive to fix. Also, Doctor Fate has been quite anxious to find you. Your ritual apparently had a few consequences amongst the mystics. One of which is that a number of the more unscrupulous practitioners are now looking into the situation. Their desires aren't known to us, but I am positive that it wouldn't be to your or Lancer's benefit."

Harry wanted to scream but settled himself for clutching the spear tightly, steel grating on steel splitting the air in his frustration. He didn't want to deal with this! He just wanted to go home! To dwell in his mother's embrace without needing to worry about someone putting a pigsticker through their backs like during the War. And now, just after he had felt his mother's embrace once more, he had look out for government flunkies and mystic hitmen looking for him.

Why couldn't the world be simple?

He barked a harsh laugh, a grim chuckle that held no humour, rasping and horrible, "**_Is it not irony, Mother?_**" he said softly, rueful and tired, so tired, "**_my sire, vile as he was, had a choice on what to make of his wretched life. The bright burning flame of war, fame and death or the soft lingering warmth of hearth, home and family. The Hate-skinned piece of offal chose the first, his selfish pride before all else, even after having lived with the gentle caress of the latter. Whereas I, who wants the latter, having no memories of such experiences, have the Fates seemingly determined to grant me the former. Truly do the Gods love their jests."_**

He felt more than saw the incline of his mother's head in agreement.

"Hate-skinned?" He heard Wonder Woman say in question, as if remembering something. He froze and felt his mother do so as well. He cursed himself in his head. He should never have used that term, that epithet, for his wretched sire. It was a little known title for him, never used outside of a few places in Greece. Unfortunately, it was also a title that only belonged to him, at least until Harry had been born.

Fuck. There goes any chance at anonymity. He didn't even think to hope that the Princess of the Amazons wouldn't know it. A Princess always had a good education and he had no doubt that the current Queen, whoever she was, had ensured that it had been as best as it could be.

He could only wait and hear as his chance to not be identified, for his mother's true nature to not be unveiled, come apart at the seams.

"Something wrong, Wonder Woman?" He faintly heard the monotone of the Martian ask.

"That term reminded me of something," she answered absently, "something my mother said long ago about her sister."

Harry's mind froze again. He faintly heard the shocked choking sound of his mother.

'_Something my mother said long ago about her sister_.' Those words echoed in his mind like thunder.

Impossible. He must be reading too much into the statement. He Saw the strike that had felled his aunt in his dreams. Blonde hair matted red with blood and viscera as she lay on the ground, his mother's keen of despair and resulting panicked flight as she lost the last of her family that had meaning to her, staining her own her hands with her beloved and last sister's blood. Her mind filled with screeching of the Furies. _Kinslayer. Murderess. Betrayer. Filth_. The endless battles she threw herself into when she left the island, seeking death the only way she knew how, too weak to fall upon her own sword.

Had it all been a product of her own mind? Was her family still in existence? Did her sister still live? He clenched the spear tightly, his grip warping it and creating a soft subvocal grating that raised the hackles of anyone who sensed more than heard it.

"What did Queen Hippolyta say?"

**Crash!**

Those damning words. That confirmation from a curious Green Lantern, was the nail in the coffin of his control. He hardly remembered leaping to his feet, his hands slamming down on the tabletop, his burning eyes now infernos, wild and savage.

He felt his mother slump in her chair, looking into mid-air, remembering, oblivious to her surroundings. The acrid stench of regret and sorrow and the slightest bit of hope filling his steely nostrils.

He ignored battle ready looks of all the other heroes, they were unimportant, and focused on the Amazon, scanning her face, mentally trading her black hair for blonde as he spoke.

"**_Your mother is Hippolyta?_**" He asked urgently. By the Gods, she was the spitting image of his aunt if he made her hair blonde. His mother always told him that her sisters and her were closer to triplets than anything due to their looks. His body of steel grated and groaned, bulges stretching unseemly beneath the metal scales, a blood stained spear point emerging, peeking through the scales, from where his heart would rest as his agitation grew. "**_Daughter of Otrera and Ares, sister to Antiope and Penthesilea?"_**

He needed confirmation. He needed to be absolutely sure. He grasped his mother's shoulder, bracing her. If the answer was as he feared/expected/hoped/dreamed...then a whole new ball game was opening up.

"Yes, she is," the Amazon responded carefully, looking at his hungry face as if he were rabid and on the edge of madness. It wasn't far from accurate. "What of it? It is hardly news of consequence."

"'**_Hardly news of consequence'?_**," he said disbelievingly. Was the woman blind? Was she truly that ignorant? Was she truly that foolish as to not put the pieces together? The Amazon nation must have fallen far form it's standards when his mother was Queen if this was the power and wit of their chosen champion, of their princess.

Then again, he was looking at it from his perspective. She didn't have all the clues he did. Still, she could be a little sharper.

"It is common knowledge and hardly secret," Wonder Woman explained, her admittedly beautiful face frowning at him, "why are you so shocked?"

"Because of me," he heard his mother interrupt, stopping him from talking. Her blue eyes streamed with tears, joy, regret and sorrow filling those watery orbs that expressed such long held emotion. She looked at what they now knew to be her niece with greedy eyes, drinking in her features like a thirsty man in a desert.

"You look so much like her," his mother said softly, making him ease up on the table. "Despite the lack of golden hair, your features are striking similar to hers when she was younger. Fiery and passionate," she laughed softly, chokingly, "Oh, how her temper got her into trouble when she was younger," she smiled at the bewildered look on Wonder Woman's face, "you seem have her temper as well, though you seem to have a more forgiving heart and desire for peace. Hippolyta was always the more combative amongst her sisters," her smile withered, dying, as profound sorrow and self-disgust crossed her features, dark and ugly, "I had thought that bright fire and passion lost when she was pierced by a hunting spear."

The bewilderment grew on the face of the Amazonian superhero, even as her mind began to connect the dots, pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

"Wonder Woman?" Superman asked in concern as he saw his colleagues eyes widen, looking like they were the size of dinner plates.

"Impossible," the Champion of Themyscira whispered, her eyes looking into the mirror of her own, realisation of who the older Amazon was hitting her like Zeus' own bolt, "y-you died. Millennia ago."

"Not exactly true," his mother sighed heavily, eyes still streaming tears. Harry slowly began to lower himself back into his seat. There was no going back now, no way to hold back. The revelation that Hippolyta was still alive, by some miracle, changed everything completely.

"When I fell on that battlefield," the Regretful Queen stated, her face blank, her heart cold, as she remembered that horrible event, and the ones before. Harry hated that expression on her face and the one that was responsible for it. By the same coin, he also despised himself, a living reminder on his mother's past pain and agony, despite the fact that he knew that she loved him dearly. His features were too close to his sire's for him to be comfortable. "My body was cast into the river after the Hate-skinned brute was done with my corpse. It floated down the river before floating into a small hollow on the water line and the bank fell upon me, burying me beneath the Earth." His mother looked at Wonder Woman with empty eyes, suppressing her emotions, "as you well know, Amazons can draw upon the power of the Earth when needed, allowing us to rest and heal from wounds that would otherwise kill us. I was near death, more dead than alive, when Mother Earth fell around me. Under normal circumstances, it normally would have taken some time to heal. But my soul was sick, suffering at the actions I had thought I had done, the death I had caused, not willing to return to life."

"Whoa whoa," the Flash interrupted, waving both hands wildly, "hold the phone a bit. You lost most us when Wonder Woman mentioned millennia. I don't suppose you can enlighten us a little?"

Wonder Woman looked at them both, questions in her eyes. He glanced at his mother, the same ones in his own. His mother looked frozen, anxious and indecisive, fiddling the hem of her the tunic under her armour. He could understand her reluctance, despite the now obvious need for the full truth to come out. Her name was well recorded, as were her actions, shameful and glorious both.

For someone who wanted to never look into the past again, ashamed of what she had done, being forced to turn her head into the past, let alone speaking to others of it, was beyond difficult.

Nonetheless, Penethesilea, his mother and, more to the point, an Amazon Warrior, was not a cowardly soul. Especially when her actions now seemed to be lesser than was supposed.

Her quiet nod of agreement, of assent, was a foregone conclusion before she even moved her head.

Harry sighed heavily, "**_If I may, Princess_**?" He asked the League affiliated Amazon and getting a small identical nod to his mother's. Blood runs true. He turned to the rest, noting that the Dark Knight himself seemed to have come to a realisation of his own. Quite intelligent that one.

"**_Let me restart the introduction_**s." He coughed slightly, his breath grating, before gesturing to his mother, "_**May I present to you, a former resident of the Throne of Heroes and now fully incarnated living being**_," he smirked slightly at the sudden coughing fit from the sorceress. That part was always going to get a shock from any half-knowledgable and competent magic user, wizards excepted of course, "**_the Repentant Queen, former ruler of Themyscira and the Amazons, daughter of Otrera and Ares, oldest sister to Hippolyta and Antiope, participant in the Trojan War and, most importantly, my mother, Penethesilea."_**

Without fail, all of them except Wonder Woman stared at the one they now knew to be they had even thought.

"**_And I am her son, Hareios Adamastos._**" He smiled crookedly, bearing teeth that gleamed like steel, still having not released the mangled metallic form he took and would not until he and his mother were safe in their own home or, at least, alone.

He would keep the name he had lived under after he was born close to his chest. To him, it wasn't important, nor was it necessary for them to know about it.

Whilst they were so shocked, his mother went on with her tale.

"As I said, I was beneath the earth, unwilling to let myself revive and heal, not thinking I deserved it because I had thought I had killed my sister, your mother," she indicated to a transfixed Wonder Woman, "I just wanted to die." She sighed gustily, a strange expression of happiness and hate crossing her features, "but my body knew something that my mind did not, something that made it instinctively hold on to life, pushed itself to heal."

"And that was?" Asked the Martian, looking the least affected by the revelations that had come forth.

Her eyes looked down, as did Harry's own. "Before my corpse was cast into the river Scamander, as it was known then, my killer had his...fun with my body. Slaking his own depraved lusts."

Vicious hatred flashed across Harry's face, unseen by the others who exclaimed their disgust once they deciphered what exactly Penethesilea meant. He despised that brutish beast more than any other. It had felt good, back in the War, to plant a spear into him, just as he had done my mother. To feel his wretched fire of life fail and falter as his blood fell down the shaft and across his roughened hands.

It made it all the more ironic that it was the Hate-skinned bastard's own spear that had taken the supposed 'hero's' life. Damned bastard deserved it.

"And because of that, because of the consequences of that action, my body fought to revive, even if it took thousands of years to do so," she turned her head to look at him, a soft smile on her face, "But for all my hate at the world and myself for what happened...I would willingly go through it again, if it meant my son was in my life."

Those words shook him, as they had years before.

Born out of hatred and madness, a beast slaking his lust on a proud warrioress true, to hear his own mother say that she would be willing to bear that stain, to carry that burden again, if it meant that he lived, that he was born...

"I was in Limbo during that time," his mother went on, "an endless darkness through which I was barely aware of the passing of time. But, gradually, I became aware of the existence of my son, growing in womb. It made me pause in my self-destructive and suicidal desires. I had thrown myself into battles, hopeless wars, seeking my death by another's blade, as atonement for what I had thought at the time was my slaying of my only sister left in the world, only to emerge alive at the end of it all, victorious and empty." She smiled again, "but the existence of my son, the belief that I still had family to hold on to, gave me the impetus needed to pull myself together, the drive to live again."

She frowned slightly, bitter. He closed his eyes, knowing what she would say. Something that made him despise himself even more, but that she would never blame on him.

"But it was too late. My former will to die kept my healing slow and further prioritised the life of my son over my own health. It healed me, but only just, enough to keep me existing, strong enough to provide the nutrients and other things for my son in my womb. In the end, it took over three thousand years for me to bring my son to term, healthy and strong, a warrior from the cradle. I burst from the earth, life truly flowing into my limbs for the first time in so long, gravid and in labour. My screams and yells split the air as my son was being born, ready to draw his first breath on his own. Those sounds attracted a nearby couple, ones who helped me through the birth and who I honour with everything I am for what they did. Eventually, my son was born, his wails powerful and strong, and I began to fade from life, my purpose complete," sorrow crossed her face, one shared by Harry as well. "I had only time enough to beg that the couple take my son in, to raise him as their own, and give my son a name. Hareios Adamastos. The Warrior Untamable. A title I have since learned that he has lived up to.

Then the Earth called me home, and I took my place in the Throne."

The room was silent, digesting the information they had been given.

"That," Superman said carefully, hesitantly, "is quite the tale. Almost unbelievable in fact."

"**_Truth_**," Harry growled lowly, angered at the implications of what the Kryptonian had said, "i**_s often stranger than fiction_**."

"Ain't that the truth," the Green Lantern muttered, looking like he was recovering from the bombardment of knowledge he had received.

"The Throne," the woman known as Zatanna croaked in a whisper, pale as winter. It seemed that the Green Lantern had recovered too soon. Wide eyes looked at the armoured former Queen in shock, "the Throne of Heroes. You were there?"

"Throne of Heroes?" Asked the Flash, looking intrigued.

"**_Essentially the afterlife for Heroes of old_**," Harry explained, simplifying it as much as he could, "**_though it is more than that. When a being reaches such fame or infamy, as their deeds were told in story and song, becoming examples for which those that came after pattern themselves, they are called there. Removed from the cycle of reincarnation, they become Heroic Spirits, spirits empowered by the belief that humanity has in them, protecting it, becoming pseudo-Divine entities. Jason of the Argo, Alexander the Great, Merlin, King Arthur, Beowulf, Vlad the Impaler, Medusa and many others dwell there. It resides outside of time and space, everywhere and every when at the same moment. It is because of this that I sought out Death, no other being except her had the power to touch that realm and the ability to resurrect my mother."_**

"I was," Penethesilea nodded, answering Zatanna, "but no longer. Technically, I am just an extremely powerful Amazon, just like I was before I passed, with a few extra tricks I retained from my existence as a Heroic Spirit."

"Amazing as this is," interrupted the Dark Knight, "it doesn't solve the problem. We may have a guarantee that the ritual you used is unable to be used again and that you are willing to co-operate with us in regards to the darker aspect of the mystic population, but the Turkish government is still going to be raising a hue and cry to find you. And find you they will, given time. They aren't foolish and I have no doubt that they have assets to deploy to find you."

Harry thought for a moment, understanding where the Gothamite was coming from. An idea came to him, a simple one, but he had no doubt it would open yet another can of worms. Still, if it made the Turks get off his back and the main parts of the plan stayed with those within the room, then it may be possible to pull it off.

"**_Gold is said to smooth all paths_**," he said slowly, carefully, his mind reaching deep into his soul, looking for something, **_"if I were to, say, pay for the majority of the damage that was caused, would that get them off my back?_**"

They all looked at each other, puzzled and slightly troubled, as if the solution hadn't even occured to them. Understandable. Given the amount of damage they implied, the amount would be beyond the vast majority of people. Luthorcorp, Wayne Enterprises and a few others being notable exceptions.

"We would have to talk with the Turkish government," Superman said slowly, "but I think it may be possible, though I think you both would be declared _persona non grat_a still."

"**_That's fine,_**" Harry said with a shrug, "**_I only went there for one reason. With that task fulfilled, I have no reason to go back, or even want to."_**

"I have little desire to go to the country that houses my former grave either," his mother said with a shrug.

"Then it should more than possible," Superman said with a nod, before frowning, "though I hesitate to ask how you plan to pay for the damages. It is no small amount, running into the hundreds of millions."

"**_Money is no real object to me,_**" Harry smiled, finding the ruby glint that was stored within his body and soul and mentally grasped it, pulling it to the surface, into the real world, "**_not when I can just make more."_**

Ruby light filled his outstretched hand, dancing off his scaled appendages like a disco ball and dazzling those who watched it. Abruptly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving him holding the object that would solve at least some of his problems.

It looked like a rough hewn stone, battered and scratched. Faint light from the rooms monitors and other lighting bounced off it's crimson crystalline surface, making it appear that a fire dwelled within it. It wasn't much to look at, but the gasp of shock from the sorceress showed that she knew what it was.

"Umm," said a confused Flash, "I hate to say it, Adamant, but I don't think that that little rock is going to do much. It may be worth a few bucks. At a flea market. But I don't think it will even scratch the surface of your 'debt'."

"**_Oh I think it will do more than that,"_** he smirked.

"A Philosopher's Stone," whispered the mage, making Batman and Wonder Woman startle, "a legendary substance, the highest form of Alchemy, known to be able to transmute base metals into gold and create the Elixir of Immortality."

"**_Close_**," he corrected, "**_this particular one only has the ability to transmute one metal into another, an inferior one compared to the other I have seen, but no less useful. Get me a few slabs of steel or iron and I will make a Fort Knox's worth of gold a minute later." _**He frowned slightly, steel scales on his lips bristling, "**_it does take a fair bit of magical power to do so though, so I rarely use it. Not that I need it anyway with the vault of cash I was bequeathed by my adopted parents. Still, I don't want to use the gold that would belong to whatever generation comes after me to fix what mistakes I, myself, have made."_**

"How on earth did you get a hold of even one like that?" Zatanna asked, greatly shocked, "the only person I know who has one these days is..."

"**_Nicholas Flamel,_**" Harry interrupted, **_"I did he and his wife, Perenelle, a favour a couple of years back. This was their reward._**" He smiled at Superman, "**_do you think the Turks would accept gold bullion? Or would they prefer cash?"_**

He chuckled inwardly at the expression on the earth-raised alien's face.

* * *

Penethesilea breathed a sigh of relief as this gathering of modern Heroes finally broke up, everything arranged.

She and her son had eventually, after much discussion, agreed to stay on the Watchtower, at request of the League, until Doctor Fate was able to arrive to meet them, just to ensure that they knew the consequences of her son's actions amongst the mystical part of the world, and the League was able to communicate with the Turkish government to see about the acceptance of her son's deal.

She was rather proud of her son. He wasn't just a brute like his sire, he knew when and how to pick his battles, was willing to discuss and solve problems without violence. At the same time, he was willing to tear heaven apart to protect those he called friend and family, which originally had only been herself. Now though, she thought Themyscira, or failing that Wonder Woman, had a protector like no other. She prayed to the gods that her son could meet his aunt in peace rather than crossing blades because of his gender...and his parentage.

"**_Are you alright, mother?"_** Her son asked gently, his burning eyes looking up at her with concern. Such a sweet child. He deserved better than what he had been forced to live through before he had met her.

"I'm fine," she responded, just as gently, rubbing her hand over his relatively normal shoulder, one that didn't have a weapon sticking out of it. Her eyes narrowed, she would have to talk to her child about this macabre spectacle that now adorned him. But that was for later, in private.

Light steps touched both of their ears, making them turn to see a rather conflicted and confused looking Wonder Woman. Her niece apparently.

It had been a shock when she had first seen the woman in that clearing near the cave. The face startling like her own, like a mirror. The body showed that she clearly had Amazon training from the way her muscles were grouped and the way she moved. The Raiment she wore was icing on the cake, to quote a Man's expression. She was taken back to the day that her sister Hippolyta had worn the Raiment. Change the colouring of the skin and hair and the hero would have been the spitting image of her.

To find out later that this woman was her niece, that her sister still lived, was a shock beyond anything else.

"Sister," she said in a formal greeting to the League affiliated Amazon, a traditional one between Amazons, related or not.

"Sister," the hero replied back, a gentle smile on her younger face, "despite the circumstances under which we first met, it is an honour meet you and see you among the living."

"And it is an honour to met you as well," she smiled back sincerely, "you showed a great deal of skill in our struggle. Your mother has taught you well."

"Yes," the younger one smiled softly, "she did." Her eyes the looked dead into her own, a determined fire burning in them. "I also have no doubt that she would love to see you once more. I remember her telling stories of your adventures with pride," her eyes darkened, "and with wrath when she spoke of your fall at Troy."

The elder Amazon shifted uncomfortably. Intellectually, she now knew that her sister had survived, had not died by her poorly thrown spear. In her heart though, she still felt the crushing guilt, so etching she didn't think would go away until she saw her in person, spoke to her and held her in her embrace.

But she knew that time would a while in the future, especially with the complicated case of her son.

"That would be true," she nodded in agreement, "but..." She trailed off looking at her quiet son, who's eyes never left them.

"I will speak to my mother," Wonder Woman assured gently, "I will tell her the tale and see what her answer will be. I expect she will want to meet you either here or at Metro Tower first before she passes judgement."

Penethesilea nodded in understanding. Her sister was now Queen and, as such, had to keep to certain guidelines, ones set down by the Gods themselves, even if she wanted to do otherwise. A man stepping foot on Themyscira would be a big controversy, even if he was, somehow, the child of an Amazon.

"You will need evidence of this situation," she said idly, her mind drifting back into the Queen mode she once had when she ruled the Amazons, looking at the problem from all sides. A thought struck her. Her sister knew her well and, more importantly, knew her weapons.

"Here," Penethesilea said, offering the hilt of her labrys to her niece, making her son breathe sharply. "This should suffice as evidence."

Wonder Woman looked at the weapon, one with a simple beauty, with respect, taking it gently, but firmly, and attaching it to her girdle. "My thanks." She murmured with a slight nod her eyes full of respect. She obviously knew what it meant for the old Queen to give up her arms, especially this particular one, if she had heard the stories.

"Just speak to my sister," she advised the younger, and powerful, Amazon.

"I will," Wonder Woman nodded before starting to move off.

"_**Wait**_," her son said, making the superhero halt, looking at him in question, " **_I have to ask, what is you name?"_**

The younger Amazon smiled at the boy, "I am Diana, cousin, Princess of Themyscira."

* * *

In high Olympus, a god brooded, looking down upon the earth.

"What is this feeling?" He rumbled to himself, "it is so familiar, like I should know it."

He scowled heavily, the viewing portal he used moving at his will. New York flickered into Beijing before turning into Moscow as he tried to seek this power he had felt.

The power was old and yet new. Powerful and yet mortal. Divine and yet of no god he was familiar with. It was perplexing and it was pissing him off that he couldn't seem to locate the source of it.

He frowned slightly harder. The power had been felt before, recently as well, less than half a decade ago. He had been preoccupied with other matters, other wars, however, and didn't look into until about a month later, only to find nothing.

But that time had been a mere ember compared to the raging inferno it was now.

He growled heavily and deeply, a beast wanting blood, as the portal swept by Tibet and jumped to Peru and danced across to Australia.

And that inferno burned bright and powerful. It stirred something in him, something more than his lust for blood and slaughter. It stirred a sense of duty and protectiveness, of pride and sorrow. While that inferno touched him, he no longer felt like a ravaging beast, a dog that lived for the hunt and flowing blood to cross it's fangs as they sunk deep into the jugular. Instead he felt like a defender, a watchman on the wall, an old soldier sitting at the hearth watching the door and ready to fight any threat to those within the home that crossed the threshold.

He didn't like it. It made him feel weird, question his desires for violence.

He scowled became puzzled as the portal halted, showing a scene of river bank, one that he knew well in ancient days. He noticed the massive hole that had since filled with water, the devastation of the surrounding area from lightning and fire and wind and rain.

The Plains of the Scamander had known battle again, even if the warriors were only earth and water facing wind and thunder.

He felt the faint shard of power, a lingering trace of what had been there.

He smiled grimly. He would find the one who caused these feelings, that was assured, now that he had their trail.

And they would pay dearly for toying with his mind and heart.

This he swore.

* * *

So how did you like the chapter? I know it was a bit long-winded and the talks with the League were a bit round about, but I needed to get them to talk with the League at least. Also, you will notice that I have avoided Harry mentioning the name he normally goes by and an explanation of the Grail War. This is deliberate and will play a part in the future. Also, you will notice that Harry isn't really a 'hero' by League standards, but instead by older standards. He would have had no problem tearing the investigation team apart if he needed to. He's a bit like HF route Shirou for Fate/Stay Night that way, even if Harry is a bit darker. Family first and the rest can burn for all he cares.

You will also notice that Harry's magic is very different from what you would normally see in HP canon and JLU verse and his mother's worries for him. I won't full give away what his abilities are just yet, but you will see his abilities when he throws down with a relative of his on his mother's side, all because of misunderstanding.

The next chapter will see a rather shocked current Queen and a few mystics sticking their noses where it doesn't belong.

Please leave a review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Adamant**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Justice League.**

**Chapter 3**

Wonder Woman gently landed on the shores of Paradise, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the sweet air of the island. Familiar scents tickled her nose and welcomed sounds resounded in her ears as she enjoyed the moment.

It had been a long time, too long if she was honest with herself, since she had been Home.

Oh, don't get her wrong, she didn't mind the Man's world, and all the wonders within it, but often the darkness and depravity she saw within that world was stomach turning, a layer of filth floating atop the golden souls of the rest of humanity, more prominent and easily seen than the small kindnesses, done often without thought and taken for granted, that were performed.

It made for a startling contrast and was rather confronting at first for some who was raised in Paradise.

On the Island, the roles of 'good' and 'evil' were clearly defined. The Amazons, her people, were the custodians of the peaceful land, granted residence by the powerful Goddesses that they worshipped, escaping the evil and taint of the Man's world, and were too keep it untainted from the hands of Men.

They were Good.

On the other side, a gate to Tartarus, the residence of Hades and his demonic minions, also resided on the island, which her mother, Hippolyta, and by extension the rest of the Amazons, were charged to watch over, to keep sealed for eternity. The darkness of Pit and it's denizens was well known to all that had even the slightest portion of knowledge about Greek legends and mysticism.

They were Evil.

The chaos of the rest of humanity outside of the Island confused her.

But she learned.

New things, new experiences. New friends, even of the male variety, something that wasn't possible on the Island.

She shook slightly in remembrance of something different.

She had been quite lucky that their patron Goddesses had interceded after she had brought the rest of the League to the Island, speaking on her behalf to the rest of homeland.

They had granted leniency, in part, for her going against the law of allowing men on the Island, even if it had been done to save the Island, and the world, as whole from the predations of Hades.

She had been banished, exiled, as she expected.

But only for a time.

That had astonished her.

Knowing full well the punishment for bringing men onto the Island, she had done so anyway, knowing the consequences of her actions and that, despite her status, she wouldn't be exempt from the law.

Had she not been who she was, she would have been meeting Hades again far sooner than she would have liked.

It had not been the easiest of decisions, but living the life she did had taught her that life was never easy.

Forgetting all decorum, the manners instilled in her by her mother since she was but a babe in arms, the respect that she was taught to give to all deities, she asked why they, the Goddesses who bowed to none, who followed stringent laws, who almost never interfered in the mortal world as openly as this, had granted her this clemency, this mercy, allowing her to some day to return to her homeland, to see her mother once more.

The Queen of the Gods, the great Hera, patron of the Amazons, had then turned to her, emerald green eyes showing wisdom beyond knowing, rivalled only by the grey eyed form of Pallas Athene that stood beside her, meeting her own sapphire eyes and those of her mother's.

'_The Future twists and turns_,' the Goddess had spoken, regal and patient, a true Queen's voice, '_and it's true path is known only to few. But all Gods, of any stripe, from any domain, have a sense for time, can catch fleeting glimpses of that well hidden path.'_ Her face took a pensive expression, as if unsure, doubtful, worried. _'I saw something not this morn, a crossroads being reached. Three paths did I see, each of them different, and the final destination of each, all of them stemming from this very moment, and the choices made here.' _That regal and beautiful face firmed, determination in her eyes, as she met Diana's sapphires again, '_I know not why, I know not how, but your continued bond to, and contact with, your home land and your mother is important for the best of those futures to come into fruition._' Those green eyes now filled with warning, the Goddess' face turning stern, '_You are destined to do great things, child. Make sure they are the right ones.'_

Diana still sometimes had chills run down her spine when she remembered those words. Those emerald eyes had told a story. She had been granted mercy by her goddesses, but it came with a price. She would have pay that price eventually.

She shook her head from reminiscing. Now was not the time for those kind of thoughts, she had other things to do. Happier ones. Like telling her mother that her elder sister was alive and well.

She firmly strode up the sandy beach, her boots crunching the pristine white sand, easily seeing the familiar trail she had to follow to go to the Palace. She wouldn't fly there, it was both rude and disrespectful and it wasn't an emergency. She would go through the motions and formalities. She was here on official business and would play the role as such.

Her mother taught her the importance of politics, at least the form of politics from ancient times, when she was younger, a necessity for the supposed Crown Princess, even if the title was a mere formality. Her mother wasn't at risk of dying anytime soon.

Sadly, it seemed those skills were not very applicable in the Man's world. It was rather frustrating to find that such boring, but necessary, lessons, which she really didn't like in the first place, were all for naught in the world of Men.

She moved through the tropical jungle with familiar ease, a slight smile on her lips. The beach she had landed on was one of her favourite places on the Island, one that she came to frequently whenever she needed to think, looking out over the rolling waves calming her thoughts to do so clearly, or she just wanted to be alone or have a swim. She remembered the nights, when she was younger, that she had left the palace to take a dip beneath the light of the moon.  
She was soon reached the edge of the tropical jungle, glimpsing the cleared field that surrounded the city walls of the Amazon's home through the now sparse vegetation and the bright gleam of the armed and armoured sentries that patrolled and guarded it.

"Sisters!" She called, never breaking her stride and walking openly, hiding nothing from her sisters in arms, easily attracting the attention of the guards.

The two guarding the large wooden gate, that was the only official entrance in the white stone city behind it, were quick to lock eyes on her, two sets of brown eyes quickly looking her over with practiced ease. No doubt they had seen her before she had even exited the tree line.

"Princess!" They returned in unison, ducking their heads in acknowledgement and no more. Whether Diana was of a higher rank or not, Amazons bowed to none but the Gods.

"Welcome back-" the blonde haired gate guardian said, a smile on her helmeted face.

"-Princess. It's been-," the blonde's red haired companion continued, leaning on her long spear slightly and an identical smile on her own lips.

"-A while." They both finished in unison.

Diana laughed heartily. She had missed the Twins. Their antics and great humour were well known on the island.

"Open the gate please, Sisters." She said with a smaller smile, getting a hold of her self. Work before play, after all.

"Yes, Princess," they both nodded in acknowledgement, turning together and each of them setting a single hand against the stout gates. Without seeming to strain, merely pushing gently with their Amazonian strength, the great wooden gates opened slowly with a low, but loud, groan, revealing the streets of the city within.

"Enter-" "-and be welcome." The Twins intoned formally as they finished opening the gates and turning to give a respectful nod to Wonder Woman.

"My thanks, Sisters," Diana said with a small nod of her own, passing through the gates and enter the paved streets of the city proper.

The small city was bustling, as much as the small community could be, with merchants and customers. Just because they were a very isolated community of warriors didn't mean that they neglected commerce. Noticeably to any stranger to the Island, each resident went about their business, always armed with at least one weapon, underneath the light of the sun bouncing off the bright white walls of each building.

After various raids and events long ago, as well as events far more recent with Faust, it had been policy for any resident of the island to always be armed.

The words of a certain Roman had been taken to heart in her homeland.

She received looks and calls of welcome from the populace as she walked up the main thoroughfare leading to the palace, which she nodded and smiled softly in response to, never breaking her stride.

It was like being welcomed home from a long absence.

She was soon at the wide and tall white marbles steps that were the final hurdle before entering the palace proper.

"Diana!" A familiar voice from a familiar person called as said person strode down the steps, a joyous smile on her lips.

Wonder Woman also smiled widely. It seemed she didn't have to wait any longer to meet her mother.

The statuesque blonde woman that was mother, Hippolyta, engulfed in an almost suffocating hug. Strong bronze arms wrapping around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. Diana returned the embrace just as exuberantly while also being mindful of the cloth wrapped item she held.

Her time of exile may have finally run out roughly a month ago, but there was still a space between both mother and daughter due to the experiences and responsibilities Diana had in the Man's world. For a family as close as the two were, it was, while bearable, not something that they both liked.

But they both still soldiered on, living their life as best they could, knowing that life is never fair to anyone or anything. One a wall upon which the enemies of Man fell, the other Queen protecting her people.

But, occasionally, responsibilities ebbed for both of them and they could reunite once more. The masks of Queen and Champion falling aside to reveal the true faces of a mother and a daughter.

These occasions were cherished deeply by both of them.

"Welcome home, my daughter," Hippolyta whispered into her daughter's ear, gently pressing her lips into the raven wing's hair of her slightly shorter daughter. The Queen drew a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of her daughter, letting her generally regal demeanour slide away for a time. "You have been greatly missed, my little wonder."

"As I have you," Diana said just as softly, pressing her cheek deeper into her mother's breast. A grown woman she might be, but she still loved her mother above almost anything.

They stayed in that embrace, in open view on the steps of the palace for a time, ignoring the world around them, take comfort in each other's presence.

After a while Hippolyta finally managed to get a hold of herself, placing her strong tanned and calloused hands on the shoulders of her daughter and, reluctantly, moving her out of the embrace to allow her blue eyes to meet those of her daughter's.

"It is good to see you again, my daughter," she repeated softly, even as she eyed the form of her precious daughter, her eyes inwardly narrowing as her experienced warrior eyes noticed the signs on her daughter.

Scuffed and slightly bruised flesh that was covered from her sight but still present in how Diana held herself, subtle movements of her bracer clad (and obviously sore) wrists. She had seen battle, one that had been able to injure even one of such birth as her daughter.

It worried her.

And that was not the only thing. The Queen's blue eyes looked at the wrapped bundle in her child's arms. She may not be mystically inclined, but she was experienced enough, had experienced enough, in the ways of Gods and their artefacts to have a small sense of arcane, to be able to tell magic from charlatanism.

And whatever was wrapped in that white cloth bundle was exceptionally powerful, perhaps even more so than the Royal Raiment that her daughter wore at this very moment. More powerful than a raiment crafted by the Gods and blessed by Athena herself.

That more than worried her.

"Come," she said, before Diana could get a word in, putting those worrying thoughts out of her mind for now. She would no doubt get her answers soon. She would enjoy her beloved daughter's company until then. "Lunch is about to be served. I think you can spare yourself enough time to join your lonely old mother?" She smirked teasingly at her daughter, gently wrapping her toned arm around her wonder's shoulders, guiding her up the stairs to the palace's dining hall.

* * *

"...I must have misheard you," a soft voice said calmly, "would you care to repeat that?"

Harry shivered slightly as he looked into those sapphire orbs that belonged to his mother.

Now he was many things. A good fighter. A powerful magic-user, even if he was forced to rather specialised in his field of study. A brilliant cook, the Dursley days of his life and living on his own making the skill a necessity. Rich. Powerful. Intelligent. Skilled. The list of his traits and abilities could go for quite a few pages. In fact, he consider himself rather blessed in that department.

That said, he would willingly become a brain dead idiot lying in a gutter if it could get him out this conversation, out of the room and away from his eerily smiling mother. Now.

"Because I swear you just said that you _deliberately_ used an unpracticed spell just to intimidate those who encountered us," her smile went from ear to ear in a Cheshire grin, all teeth, soft giggling sounds could be heard coming through the pearly white teeth. The humour didn't seem to touch her eyes however, the orbs becoming pools of sapphire flames of wrath and ire.

Harry was sure that the mere sight of that face shaved a decade off of his lifespan.

"And even worse," his mother continued, idly stroking the rim of a large, heavy, crystal bowl that sat in the middle of the small table that the private guest quarters on the Watchtower had, "you- what is the term that you young men use these days?" She questioned herself idly before falsely brightening as if struck by an epiphany, "oh yes, '_fucked it up'!_" she roared, her smiling face now that of a demon's, her mouth spewing fire and brimstone.

Harry couldn't do anything but cower. The only exit was directly behind her and trying to run would only make this worse.

In short, he was screwed. Royally.

Beware the rage of an angered mother.

"I thought I taught you better than this!" She yelled, stomping around the table, her sandals echoing off of the hard metal flooring, "I know I did!" Firm hands gripped his now human fleshed shoulders and shook him. He didn't attempt to try and stop her. "Do you know what you could have done?! The price that you may have paid for such stupidity!? Where were your brains?!" The shaking became more violent, making him feel like he was a maracca. "What could have possessed you to do something so clearly foolish?!"

"It was the best thing I could think of." He slurred, his voice blurring as the Repentant Queen that he called mother kept shaking him, though she did slow down as he began to speak. "My prana levels were pretty much shot and you were just captured and rendered helpless. So I tried to bluff our way out." The shaking stopped, making him groan slightly in relief and nausea as the room kept spinning like a top, even as he was finally able to focus a little more. "To make myself look more dangerous than I was or, if the bluff failed, put me in a position to at least fight back for a time and be able to free you." He lifted his head for the first in the 'conversation', his green eyes showing a hint of fire, defiance and determination, "I had just got you back, I wasn't going to lose you again any time soon."

Those words seemed to strike a chord and made Penthesilea deflate, her strong hands releasing him and letting him fall back into his seat. Her face slightly stunned.

"Was it risky?" He continued, never letting his eyes leave hers now, striking while the verbal iron was hot, "Yes it was, but it was the best option that I had available to me at the time out of a whole list of bad and worse choices. Did I fuck up? Yes I did, but I took the best precautions that I could at the time and, thus, I am still here to greet you once more. Would I do it again?" He leaned forward, his eyes emerald coloured steel, "In a heartbeat."

The two, mother and son, stared at each other. The mother was taken aback. Never had she encountered such forceful determination from her own child, at least when disagreeing with her. When they had been reunited in the Grail War, he had been just a child, a broken and battered child who had clung to her with fervour, listening to her every as though it were the wisdom of the Gods themselves. Never would he have spoken back to her like this in the past.

Her son had grown up, maturing. And she had missed those growing years, just as she had been forced to miss his first steps, his first words.

He was a man now, whatever the laws of the modern era said. Young, slightly inexperienced and still very attached and unwilling to leave his family, but a man nonetheless.

Willing to stand against whatever the world threw at him head on. To endure hardship unflinching in pursuit of his goal.

The true measure of a man was shown, not in his wealth, not in physical might. Not in intelligence or his skills. Anyone could improve these traits if they tried.

To gain strength, exercise.

To obtain wealth, work harder.

To receive knowledge, study more.

To improve your skills, practice them.

No, the truth of a man, the very foundation that his character was built upon, was in his ability to endure.

And now her son, in her eyes, was a man without compare.

He had weathered pain, mental and physical and spiritual. He had seen the worst of the worst among humanity, had even been drenched in it's physical manifestation, and still he moved on.

It made her both sad and proud. Proud to be a mother of such a wonderful son. And sorrowful that her son had to endure such things, to grow up so quickly and at such a young age.

He was a young lion, baring his fangs to world and cutting lose with his first roar.

It was part of being a mother to protect their children. But her son wasn't a child anymore. He was a man that would protect everything that was precious to him, even onto his own destruction, in a heartbeat.

It worried her greatly.

Add in his own brand of magecraft with this mind set and she went past worried and went straight to a step below absolutely terrified.

But there was little she could do about it now, his Origin was too ingrained into his very being. The best she could do was try to teach him to use his brain before he jumped in with both feet.

She sighed wearily, her anger leaving her and making her feel drained of strength.

"Much as I want to, I can't fault you, completely, for your actions," she grimaced slightly as she knelt down, wrapping her arms around her precious son. The height difference between them meaning that, despite her son being tall for his age and seated in a high backed chair, her head was on the same level as his, the benefit of being both an Amazon and a daughter of Ares meaning that she was no short woman herself. "But I want you to look after yourself as well," her voice was stern, almost reprimanding, as she clenched him closer, hugging him tightly.

"Things are different now," she whispered into his ear, "I am here and am staying here." The resolve in the last two words was enough to fuel a mouse to move a mountain. The tight grip she had on him loosened slightly, becoming more comforting and soft.

A mother's embrace.

"But my staying here will mean nothing if you somehow depart." Her soft voice entered his ear again. "Just as you have lived, have fought and even died for me, placing myself above your own concerns, so too do I value you and your love." The embrace tightened once more. "Your pain is my pain. Your joy is mine to share. Do not throw away your own life, risking it needlessly, just so that I have a chance to live." A slim yet strong hand lifted his head, green meeting a soft blue. "Even if we have barely been together for less than a year, I can no longer fathom a life with both of us in it together." Soft lips pressed into his forehead. "I thought I had lost my family twice already," her voice whispered, almost choking with the stifled emotions. He could feel a slight dampness through his mop of black hair, his nose filling with the unique scent of salt and water. "please do not make me have to live through it again."

Harry did the only thing he could think of at that moment, his mind and body more than slightly confused at the predicament he currently found himself in, having never ever seen his Mother so out of it and sorrowful, outside the memories he had of the dream cycle from the Grail War.

Firm and toned arms of a preteen boy slowly wrapped themselves around the waist of a distraught mother, showing his own love and care for the woman as he embraced her close, never wanting to let her go, even as his mind churned and spun in thought.

He remembered when he had first saw her, tall and straight and proud, even as he lay in a pool of his own blood. It had been a surreal sight for the young and inexperienced boy, like his mind had slipped sideways into the realm of madness, never to emerge from the rabbit hole.

It had only grown more so with the events that came after.

Eventually, however, he came out of the dream, the fantasy, and saw that the dreams had been real, that the illusion had been more than that.

He couldn't help but shed tears of joy at that moment.

He had a mother.

In the eyes of many, this would not have been anything important, taking for granted that someone was there to fill the maternal role. But to a boy that remembered nothing, who had no memories of a maternal figure, who had seen the joy and laughter that other children received from their own mothers and had only felt the lash of fist and tongue from his guardians...

It was pure Heaven.

And there was nothing that he wouldn't do to keep it that way.

As the War had moved on, however, he learned more and more about his mother. The fights she had been in and the life she had lived. The sorrow she carried and the burdens she bore on her very soul.

He wanted nothing more than to carry those burdens himself, to relieve the only person he remembered to have given him even a single iota of kindness of those terrible sorrows, even if it meant that he would be in pain. It wouldn't have been much different from his normal days, he figured, as pain was part and parcel for him in the Dursley household. It would be even more bearable now that his mother was here with him.

Unfortunately, the world seemed to conspire against him.

The Grail War all too soon came to an explosive end, at the hands of his mother and himself, completely severing the link between the two of them.

Despite his selfish desire to want to keep his Mother with him, more than willing to cast the rest of the world to the abyss if it meant that she stayed (they had done nothing to help him in his years of need, why should he help them? Were his bitter thoughts.) He did not want to disappoint his mother. He wanted to show her that he was different from his be damned sire.

It had been the hardest thing he ever done, to destroy something that he knew was his mother's only tie to the world of the living. To consciously sever the bond between them, no matter how much either of them wanted to stay.

He still had tears come to his eyes whenever he remembered the soft aching sorrowful and yet proud smile on his Mother's lips as she slowly dissolved into golden dust, even as he knelt in despair in the still warm and charred remains of a chapel, before she finally vanished completely with a last harsh breeze.

He didn't remember much of the rest of that night, only glimpses of trees and leaves rushing by and his lungs venting his screaming soul as he ran. Trying to get away, to deny what had happened, what he had done.

He had been forced to destroy the Grail, the only thing he knew that could breach the veil between life and death.

_He had killed his own Mother._

It was a weight on his soul, feeling like something tearing their claws through his chest, snapping ribs and rending muscle, just to reach his heart.

_He was no better than his monster of a sire._

When he had finally exhausted his lungs and soul with the agonised screams and wails of despair and grief, he had collapsed, the darkness quickly overwhelming him.

He had then awoken in thick scrub, his body having fallen behind a large bush, as the sun had risen. His heart had still ached so much that he wanted nothing more than to tear it out of his chest with his bare hands and his mood was blacker than the abyss.

He wanted to kill himself, to shed his mortal skin and rejoin his Mother. But he held himself back.

He knew that, even if he killed himself at that moment, he wouldn't reunite with his Mother in the realm of the Dead. His Mother was part of a higher existence, removed from the cycle of life, death and rebirth.

One such as he, a murderer, a kinslayer, would never be able to reach that vaunted Throne where his Mother resided. All because of the Damned Grail...

His thoughts had stopped at that point, a new one emerging, glinting with light.

He may not be able to ascend, but maybe, just maybe, his Mother could descend once more. It had happened once after all, that meant it could happen again.

And so a glimmer of light had entered his mind, a small flame burned in his steely soul.

For years he sought answers to his questions. What was death? Where was the Throne? How could a soul be resurrected? He had Criss-crossed the world, his feet never stopped moving, his eyes and hands delving into books, seeking that forbidden knowledge.

It had taken him time, years actually, but he had finally found a possible answer, ironically enough in the least likely of places.

The founding of that knowledge was probably the only good thing that came of him attending that waste of a school...apart from acquiring a few other objects of interest.

Using that information, he had managed to contact one of the Endless, Death herself, and made the Bargain. The price had been steep, resurrection of anything or anyone was no minor thing, but through a bit of ingenuity, a few weapons and a small reliance on the ignorance of the so called Wizarding World and he had his fee in hand.

He could finally free his Mother, bring her back, to dwell in her embrace once more...even he didn't deserve it.

He had performed the ritual as soon as he could, though it had been a devil and a half trying to find her final resting place, and had succeeded.

Her bright blue eyes, her dark hair, the noble features. This was the sight he had seen after the ritual and had gone through.

It was a sight that he would never let go of again, never let see come to harm if he could help it, even if it had meant his own life being forfeit, his own soul destroyed. He had seen her die once, by his own hand no less.

He refused to let it happen again.

But now, he struggled to think, she had asked something of him that he wasn't sure he could fulfill. She had asked him to put his own life and health equal, if not above, her own.

For him, who had dedicated the entirety of his existence, after he had learned of her own, to seeing to her revival, who had no care for himself, it was an almost impossible task. If it ever came down to it, he would make the exact same choice that he had when the League had arrived.

And yet, even if he wanted to protect his Mother (silly as it may sound for a pre-teen boy, even if he was a powerful one, to guard a very experienced and powerful half divine Former Amazon Warrior Queen.), her happiness and well being were just as important. A life with out joy is no life at all.

And her joy, it seemed, was directly related to his own continued health and happiness.

That left him only one option, only one path he could take.

His arms wrapped tightly around the shoulders of his Mother, drawing her even more deeply into his embrace.

"I will try," he whispered in her ear, "I cannot completely promise you this, every man has his time to pay the final debt, but I can promise you that I will do my utmost best to stay with you. This, I so swear."

He felt his Mother clench him tighter as he spoke his words, even as her shoulders oddly lost the large amount of tension within them, as if she were reassured at his words.

He didn't need to hear the sigh of absolute relief, the barely breathed thanks to the heavens, or to feel his hair becoming even more damp, to know that He had made the right decision.

Now he just had to keep to his chosen part.

Which may be a little harder than he had first thought.

* * *

The Queen of Themyscira stared at her daughter in absolute shock, her mind frozen at the impossibility that her dearest little wonder had dropped on her...

Yet evidence and proof of her daughter's claims lay on the table between them, the light of the early afternoon sun reflecting it's rays off of the object's burnished and polished bronze blade, looking like it burned with a white hot inner fire.

She knew that weapon, had held it before. It seemed to be slightly changed, a few different colours and a more surreal feel about, making it somehow seem to be unrealistically perfect, a trait that was common (if such a mundane term could be applied) to the more unique and powerful God-Forged weapons, but it was undeniably the same weapon that her elder sister had used before her death, the object thought lost along with her sister's body.

To think that she would see it again...

"How is this possible?" The Queen breathed in quiet shock, sinking back into the plush purple cushions of the divan she sat in, her body limp as a noodle as she tried to reconcile the news her daughter had brought before her.

Her sister lived again.

"The League is not exactly sure," her little wonder answered, her face, a mirror of Hippolyta's own sister she realised now that she could actually think about her sister without having her stout heart ache in grief, frowning lightly, "what information we do have is limited, but the instigator of the event has spoken of the process he had gone through to cause the disturbance. Our own independent inquiries are still ongoing."

Despite her current confusion, the Queen of the Amazons understood immediately what her daughter was saying. It was all good to get information from the source, the horse's mouth so to speak, but it was always a good idea to take what someone said with a grain of salt, no matter who they were.

Her daughter's blue eyes looked intently into Hippolyta's, "Are you sure this is Penethesilea's weapon?" She asked, her eyes filled with questions.

Hippolyta drew her shattered composure together again at her daughter's question, answering it absently as her mind whirled with thoughts of the possibility of this occurence, and what she would do next.

"Yes, there is no doubt of that," the Queen assured the Princess, reaching out almost reverently to caress the gleaming weapon, it's bronze shining with an otherworldly fire. "I was there when my sister, your aunt, received it from a goddess." The queen gently lifted the double-headed axe with the ease a child would lift a feather, such was her Amazonian strength. "Crafted by Hephaestus himself and blessed by Eris, the goddess of Discord, Strife and Chaos," she twirled the weapon effortlessly, the masterwork of weapon moving easily in her skilled hand, "it was made to challenge even the Titans themselves, the predecessors of the Gods, should they somehow return to the world," she flipped the blade, catching it close to the head and running a delicate and ghostly finger over the sharpened edge, as though wary of spilling blood from just the proximity of the blade. The Queen's eyes then became flinty, harsh and angered, as she remembered a certain event. "Able to be truly wielded by none but her, the weapon was lost when my sister's body was thrown aside after she was struck down on the plains of Troy." She snorted softly, derisively, as she gently set down the labrys back on the table, a touch of old disdain and begrudging respect in her face as she eyed the weapon one more time, "The gift of that weapon and the actions on the field of Troy after my sister's death were probably the only times that our Father showed any sign of paternal instincts."

Her daughter said nothing, her own face showing her own agreement.

Hippolyta sighed heavily and put her own thoughts on her sire's character and beliefs to the side. She had more important things to discuss than the failings of her bloodthirsty father.

"The fact that you have this weapon at all is all the proof I need to see the truth of your words, my daughter," she said with a soft smile, releasing a small chuckle at her daughter's slight surprise. "Come now," she chided her beautiful wonder, "I was born when the Gods still walked the earth openly, creating miracles with their every step. While surprising and very shocking, it is still within the realms of belief that my own sister has been resurrected. Goddess above, such an act has been done numerous times by our pantheon alone. Dionysus with his mother, Asclepsius as well. Even the mortal bard Orpheus had almost succeeded in returning his beloved Eurydice to life."

Hippolyta smiled at the slightly sheepish look on the face of her precious daughter. Despite the lessons that Diana had been taught and her own maturity, people tended to forget that her precious daughter had been raised in almost isolation, having never set foot off of Paradise Island until that invasion foreign beings some time ago. Intelligent her daughter may be, but she was still somewhat inexperienced and young compared to the many other Amazons on the island, a mere babe in arms to the eldest.

Hippolyta looked over at the weapon once more, her gaze filled with longing, remembering the firm hands of it's wielder and the wielder herself. The grief she had felt on that day, when the goddess Hera herself had delivered the news of her vanished sister's death, had been unbearable. It was only because of her own sense of duty and knowing her sister would disapprove greatly of the action, that she did not fall upon her own sword.

But now, it seemed that the Fates had shown some degree of heart.

Her sister now lived again.

However, Hippolyta frowned slightly, it also created a few...problems. Problems that did not have just to do with her sister either.

"I take it she wanted to arrange a meeting?" She asked her daughter, putting aside her own desires, the persona of Hippolyta the Mother stepping back into the shadows of her mind as the persona of Hippolyta the Amazon Queen stepped forth. For all that she loved her sister dearly, wanted to meet her and embrace her as soon as she possibly could, she was still the Queen of a nation, small though it may be, and had responsibilities to look out for, even above that of her own desires.

Such was the burden of a leader.

Her daughter nodded carefully, her blue eyes looking intently at Hippolyta, as if seeing her for the first time. It wasn't far from the truth. Hippolyta always strived keep the matters of the court separate from her own personal life with her daughter.

"The League has offered the Metro Tower as a possible neutral meeting place," Diana calmly informed her mother.

Hippolyta nodded to herself in agreement. A well planned move for Penthesilea, if that was who she truly was. The integrity of the Justice League was well founded and had enough members of sufficient strength to separate the two of them should things devolve into something of a brawl and a possible deception be revealed.

She honestly couldn't see that happening though, not with the proof of her identity on the table before her, but her political and battle trained mind wouldn't let her accept it completely until her own two eyes had laid on the one claiming to be her sister. More elaborate hoaxes had been pulled off before, after all, and she had no desire to be tricked and toyed with as well as have her Kingdom pay the price for her own folly.

Caution was the word of the day.

"Very well," she said decisively, her royal eyes firm, almost stern, "please take word back to this woman, daughter, that the Queen of the Amazons will meet her three days hence, at the place known as Metro Tower, at high noon."

That should be sufficient. It gave her time to look into this reputed 'Throne of Heroes' that her daughter had mentioned in her narrative, the term was vaguely familiar to her for some reason, the name niggling at her mind.

It would also give her the advantage in the discussion, assuming the role of the higher power. This woman, if she was truly her sister, was seeking an audience with her, already bowing her head to the Queen. This time, in which she could easily cancel the audience at a whim, would have the woman on edge, waiting for the hammer to fall.

She would hate to do this, especially if it was truly her sister, but the duty of a monarch came before the life of the person.

Besides, she frowned slightly once more, there was also the matter of who it was, exactly, that had resurrected her reputed sister, and for what reason it was that they had gone as far as to enter into a Bargain of all things, something that even the strongest and wisest of the Gods themselves hesitated to do, in order to bring forth her sister from the realm of the dead, or this 'Throne of Heroes'.

Her daughter had been rather circumspect, even hesitant, in identifying this powerful sorcerer, saying only that the caster of the spell, one that even Paradise had felt the backlash of, the magical force of the ritual shaking the ethereal realms like an earthquake, saying that he was only a young man, which in itself was rather startling, practitioners of similar power generally more aged than what her daughter had implied about the young man. It raised questions, serious ones. Ones that she didn't have answer to but, by the Gods themselves, she would get them soon, one way or another.

"You can also inform her," the Queen continued, the thoughts flying through her mind at light speed, barely a real pause between her previous declaration and her current one, "that it will be _required_," she emphasised the word, firmly making her demand clear, "that her supposed summoner will be present in the meeting," her eyes went flinty, "returning her to life or not, this young man has disturbed the final rest of a former Queen of the Nation," she nodded her head at the sudden gasp and face of shocked realisation and dread on the face of her little wonder. It seemed that her daughter had understood the meaning of her words. Good. Her little wonder was learning well in the Man's world.

"I don't have to tell you what the possible consequences of this may be," Hippolyta said softly, "especially considering the boy's gender."

Hippolyta couldn't help but frown at the pale face of her daughter as she nodded her understanding. Was she truly so worked up over the young man? Suspicions slowly arose in the Queen's mind. Companionate her daughter may be, but she understood the reasons that laws were in place and must be bowed to, to a point. She hadn't even protested her own exile for Olympus' sake.

And, sadly, this young man seemed to have broken one of the greatest laws of the Island:

_Disturb not the dead._

Due to the Amazons standing guard over Tartarus and all of it's denizens, magic involving souls and death were looked upon harshly. When the living passed, their time is done, and it was then that they paid the price for the life they had lived. Their virtue rewarded and their sins punished.

Disturbing that balance, interrupting that cycle, went against the laws of the natural order, of the Earth itself. As people tied to the cycle of the Earth, such a thing was blasphemous to them.

Worse yet for this young man, it was a supposed Amazon of the royal line.

The Amazons may be an ancient race, but their Queens were few and far between, mostly due to their own ageless immortality. Only three Queens could be truly counted among them. The first mother, Otrera. Her deceased, and now seemingly resurrected, sister Penthesilea. And herself.

It then came as no surprise that their fallen Queens were honoured so.

Many would think that this young man had tainted her, an Amazon of power and might. She knew that the majority of the residents of this island would think it an insult to them and would no doubt call for the man's head.

And all this wasn't already taking into account of his gender.

All in all, the future seemed grim for the young man, even if he truly has returned her sister to the world of the living.

But there was a small glimmer of hope.

For one, Penthesilea was not interred on the Island, her body lost from even the eyes of the Gods. As such, the Bargain the young man had used was not performed on the Island but in the world of Man, where her arm could not touch, not technically breaking their laws on their soil.

Secondly was the exact nature of the resurrection. Most rituals involving resurrection were dark, tainted by the negative emotions and depravity needed to perform them. The Gods and Demons reigning over such things also equally as despicable.

This ritual, however, seemed to be more..._neutral_ she supposed. Powerful, certainly. Dangerous, anything involving the deathly forces was. Evil though?

She didn't think so. She had seen enough years go by to understand that Death was not a necessary evil in the world, but a neutral force that must be carried out.

Sometimes, to mere mortals such as herself or those of the world of Men, Death seemed uncaring, callous, unfair. And it maybe it was. At least to them.

Mortals are unable to see the big picture, inherently blinded by their own perceptions, their own mortality, to even understand the subtle, but vital, workings of this eternal force.

Death had been there before the beginning of this cosmos and would be here long after the end. It could not be defined the inherently _human_ concepts of 'good' and 'evil', of 'right' and 'wrong'. Such things were ephemeral, fleeting and changed fluidly, having vastly different meanings to everyone.

Death was no such thing. Implacable. Immutable. Final. The ultimate manifestation of order.

It just..._was_.

Truly did it, and it's brethren, deserve the title of Endless.

And the young man had been able to enact a Bargain with such a force. That alone would let her give him at least the benefit of the doubt of him being one of the darker wielder's of the arcane.

Death was not one to truck with such, in it's eyes, insignificant beings, nor was it one to let go a soul that had entered it's grasp unwillingly, fighting to keep the dead where they belonged. Resurrection, true resurrection, was theoretically within it's domain, but it would not do such a thing unless there was a Damned good reason.

And letting a soul lose just so the Bargainer could taunt the soul's loved ones was not a reason it would accept.

There was something big happening there and Hippolyta was thinking that finding out what should be a priority put forward sooner rather than later.

The Throne of Heroes business also threw things off a fair bit. She would be hitting the scrolls heavily after this.

The last sliver of light on the horizon came from the feeling in her gut. Her instincts screamed that there was something her daughter was holding back about her sister, about this young mage that had done the impossible. There was a link between them, and through them to her daughter and thus herself. She wasn't entirely sure what it actually was, but she would bet drachma that it would be something that hovered on the border of outrageous and quite possibly mind-blowing, even more so than the possible news that her sister walked the realms once more.

Hopefully, it would be something that could possibly stay her hand.

She watched quietly, her tongue silent, as her dutiful and beloved daughter made her excuses and left the palace, her daughter's face troubled. A handful of moments passed and the Queen then saw her little wonder, her Diana, soar into the air, quickly leaving the domain of the Island.

Hippolyta looked once more at the proof of her daughter's claims, the large weapon her sister had wielded with all the ability of a warrior true. She gently caressed it, her fingers sliding softly across the side of the blade, feeling the soft tremor and rippling of that familiar magic contained within it.

It was a fine weapon, one of the best she had ever seen, now or in the depths of the past.

She could only hope, pray, to the Gods that this was not an elaborate hoax.

It had broken her when the news of her sister's demise had reached her in the days of yore. Having found a hope of her revival, she didn't want it to be false, to feel that jagged and miserable emotion called grief again.

"I truly hope that is truly you, sister," she whispered into the air, her eyes far gone in the distant past, memories of the days of old surfacing once more.

One in particular made her heart twist. One of a small family, for those distant times, of five. Two adults and three young girls. An adult woman, tall and toned, clearly of Amazon breed, with flashing sapphire dark blue eyes and shoulder length hair as straight and dark as a raven's wing, leant against golden armour of the taller and very much broader form of the man. His square and rugged jaw quirked in a slight smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with sharp humour beneath his close cropped golden blonde hair. They both lay beneath a tall oak, the leaves thick enough to create an almost solid canopy of shade, as they watched the four girls.

One was a pre-teen female version of the male, at least in colouring, with blonde hair and blue eyes, that ran swiftly after the youngest looking of the four, a girl with emerald green eyes, a trait unique to her, and strikingly straight crimson locks, yet another unique trait, both of them laughing and giggling. The third one chased after the previous two, with emerald eyes flashing in delight and her long hair streaming behind her, gleaming like spun gold in the light of the sun.

The last girl, older by several years, her body at the stage that it was slowly shaping itself to become her womanly one in the future, smirked her own amusement at the younger there's antics, her blue eyes gleaming with the light of pride and happiness as her dark hair flowed freely down her back. She did this without loosing a beat in a series of movements, like a dance. Her feet kicked out and lifted her high. Her arms spun and twisted and lashed out. All the while, the sounds of pipers and drums played in the distance as she danced the deadly dance of the warrior.

They were the picture of peace, a true family.

In her mind's eye, however, Hippolyta could see what had become of them all, the way that they had fallen, in one way or another.

The youngest of the family, her dearest sister Antiope, slain, while heavily gravid with child, by her own brute of a husband, Theseus. Her crimson hair mixed with the spilled blood on the stone floor of the palace, a man of black and sea green eyes looking down at her fallen body with distaste.

Her emerald eyed sister, Melanippe, also fell by the hand of a man. A brute among even the swarthy frames of the men of yore. Her killer was Telamon, grandchild of Zeus and uncle of the hate-skinned beast that made play he was a human. But even beyond that, a hulking shadow of another man, tall and thick and powerful, a monster amongst monsters, loomed behind the son of Aeacus. One that had been a bane to the Amazons time and and again.

The eldest woman, her mother Otrera, the first Queen of the established nation of Amazons, had also fallen by the hand of a man. Arrows and stones from above had fallen upon her, piercing her body and bludgeoning her skull. The laughter of the man who did the deed rang out loudly from where he sat, mounted on a silver horse with massive wings as it floated high above.

Even her eldest sister, Penthesilea, had descended into the realm of the dead, falling at the hands of the brutal son of Thetis, her body mutilated and despoiled before being cast aside like trash.

She herself had also fallen from grace, unwittingly having helped the monstrous Hades in his bid to topple Olympus and ascend the throne there. Thankfully, it hadn't succeeded, she herself having barely realized what was truly happening before it was too late and managing to turn on her former lover. She had more than surprised that she hadn't tossed into the depths of Tartarus with him for her actions made in her ignorance.

Despite all of this, they were not the worst of the falls made by the members of that small family. That honour, if it could be called so, belonged to the sole male.

The blond man, the father of the family, had also fallen, despite his divine status. For all that Ares, the Olympian God of War, was a divine being, revelling in the chaos of his domain, he had still been one of the few gods that cleaved themselves close to mankind. Mostly because his domain could really only exist because of mankind's own existence. War was a very human concept after all.

Because of that close bond with man, however distorted and twisted it was, it had allowed this force of war, blood and carnage to become more human-like, able to feel things with the same intensity as humans could. He had begun to develop a heart, a yearning, for Otrera, a bond stronger than the primal lust he had for the daughter of Dione. His bloodlust had slowly begun to be, not quenched, but focused. Instead of spreading the chaos of war, he had focused on the guardianship of the people. Instead of spilling blood wantonly, letting the battle spin on endlessly, he had struck hard, often brutally, but with purpose, putting an end to the chaos. Instead of conquering new lands and people, he had defended those under his aegis.

It had been a turning point for the God of War, a savage brute becoming a true warrior.

But it had not lasted.

Otrera and, by association, his daughters had been the lynchpin, the anchors that had kept his bloodlust in check. With the loss of each these, he slowly began to revert back the conniving warlord he had been.

It had been the death and despoiling of his eldest daughter, the one who had been the strongest of them and the majority of his own traits as befitted a demi-goddess of his lineage, of Penthesilea that had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back and Zeus' denying him the chance to revenge his favoured daughter's death had only pushed him further.

And the Bloody Ares, the Lord of the Slaughter, had returned to the world.

Even if he was now an enemy of her nation, Hippolyta couldn't help but think of better times with her sire, yearn for the return of the protective parent he had once been. She couldn't do it alone, she had tried only to fail miserably, to the point of becoming someone he saw as an enemy despite the blood they shared.

She couldn't do it alone but perhaps, just perhaps...

The chariot of Helios passed across the sky towards the western horizon as the Queen of Themyscira lost herself in thought and memory, all the while caressing the weapon that had brought her hope.

* * *

The golden helmed visage of Doctor Fate walked through the cold metallic corridors of the Watchtower. Purpose in his booted steps and determination in his shoulders.

"**Truly a wonder, is it not?**" A familiar voice spoke within the confines of his mind, one that been with ever since he had donned the helmet and taken up the mantle of the hero called Doctor Fate over a century ago. It was voice that held wisdom in every tone, the voice of a mentor and teacher towards a student. It also conveyed a sense of power unimaginable, like an ivory tower reaching into the heavens themselves, disappearing amongst the clouds, looming over everything else that it encountered. The tower itself could be called planned, crafted, purposeful. Of Order itself.

Unsurprising considering the source of the voice and the title it held.

'_A wonder for you perhaps, Nabu_,' answered the man who had assumed role of Doctor Fate, his face grim beneath the magical golden helm, '_my own opinion is more...conservative.'_

The man felt the quiet acknowledgement from the Lord of Order before the powerful force retreated to the depths of his mind, leaving the man to his own thoughts.

The mage frowned in thought as he walked through the halls. Despite what he had said to his powerful patron, he couldn't help but slightly agree with him. The resurrection of anyone, be they good or bad, for whatever purpose it was done, could be considered a wonder, a miracle. Even more so considering who it was that now walked the mortal realms again and from where their soul had been pulled from.

The Throne of Heroes, the domain of the Heroic Spirits, was whispered in the annals of his predecessors with awe and reverence. A place for the greatest of humanity's heroes and icons, and maybe even those beyond, to dwell and watch over those they had protected in life. And even, in some cases, to lay their ephemeral touch on the mortal plane to guide those who came after them on the correct path.

And a denizen of that exalted dimension had been summoned from the great beyond, far from the reach of even his patrons or their counterparts.

All because of the determination of a lonely and sorrowful boy who merely wanted to hold his mother in his embrace, to the point of Bargaining with the Endless of Death, sometimes referred to as Teleute.

Doctor Fate grimaced to himself. The Endless were beings beyond his patrons power, symbolising the very foundational forces of animate reality. Without these forces existing, life could could not either. They dwelled on a plane so far above that of the earthly province, that any being native to this base dimension would be destroyed, mind and body and soul, if they were to set foot on the Endless' plane. Their very beings would not be able to accept, to understand, the nature of it.

The only way to interact with them was for them to voluntarily descend to this plane, which was not a small matter for any of them.

It worried the magical hero greatly that an Endless was willing to Bargain with a mere child. What could have possibly caused Death itself to be willing to do so with a young child? What was the price the young boy had to pay? What were the objects he had to retrieve? And where were they that Death was unable, or maybe unwilling, retrieve them herself?

These were very serious questions, and he most definitely wanted answers.

And they were only the tip of the iceberg!

Who was this child that the Endless was willing to Bargain with him to the point of almost violating the stringent laws of Death's domain?

Who was this young boy that he even had enough power to pull off this ritual of resurrection?

A myriad of other thoughts and questions spun in his mind, all of which he needed answers to, and with haste.

His eyes flicked to the signs above each of the doorways in the corridor, before focusing on one, seeing that it was his destination and the current residence of the two beings in question that he wished to obtain his answers from, at least at this current point in time.

His blue clad hand reached out as his steps took him to it, before rapping firmly on the hard steel door thrice, as his eyes gleamed with magic behind the helm even as the golden amulet that held his cape also glowed subtlely.

To his eyes, the door suddenly no longer existed, his vision unhindered by the metallic portal, allowing him to see the two he sought.

He felt a twinge of regret in his heart at the sight he saw.

The tall dark haired woman, Penthesilea if he was informed correctly, was seated at the small table that the room offered, her toned but feminine arms, free of scars or imperfections, were clasped tightly around the form of a young man, a boy really, holding him close and rocking him gently even as the boy had buried his face in the crook of her shoulder.

It was a picture of domestic comfort. He hated to have interrupted such a scene, but needs must.

Though the rather quelling glare that the mother gave in his direction, her blue eyes flashing and wrathful, may have had something to do with those regrets.

'Ware storms of a woman's wrath. And double for a mother's.

Doctor Fate ended the spell quickly, the steel portal once more coming into focus. Judging by the wrath in those eyes, he didn't want to get on her bad side more than he already had. Though he had managed to get something out of the glance.

The woman was most definitely the former Queen of the Amazons, his true sight showed him that much. No truth could hidden nor any deception be unpierced by the Amulet of Anubis, and the spiritual crown of a queen adorning her head and the spectral ravens hovering about her, a symbol of regret and sorrow, gave him enough information to ascertain the truth.

Though he still didn't know much about the boy.

Looking at the back of the boy had dimmed his sight to a degree, some base truths about the young man unseen but unhidden, but others were clear.

The boys age was just short of thirteen, with natural black hair and green eyes. Tall for his age and his muscles were well toned, crafted in a way to be used rather than to put on a display like the vain fools at Muscle Beach.

Numerous scars littered the boy's body, making the arcane hero narrow his eyes. Experience told him that none of them could have been self inflicted, nor could all of them be attributed to accidents or fights, even deadly ones. The hot breath of anger and loathing filled his mind and soul as the Doctor came to the only possible conclusion that made any degree of sense.

His hands tightened into fists as he strived to shove down those enraged thoughts. Now was not the time to indulge in them. He forcefully focused his mind on other aspects of the boy he had picked up beyond the physical.

The spiritual aspect of the boy was far more unique. His aura, his very soul, encasing him skin tight, as though his soul and flesh were one and the same, an spiritual impossibility for a being of the mortal plane as the mage knew it.

Mortals, whether human or any other species, were made up of three distinct, yet harmonious, elements.

The first was the element of Flesh, also known as the Body. Despite the name, it was meant more than just meat, blood and bone. It meant the primal life force, the spark of existence, that existed in all natural living beings. Without this portion of existence, even the smallest dregs of it that a ghost, spirit or other undead being had, one was unable to even exist within the mortal plane without the world, that some mages mistakenly call 'Gaia', rejecting it. It was for that very reason that vampires drank blood and that zombies were reputed to devour flesh. As they could not produce that life spark themselves, they sought to take it from others, which dwelled heavily in the living giving fluid called blood and within the mortal flesh, especially in the heart and liver.

The second element was called the Mind or the Spirit. This was one of the more difficult to define elements, one that was often mistaken for the third element due to the similarities and more powerful links between them. It was based on one's experiences, memories. If the Flesh was the instrument of a person, performing the acts, then the Mind was what governed it, allowed to be able to learn, to understand the world around them and make decisions upon that, often incomplete, understanding. Thus it was because of this that memories and experiences were it's basis, for how could one understand heat when one has not experienced a burn? It was also the most fluid of aspects of a person. The Flesh is unchanging and inviolate, despite what Morpheus or shapeshifters would have you think. The Mind was more fluid, malleable, adaptable, changing slightly with each experience. This fluidity, however, made it all the more fragile, vulnerable. If you take away a person's memories, all of their experiences that they have learned, what are they but a breathing, unmoving husk?

The third element, and arguably the most vital, is known as the Soul or the Heart. Without the Soul, a being with the other two elements is merely a learning automaton. The Soul is the basis of one's own individuality, their uniqueness among others. It is what drives us to succeed, to live. It is the seat of one of the most important parts of a person: their emotions. The Mind might let us know how to do something, the Body may let us perform the deed, but it is the Soul gives us the drive to do it, the _will_ to do it.

And magic, from whatever land, from whatever time, at it's most basic of principles, is the act of willing a certain phenomenon, a spell, to manifest in the material world.

Thus, without a soul, one cannot perform magic.

Mind, Body and Soul.

Spirit, Flesh and Heart.

These three elements are what made a man, a man. Take away one of them and one could no longer be considered a man.

However, despite the closeness of each of them, the links between each, they are all naturally separate from one another, despite being contained within a singular vessel. There were transfers of power between them, of course, otherwise a man was not able to move.

The Mind decides what would happen, which is then received by the Soul which wills the Body to perform the action and the body then gives feedback to the Mind. That is the cycle of life, of action, of existence. Each aspect of a being's very existence flowing from one part to another but also remaining separate from them. They had to so as to remain uncorrupted and functional. Any unbalance or displacement of these aspects, metaphysically moving them closer or further away from the others could have disastrous effects of the victim.

Slower thought processes, dulled reaction times, inability to cope with emotions. These were just some of the possible effects. Others, at higher levels of displacement, reached complete paralysis, catatonia and complete irreversible insanity.

This young child, however, in some fashion, had seemed to have...merged might be the best word...his Soul and Body into a single aspect, without seeming to have any negative consequences that he could determine from the brief glimpse.

That should not have been impossible, it should have destroyed the child's physical form long before it happened. And yet he saw it with his own eyes.

It seemed he would have more questions for this mother and son duo Than he had originally thought.

Doctor Fate was drawn from his musings as, with a whisper of a pneumatic hiss, the metal door parted down the middle and the two halves withdrew into the frame of the portal, revealing the stoic face of the former Amazon Queen.

"Can I help you?" The firm voice of the Amazon enquired, her face no longer showing the irritation he had glimpsed just before.

"I am Doctor Fate, my lady," he spoke behind the golden helm, his voice slightly echoing from the hollow of the golden apparel, as he gave a slight bow to one of royal blood, conveying respect but not subservience, "I believe that my colleagues have informed you that I may approach you?"

"They did," she nodded, her blue eyes raking over him, judging him and checking for any sign of deception or danger. He noticed her eyes lingered on his amulet for a longer moment, no doubt sensing the power within, before raising up to meet his eyes, dismissing it as a threat at that moment. "I take it you wish to talk?"

"If I may?" He acknowledged respectfully. Despite his own prodigal powers over the arcane and not insignificant physical might, he knew that this warrior queen would be able to react much faster than he could possibly sling a spell. It would be best not to anger her.

Her eyes narrowed at him, trying to see through any deception he could possibly make, but found nothing untoward.

She stepped out of the doorway, wordlessly allowing him entrance, and in doing so allowed him to see the face of the young man, who now sat at the small table within the room, for the first time.

It was all Doctor Fate could do not to startle himself as he saw a face that was very recognisable in a certain sect of magic users.

Fortunately, even as he stepped through with another nod of respect to the Amazon of the royal line, his mind spun furiously, his patron also conveying his shock to his host at what the Lord of Order saw through the eyes of his mortal vessel.

"Welcome, Doctor Fate," spoke the boy known as Harry Potter as he dipped his head in respect to the Avatar of Nabu, "I trust your day has been well so far?" the boy gestured to a kettle of hot tea, Earl Grey unless the Doctor's refined nose was mistaken, "would you care for a cup as we speak?"

"To a point," the Doctor acknowledged absently, his mind taken aback by the genteel refinement the young man exhibited. It was not what he had been expecting. "And no, I think I will pass on your kind offer."

Disguising his slight discomfort, he certainly wasn't prepared to deal with such a personage, he slid into the seat opposite the young man and his reputed mother, which by itself brought even more questions to mind. He had heard from the daughter of his old friend Zatara on the unique circumstances of the boy's conception and birth, but he certainly was expecting said boy to already be known to a select portion of the mystical world under a different name and identity.

It made the discussion he needed to have with the lad all the more important.

"So," the young man spoke, taking the reins of the conversation as they all got comfortable, after taking a pleasurable sip of the tea, "what can I do for you, Doctor Fate?"

The Doctor grimaced slightly beneath his helm, his body language otherwise betraying nothing of his unease or discomfort. Whether he was prepared or not for this discussion, it was going to happen anyway.

* * *

Cold blue eyes narrowed in a wrathful glare as he looked around at the carnage nature had wrought in this pinprick of a place in the country known as Turkey.

The owner of those eyes growled to himself as he scanned the massive circular crater, seeing more than just the physical with his senses.

To say Ares, the Olympian God of War, was unhappy at the moment could have considered a gross understatement.

He did not like this place. Too many painful memories, many of them still metaphorically weeping ichor and blood, were associated with this plain, river and the ruins in the distance. But even as he disliked it, he also protected it, a lasting legacy of one of the few people in this world he had ever respected, or even loved.

And now some _mongrel_ had desecrated this place!

His hands clenched into fists as his temper spiked, an invisible aura of power and malice and rage filling the immediate area.

He fought to rein in his aura, wrestling with his temper, as around him fell the various men and women going about their business, their bodies collapsing under the strain of a God's wrath. Their minds filled with fear and terror, the companions of war.

Ares seethed like an angered snake, his face writhing and twisting inhumanly. His mystical senses could practically taste the remnants of the spell that had been invoked here, tainting the air with it's stench. The scent of Life and Death and the earth itself filling his metaphysical nostrils.

The spell used here had been _powerful_, he knew that much, and the devastation done to the trees and rocks were simply backlash from what had been performed in the middle of that crater.

He slowly calmed down, his anger banking, allowing him to think more clearly, coldly, analytically.

The mortal bugs around him, pathetically deaf and blind to his presence, began to raise themselves from the ground where they had fallen, their limbs shaky and their skin pale and sweating with fear and terror, unable to understand what had just happened to them. Ares had no doubt that the few brief moments that they had been exposed to a mere fraction of his aura would be the fuel of nightmares for years to come.

Good. These insects would learn their place in the order of things.

Eyes that see beyond the physical scanned the area once more, flicking back and forth as the realm of the Flesh moved away from his sight and his eyes pierced the veil into the realm of the Soul.

He frowned slightly as vivid electric strings of power were exposed to him. Remnants, trails, footprints of those who had passed by. There were more than he had thought, and some of them he recognised on sight.

His eye wandered over a meandering one of blue white, an indication of a powerful soul, surrounded by a soft mist of vivid green and black. There was only one soul he knew to have that particular mix.

It seemed that his granddaughter had been here. A little over a day ago if he read the strand correctly. Something that he would keep in mind. If he, Olympus forbid, failed to track the mongrel who had done this, a small family reunion may perhaps be in order.

He quickly identified a few other 'cords'. The Detective from Gotham. The girl mage from the line of Nostradamus. The one blessed by the Speed Force.

It seemed that the League was still able to react relatively quickly.

But they were not what he was looking for.

In the centre of the circular crater, that was now merely a large indent in the river bank, he saw the origin of the vast spell, the source of his current troubles.

He narrowed his eyes as he contemplated what he saw, puzzling it out.

Instead of one cord, he saw two.

One of them, a bright metallic silver coursing with smaller strands of a burning incandescent white and vivid blue with streaks of red, was practically all over the place, running back and forth along both sides of the riverbanks, some parts of the trail already fading away. It seemed that the origin of this cord had been in this general location for weeks, perhaps even months, searching for something.

And guessing by the destruction of the area, the person had found it.

Ares' eyes flared slightly with the flames of wrath and war. He was willing to bet good drachma that this cord belonged to the mongrel would had dared to defile this sacred place. He grinned coldly, this foolish mage would not escape him long.

He frowned even heavier before as he turned his eyes to the other cord.

It was another blue white one but instead of the green and black of his granddaughter's, it was threaded heavily with crimson, the colour of spilled blood. A symbol of the owner's affinity for the warrior's arts.

He felt his temper begin to rise again as he realised who it belonged to.

"They dare!" He hissed lowly, his throat to clogged with anger and rage to speak properly.

'Blasphemy!' His mind roared.

He knew to whom that strand of power belonged, having nurtured the owner in their formative years. Trained her, praised her, protected her, loved her as a father would his child. A child that was close to his heart, that had changed it more than even her sisters or their mother.

Some mongrel piss ant of a mage had dared to defile the resting place of his deceased favoured daughter. Worse yet, the mongrel seemed to have called her very soul onto the mortal plane.

The air grew heavier once more under his wrath, as he changed his sight to a mortal's own once more with a guttural snarl, focusing only on the strand of his daughter's as it trailed off into the distance, accompanied by the mongrel's own weakened cord.

Still invisible to mortal eyes, he rose into the air from his position at the lip of the crater that had defiled his daughter, Penthesilea's, grave. With a roar of the wind, he shot off, a hound on the scent and trail of it's prey.

'There would be blood for this,' Ares swore, his blond hair ruffling in the wind as he sped off, his own blue eyes becoming scarlet gems unknown to him, 'blood enough to stain the oceans crimson.'

As the sun set on that day, the sky itself stained red as blood, heralding a battle to come.

* * *

In an endless abyss of darkness and rot, surrounded by orbs of tainted purple and blue fire, a masked face watched the anger of the War God grow. It felt no satisfaction or anger, neither joy nor happiness, at scene it saw in the cloud of scrying darkness.

It merely acknowledged another of it's pawns had been moved.

The opening gambit had been played, the first piece had been moved.

Let the Great Game begin.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**

**Hi folks!**

**I know that this was not my best or quickest of chapters, and for that I apologise, however work has been piling up and tiring the hell out of me. That said, I will try to get the next update of my various works out a little bit quicker.**

**I know that this chapter is also a bit of a filler, but if I wanted to get this chapter out any time soon, I had to cut it off here. It lays the foundations for an upcoming fight in, hopefully, two or three chapters and shows a glimpse at a scheme behind the scenes.**

**In the next chapter, sadly, there will be more talking, mainly the Doctor Fate and the mother/son team but there will a nice little fight scene for one of the Leaguers.**

**Until then, read and review.**

**Kujikiri21**


End file.

Harry Potter, Justice League