Chapter Text
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son! Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken... you will resurrect your foe."
Boring. Seriously, could he have chosen a less uninspired ritual? And he was supposed to be the worst Dark Lord of all time? Where was the grandeur? Where were the slaughtered mythical beasts, the cascading rivers of blood, or the screaming sacrifices? This felt like a cheap ritual put together by a generic devil worshipper. Wait until Pansy hears about this, Nyx thought, suppressing a yawn. She’ll die of second-hand embarrassment.
"Nyx Potter, you stand on the bones of my late father..."
She tuned his voice out completely. A villain monologue? In this century? Pass. Honestly, this whole display was pathetic, and she had waited far too long for her revenge to sit through a lecture.
"Has anyone ever told you that you are way too narcissistic?" her voice rang out, clear, calm, and utterly dripping with disdain.
The newly resurrected Dark Lord stopped mid-sentence, his crimson eyes snapping toward her. "She speaks," Voldemort sneered, his voice high and cruel. "I thought the terror had rendered you mute."
With a sudden, violent crack, the stone statue holding her captive froze solid, turning into a block of pale blue ice before shattering into a thousand glittering shards. Nyx stepped out of the debris, completely unbothered.
"Terror? From the likes of you?" She dusted a stray flake of frost off her shoulder. "I’ve met field mice more terrifying. Although, I do admit... you have very attractive eyes." She paused, tilting her head. She always did have a terrible weakness for a good shade of blood-red.
Voldemort snarled, his pale face contorting with rage as he slashed his wand through the air. "Crucio! Crucio! CRUCIO!"
The blood-red curses hit her dead in the chest. Nyx didn't even blink. She merely looked down at her hands, her expression instantly darkening into something murderous. "No. No, no, no. My gloves are ruined. They were a gift from Daphne. I am going to fucking skin you, you filthy, disgusting rat!"
She threw a scalding, predatory glare over Voldemort's shoulder toward Peter Pettigrew. The Animagus whimpered, instantly cowering beneath the sheer weight of her gaze.
"How? HOW?!" Voldemort roared, his wand trembling. No one shrugged off a triple Cruciatus. No one.
"I don't have pain receptors, you absolute imbecile," Nyx shrugged, a disturbingly wide, erratic smile slowly carving its way onto her face. "But we don't have time for your confusion right now. I do believe it's time for a theater production. And every grand theater needs an audience." She swept a glance over the surrounding Death Eaters, her lip curling. "Although, not these guys. They are dreadfully ugly for such an exciting revenge story. I'm thinking much more... global."
A blinding green light flashed through the dark. Voldemort had fired a Killing Curse, but before it could touch her, a massive wall of glacial ice materialized from the dirt. The curse struck it, shattering the frost into a million pieces.
"Be patient, you half-blood son of a filthy Muggle," Nyx hissed, her eyes locking onto his with absolute loathing. "I need a proper audience to make an example out of you. No one fucks with my House and lives."
Voldemort was fully enraged now, unleashing a barrage of dark curses, each one exploding uselessly against the instantly regenerating walls of her ice magic.
With a wicked smirk, Nyx spread her arms wide. Dozens of highly polished ice mirrors materialized in the air, flying outward in every direction, soaring high above the graveyard and out into the wizarding world. The Death Eaters panicked, frantically firing spells to shoot them down, but their curses passed right through them.
"Now that we have a sufficient audience... these extras are completely unneeded." Nyx snapped her fingers.
A localized blizzard swept through the graveyard in a fraction of a second. The ambient temperature plummeted below zero, and before the Death Eaters could even scream, they were frozen solid—turned into permanent, pristine statues of ice.
"Now it’s just you and me, handsome red eyes," Nyx purred, before grimacing. "Ew, never mind. Ugly face with attractive red eyes. Still ew."
"You will pay for this insolence, Potter!" Voldemort screamed, his pride entirely shattered. "You filthy half-blood! I am Lord Voldemort! I will show you what true power is! FIENDFYRE!"
A monstrous, demonic fire erupted from his wand, twisting into the shape of a massive, roaring serpent. The cursed flames hissed, slithering rapidly toward her. Nyx stood her ground, her calm, ice-cold eyes reflecting the oncoming inferno.
"Ice Age," she muttered.
The ground groaned. A shockwave of absolute zero burst from beneath her boots. In the blink of an eye, the raging Fiendfyre froze mid-air, turning into a jagged, lifeless sculpture of black ice before the entire graveyard was transformed into a desolate, frozen wasteland.
Voldemort stared at her. For the first time, behind the delicious, boiling rage in his eyes, there was a distinct hint of raw fear. Nyx caught it, shivering with pure, unadulterated excitement.
"Oh, my love... you haven't seen a thing," she whispered. "This is just the beginning of your end."
"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT! I WILL NEVER END! AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The unblockable, fatal green light surged forward. Nyx didn't even raise her wand. She simply threw her bare hand out, swatting the Killing Curse away into the night sky like a pesky insect. Voldemort lost all momentum, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at her like a stranded fish.
"You've had your fun, darling. Now it’s my turn." Nyx flashed him a blindingly seductive, terrifying smile as a thick, heavy mist began to cloud his vision. "Mirroring Ice Crystals."
She vanished.
Voldemort suddenly found himself trapped within a towering dome of crystallized ice mirrors. He spun around like a maniac, flinging curses left and right—Killing Curses, dark fire, blasting hexes—but every spell passed harmlessly through the reflective surfaces.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"
Her cold, mocking voice echoed from every single direction at once. Voldemort spun around, zeroing in on a mirror that suddenly showed her reflection. He sent a blasting curse right through it, watching it shatter with a brief surge of triumph—only for a new mirror to instantly slide into its place.
"Missed me, darling. I do hope those thirteen years spent as a disgusting, homeless wraith haven't ruined your eyesight," she taunted.
Suddenly, her reflection appeared in a second mirror. Then a third. Then all of them. Hundreds of Nyx Potters smiled back at him, mocking his every move as he blew them apart, only for the ice to reform perfectly every single time.
"My turn, my love. I hope you're ready for quite a bit of torture. Personally? I do love the sight of... punctured lungs."
Thuck. Two thick, wicked ice needles materialized out of thin air and drove themselves straight through Voldemort’s chest, piercing his lungs. He staggered back, coughing violently as dark blood spilled past his lips. Yet, despite the pain, a horrific, bloody laugh tore from his throat.
"Even if you keep this up all day, you uppity whore, my body will never yield!" Voldemort snarled, spitting blood onto the ice. "This form was crafted through years of ancient research and dark rituals! Any injury you deal will heal in seconds! Any limb I cut will grow back! I am immortal! I CANNOT DIE! Eventually, you will run out of energy, and when you do, I will dismember you limb by limb. I will pass your body around to every one of my Death Eaters for their amusement, and then I will mount your head on a spike right beside your pathetic mother's memorial!"
The air inside the dome went dead silent for a single, quiet heartbeat.
Then came the snickering.
"YOU DARE MOCK ME?!" Voldemort shrieked.
The snickering erupted into a full, melodic bout of laughter, which quickly morphed into a wild, delighted cackle echoing off the ice.
"Oh my god, you are fantastic, my love!" Nyx cried, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. "I never thought I’d have such an entertaining toy to play with!"
Before he could even process the words, her voice dropped the amusement, turning razor-sharp.
"Arms."
A soul-searing agony tore through him as two broadswords of pure ice sliced through his shoulders, severing both of his hands cleanly off.
"Liver."
A jagged ice spear impaled his stomach, making his knees buckle.
"Kidneys."
Two wicked daggers plunged into his lower back. Voldemort threw his head back and screamed, a raw, unholy sound of pure torment.
"And lastly... the heart."
There was no weapon this time. Nyx appeared right in front of him, her bare hand tearing straight through his sternum, her fingers wrapping directly around his pulsing, freshly formed heart. Voldemort couldn't even breathe, the sheer, paralyzing agony of her touch consuming his entire reality.
"My sweet, sweet child," Nyx whispered into his ear, her voice distorted with pure, sadistic glee. "If I wanted you to die, all I’d have to do is go destroy your little hidden trinkets. But that’s the easy way out. After all... you can heal, can’t you?"
She yanked her hand back, exiting his chest cavity. Instantly, the ice weapons vanished, and Voldemort’s dark magic forced his body to rapidly knit itself back together. The flesh fused, the organs reformed, and the pain began to recede.
But before he could even draw a clean breath, her cursed, joyful voice shattered his relief.
"Hahaha! It’s really true! How absolutely delightful!" Nyx clapped her hands together, her eyes dancing with manic fervor. "You are going to prove to be my absolute masterpiece. LUNG!"
Thuck. The agony returned.
"Spleen!"
"Arms!"
"Liver!"
It went on for hours. An endless, brutal cycle in the dark, frozen dome. The graveyard echoed with Voldemort's ragged, unending screams and Nyx's delighted, melodic laughter. At one point, she stopped using the needles and simply ripped his heart out, tossing it onto the ice like garbage to watch it regrow. At another, she shattered his legs, using the heel of her designer shoes to smash his face into a bloody pulp, waiting patiently for the magic to put him back together just to do it again.
By the time she finally stopped, the dark lord was barely coherent. He was a trembling, weeping mess, flinching and screaming at the mere sight of her smile.
Nyx let out a soft, disappointed sigh, looking down at him like a child who had just broken their favorite doll. "I guess even the most precious toys break in the end," she said sadly.
With a wave of her hand, the massive dome of ice shattered, dissolving into the night air. Voldemort knelt in the snow, a completely broken puppet, his eyes vacant and white, his throat too raw to even produce a whimper.
Nyx's eyes hardened, all the playful mania vanishing, replaced by a cold, ancient wrath. She raised her right hand, and a breathtaking, ethereal blade materialized in her palm, radiating a thick, freezing white vapor.
"Look me in the eyes, you broken puppet," she commanded. "Just being in your presence disgusts me, you filthy half-blood. But for avenging my mother, I will endure it."
Voldemort weakly looked up, his faded eyes locking onto hers.
Nyx flashed him a devilish, beautiful smile. "This sword is called Mist Splitter for a reason. When you made your precious little soul jars, you essentially turned your soul into a volatile mist, capable of being divided. With this blade, I can split your soul in half, tearing through the connection of every single hidden trinket you left behind, no matter where they are buried. I want you to die knowing that the only thing you ever managed to achieve... was absolute failure."
She brought the blade down, driving it straight through his newly regenerated heart.
An unholy, cataclysmic shriek echoed across the grounds—but it didn't come from his mouth. It came from the air itself. Voldemort’s body lit up like a blinding lighthouse, his flesh fracturing into brilliant lines of white light, before violently bursting into a thick, pale mist that scattered instantly into the freezing wind.
He was gone. Completely.
Nyx stood up, sheathing her magic as she looked up at the dark, starry sky. A single, lone tear spilled from her left eye, tracing a path down her pale cheek. "You're avenged, Mother," she whispered softly.
Within a minute, her manic grin was right back in place. She turned toward the hovering ice mirrors that had broadcasted the entire execution to the wizarding world, giving them a sweeping, theatrical bow.
"I do hope you enjoyed my show, my darlings," Nyx purred mockingly into the reflections. "And I hope a very valuable lesson was learned tonight: no one fucks with House Evanshade and lives to tell the tale. Take care, everyone... and remember to fear my wrath."
She gave a mock curtsy, and with a soft shhhk, her body turned entirely into pure ice, shattering into a thousand beautiful, harmless snowflakes that drifted away into the night.