Card the moon
Chapter 30 – Secrets revealed
…
I don't care what they think. It was for his own good. I don't care what they think. It was for his own good. I don't care what they think.
There is an argument to be made for mantras, the repeated chanting of things for purposes of… um—purposes. In this instance, the purpose was to convince herself that she really didn't care what her friends thought of her, because what she'd done was right and for their own good. She didn't care what they thought of her. No, really.
It wasn't working, the mantra that is. The need to concentrate on the words was simply keeping her from breaking down and crying, it wasn't convincing anyone of anything, least of all her.
Snitch, they'd called her, and much worse. Ron had at least. Harry had just sat there with a hollow look like she'd ripped his heart right out of his chest. She could use that metaphor because she was feeling a very similar feeling as she walked back from the library only her hole was filled with water that threatened to spill out through her eyes.
She couldn't study like that. She'd get the pages all wet.
"Hermione! HERMIONE!"
She blinked away the threatening tears as her cat tore round the corner and came barreling at her, "Luna? Luna what is it?"
"Youma," the cat cried. "Transform. NOW!"
The urgency, nay panic from her familiar had her dropping the stack of books she was carrying and scrambling for her compact as the sound of buzzing filled the corridor. "Moon power, make up!"
Twirl, flash, sparklesparklesparkle, and Sailor Moon watched the youma come buzzing around the corner. Hermione was surprised, none of the others could fly. The youma was surprised too, she thought she was just chasing down a light snack.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
Hermione groaned, "Must you be so cliché?"
"It's called classic," the youma countered.
"It's called overused and uncreative," Sailor Moon counter countered.
"Well, what do you know! Who the heck are you?"
The ghost of Shakespeare rose up, only to be soundly beaten back down with unnecessary force. She was not in the mood.
"I'm Sailor Moon, and your about to be dust!" There was no spinning or twirling when she yanked the tiara from her head, but it still glowed like a golden discus of death when she flung it at the hovering youma.
The youma, nonplussed, dodged with insulting ease. That was okay, she'd get her on the rebound—except not. The youma appeared acutely aware of her surroundings and gently floated out of harms way as the tiara returned to its thrower.
"That all you got?"
Yes, the stupid tiara was all she had. She didn't count the crying thing, she had no control over that, and the deep lonely sorrow she'd been feeling had all been channeled into her anger circuit, charging it up just below hissing, spitting fury.
She threw the tiara again. It was a mistake.
The youma dodged then shot forward like an arrow, taking the Sailor scout hard in the midsection. She'd been hit a lot of times since becoming Sailor Moon, but this was something new. She could have done without it.
She did a rolling slide across the floor, coming to a halt gasping for air and holding her battered middle like the insides might fall out if she didn't.
"What, is that all?" the youma taunted, listing to the right as the tiara came back, hitting the floor before skidding to a halt some feet from its owner.
Hermione looked up at the smirking youma. Anger warred with fear who was bolstered by pain. She fought herself to a standing position, hobbled to retrieve her tiara. The youma watched, utterly confident in her position.
They shared a look, Hermione's eyes glistened, then, she turned abruptly and ran.
The youma's echoing laughter ran along beside her, easily keeping pace. "Run fast little mouse. I wouldn't want this to be over too soon."
She didn't want to be over too soon either since it promised to be over very badly for her. Rational thought jumped ship and all operations were transferred to instinct, and instinct knew its job. Run; run fast, run far, do not stop.
This of course is why humans are not run purely on instinct. It's their ability to reason that makes them the apex animal. For example, Sailor Moon could run, far better than plain old Hermione, far better than most professional athletes, and in heels. What Sailor Moon could not do was run forever; even the cosmic powered soldier would tire eventually. She also could not fly.
"Here I come little mouse."
And that was just under normal circumstances. Her middle had the feeling of being hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer and this was being translated in strange and unhelpful ways into her legs and lungs.
In short, running was getting her nowhere fast, but the parts of her brain that would have told her that were currently shut down to power her fight or flight instinct, and the switch was taped down on flight.
"Oo, watch out for that corner. Come on, you can do better than that. Lift those knees, hup, hup, hup!" the youma taunted like it were all some sadistic game.
Hermione didn't see the humor. She also didn't see the invisible dust bunny, because who ever does, that sent her into a painful flying tumble with an embarrassing butt in the air skid. The only saving grace, there was no wall crash at the end.
The youma hovered overhead cackling as Hermione achingly tried to right herself. Her legs shook and failed. She couldn't stand. She couldn't fight. Instinct had failed and reason came back online just in time to tell her exactly how screwed she was. The tears came freely then.
"Aw, big bad Sailor scout all runned out," the youma said. "It's funny you know. I'd heard all of you were supposed to be dead."
Undoubtably there was a quip about making her dead soon to follow but she'd no interest in hearing it. She opened her mouth, more than adequately distraught to use her trump card, but the youma cut her off, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her squirming form against the wall.
"Well, better late than never," she cackled, drawing back a hand which grew fingernails as long and sharp as daggers. "I wonder what master Jadeite will say when I bring him your corpse?"
"Don't spend so much time gloating."
The crack echoed the full length of the hall and Sailor Moon went 'oof' when she was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Several more cracks quickly followed, and Hermione looked to see a dark form thrashing the youma.
No, not a dark form she realized as her eyes came back into focus. A man, a well-dressed man with a cane was beating the youma like a red-haired stepchild. The cane made a wicked crack every time it connected with her face and he was so fast the youma had no chance to put up a defense.
"Hermione! Hermione are you alright?"
Her cat bounded up, concern writ clear across her feline face.
"Hermione?"
"Who is that?"
He was amazing. He was ferocious. He kicked like a mule, sending the youma sprawling to the ground stunned.
He looked at her through his domino mask. He offered his hand, "Stand up, Sailor Moon. The fights not over yet."
Renewed energy flowed through her, cheeks reddening as she took the offered hand and rose unsteadily to her feet. "Who—who are you?"
"That's what I want to know," the youma interrupted, flopping around angrily as she tried to figure out which way was up.
"That's not important," he said calmly. "We have more pressing matters to attend."
Pressing matters who chose that moment to figure out where the ground was and remember how to get off of it.
"She flies," said Sailor Moon, "none of the others could do that."
She looked a little shaky, but Sailor Moon still felt a little shaky. She wasn't going to throw the tiara again unless she knew it would connect.
"Flimsy looking wings," the man observed.
They were similar to a dragonfly's only much larger and pointed at the tips.
"If we could break them," said Sailor Moon. "But she's so fast."
"I wonder how well they handle the cold?"
They way he said it sent a chill racing up her spine, then she realized it wasn't his words, the temperature in the hall had abruptly dropped, and was that a breeze.
"SNOW!"
Sailor Moon squealed when the arctic blast flew down the hall. Grabbing her skirt, she pressed into the well-dressed man for protection. It felt, oddly familiar.
The wind subsided; Sailor Moon opened her eyes to a cheeky sort of grin. "That worked better than I'd hoped."
Buried under a foot of snow, the youma sat on the floor huddled into herself shivering. Her wings were frozen solid and sticking out of her back like four thin icicles.
"Yooooouuuuu. Yoooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!" she shivered angrily.
"Care to take it from here?"
She did, and this time her tiara hit. The youma was gone, but the snow remained, and there was a lot of it.
"Boy Filch is gonna be mad when he see's this," the man commented, his voice playful, familiar.
She looked at him, really looked at him.
"We should probably go before anyone sees us."
But she had seen him, "Harry?"
"Huh?" he stared at blankly, the proverbial deer in the headlights. She knew that look.
"Harry! That is you!"
"Uh, well I uh, um, that is, uh, uh, hi, Hermione."