It had been Hermione that had been their sole navigator from the very beginning. Harry had hardly ever left Surrey before now, traveling only as far a London a handful of times as had Ron. So it was up to her to pick their locations as she'd traveled far more extensively than either boy had. Taking Harry's hand without strictly looking at him, she concentrated carefully on one of the many places she'd been to before. Her parents had taken her to the Orkney Islands the summer before she'd received her Hogwarts letter.
All of her family vacations had an element of educational appeal. They couldn't go someplace and not learn something; it was a Granger family rule. Her father had wanted to see Viking graffiti in Yesnaby. She and her mother had wanted to go to Brig o'Waithe near Stenness because they'd heard you could see otters there. Her ten year old self had dearly wanted to see a real live otter in the sea, not in cooped up in some zoo. Without fail, her father had given in and they'd gone to Brig o'Waithe. They sat there for some time with a picnic lunch, waiting patiently for dusk to come. And when it had, she'd seen them. Just two small otters, rolling and gamboling about in the water and she had cried tears of joy as she watched them play. It was that memory that she'd used when first summoning her Patronus.
When she closed her eyes and concentrated on her destination she realized almost instantly that she'd done a bad job of it. The locket! - He'd worn it all last night and they'd switched it back in the morning. He hadn't wanted to but she'd been insistent that it should be no more than twelve hours at a time, preferably less. It's the only reason why she could imagine they'd end up in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time, because she was wearing that damned locket. Instead of a lightly populated area near a loch where she had once watched otters swimming at sunset, they ended up on a desolate Cliffside on one of the other islands. She had seen St. John's Head from the ferry, but she'd never been there herself.
But here they were, near St. John's Head and nowhere near where she had intended to go. The only way this could be worse is if she'd managed to splinch herself or Harry. Swearing was against her nature in general, but... Giving in, she whispered, "Damn."
Clutching her coat closer to her, she shivered. It was dreadfully cold, even for Scotland. She turned to say as much to Harry (and to apologize for her navigational error), but the words were lost on her lips. He was pale, so very, very pale. His eyes focused on the sky above them as he trembled. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she watched frost form on his lapels, on his hair. Following his gaze, she saw a sight that stopped her heart cold. Dementors - not just a few hundred but thousands of them. So many that they had blotted out the sky as they became visible to her eyes.
Harry's hand fell from her grasp and she turned to him quickly. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he fell screaming to the ground. He writhed violently before he began to seize and twitch. She heard her voice from a thousand miles away calling his name. Felt her body as if it weren't' her own throw herself on him, his face in her hands as she tried to wake him. Desperation setting in as she looked over her shoulder and saw waves of them floating towards her. She took out her wand and tried to cast her Patronus. She tried to reach for that happy memory, any happy memory, to call it forth. But nothing would come. The locket had done its work.
The cold set in. Every happy thought, every good thing she ever felt faded and she only knew despair. But she kept trying, her dry lips whispering the incantation, "E-expecto Pat-t-tronum..."
A whisper of light came from the tip of her wand then juddered out. She tried again, the light was even smaller. She tried again, nothing. There was nothing left. Nothing. So she did the only thing her tired mind would let her, she put herself between Harry and the Dementors, shielding him with her body.
"You can't take him," she cried pitifully, using every bit of strength left in her body to resist the scabrous hands tearing at her clothes, her hair. The stink of them surrounded her and she would have retched had she the energy to do so. 'We're going to die,' she thought. 'Oh, god, we're going to die here.' Even so, she still resisted as they tried to prize her off Harry, tried to wrench her head up so they could deliver their kiss - their dead fingers leaving vicious, bruising scratch marks on her cheeks and neck as she fought them.
And then there was the sudden smell of April - a breeze smelling so strongly of spring rain and new growth that her heart ached. The bone deep cold fled before it and the hands holding her abruptly released. She could breathe again, could feel her heart beating fast in her chest. She was alive. Against all odds, she was alive. With a gasp, she lifted her head to look up. There was a gap of air around her that got wider by the moment - a pulse of light and then from the swirling current a bright shape formed. The Heir of Breath materialized out of thin air, Godhood burning brightly with his arms held out wide. He willed the breeze to form a dome of fast moving air, forcing back the Dementors with a single push of his arms.
The look on his face was grave and not just a little furious. She had only met him that one time, but Hermione could hardly believe that such an expression could ever cross his face.
The breeze could not hold creatures like Dementors for long, and the Heir of Breath knew it. This hardly mattered to him. Lifting his hand in the air, he summoned his weapon - a silly looking hammer for a god to wield but terribly powerful. Hermione gasped, trying to warn him it would not work but she couldn't get it out before he'd launched himself forward recklessly. Her worries were for naught as he swung the hammer and it connected. There was a hard crunching sound and a flash of bright light. The Dementor was knocked back and then torn to shreds with a lazy wave of his hand.
Of course, the Heir of Breath had not come alone. More Dementors broke free from the dome that had pushed them back. There was a rush of bright lavender light just over Hermione's head that smashed head-on into the encroaching wraiths, incinerating them. The beams had come from the points of two needles held by the Seer of Light. Clad in a saffron tunic, her Godhood illuminating the entire area in flickering gold, she hovered momentarily before hitting the ground with both feet and vaulting back into the air, needles positioned over her head. With a roar, she drove the needles into the head of the next Dementor who dared to enter the dome. She tore the damnable thing apart with a quick flick of her wrists and with another flick she summoned a rope of pure Light. The Light crisscrossed around her needles as she danced gracefully, using the rope like a whip. Anything that came near her was vaporized instantly.
And then... then there was Dave. He slid into view with the same kind of effortless skid he'd executed four years ago in a fight that wasn't remotely as serious as the battle they were engaged in now. His sword was slung out in just the same way, but it was glowing bright white in contrast to the man himself, his Godhood ablaze in red flames. With an errant flick, his sword cut through an encroaching Dementor as easily as if it was made of warm butter. The thing disintegrated on impact in a blinding flash of heat and flame.
Dave was joined by another young man, one she'd seen in a picture four years ago. He was in a magenta costume - something she might have laughed at had the circumstances been different. This young man had a sword as well, a sleek katana, which was held out behind him the same as Dave's.
The Knight of Time made some kind of gesture at the approaching hoard that stilled them in their tracks. His brother lunged forward, one hand held out - fingers clenched into a claw. Hot pink lightening gathered in his palm, reaching out and tearing at the frozen wraiths until every last one was caught in its grasp. And with a sharp jerk of his wrist the Dementors he'd caught exploded violently. Motes of blue-white light floated gently upward, away from the dark ashes the Dementors left behind - the souls they had trapped now free to pass on to the next life.
Last of all was a girl that hovered above them all. She was dressed almost entirely in black, bright lime green arcs of electricity crackling off her restlessly that left behind the sharp smell of ozone. This was another person she'd only seen in a photograph. She'd been described to Hermione as being silly; a lighthearted girl who loved orchids and dogs, and laughed at physics puns. This girl bore little resemblance to the description even though she looked exactly as she had in her picture. The girl that hovered above her was dangerous and terrifyingly powerful.
Her acid green eyes were focused ahead as she ever so slowly moved her hands in a wide circular arc. They stilled at her waist, hands cupped as if they were holding more than nothing. With the same slowness, she carefully lifted her hands up, holding her arms out as if she was letting go of whatever she held. And with a sharp motion, her hands slapped through that nothing and made something. A something that was like a controlled explosion, roiling around her hands as they were pressed together. Pistoning her arms forward, she directed the energy of that explosion with horrifying ease. White hot hellfire rolled towards another group of Dementors, consuming them entirely and leaving nothing behind. It spread farther and farther, directed mercilessly by the Witch of Space until there was a ring of lime green fire that surrounded them all and kept the Dementors back.
Things got hazy from there as her focus dimmed. From very far away, she could hear the battle raging; the sounds of shrieking Dementors as they were torn asunder. In the distance she could see multicolored blobs move so fast her eyes couldn't follow them as they fought. A splash of magenta mixed with the white-blue of released souls that curled past midnight blue shadows. Bright green fire rolling through ticking clock gears. Cutting blue wind whipped by bright lavender beams of that undulated gracefully. On their heels were abrupt explosions that were pure angelic white - looking at it, she couldn't help but feel the faintest bit of hope struggle feebly in her chest.
Her vision had narrowed to a pinprick with darkness pressing in on all sides. A pair of slimy hands reached for her and she could feel nothing but cold emptiness. 'Going to pass out,' she thought dimly as her arms wobbled before going out entirely. A pair of soft arms caught her. Whoever it was that cushioned her fall smelt like warm cake - like home and all good things in the world. The black spots receded and her vision cleared just a bit as a bit of that warmth was transferred to her from those same arms. Opening her eyes wearily, she was greeted by clear blue eyes and a kind smile.
"Jane?" she croaked, hardly able to believe her eyes.
In her hand was what could only be an enormous red fork which had speared the Dementor who'd tried to kiss Hermione through its middle. Without even looking, the Maid of Life directed her healing fire into her weapon and through it into the wraith. It let out a single horrifying scream before being reduced to dust.
"Shhh, you'll be all right," Jane whispered distractedly, putting away her weapons so her hand could come up to gently pat her newest patient's cheek. Blue flames leapt from her fingers, eager to heal as they reached for the girl beneath them in so much pain. "Roxy is gonna take you for a minute. I have to help your friend, okay?"
And she was passed from one warm pair of arms to another. She looked up and saw bright pink eyes and candy floss hair, and that same silly grin. Overwhelmed, Hermione began to cry hoarsely. Her sobs came out in pathetic squeaks and gasps as she clung to her friend, whispering, "You came. You came. You came..." like a prayer over and over and over again.
Roxy let the young woman cling to her, nonplussed by her words but understanding that people in such situations often acted irrationally. She'd been there herself more than once. It had occurred to her (and to Rose as well) what universe this might be and what the wraiths they were fighting really were. Woulda been funny had two lives not been on the line. The Dementors clearly could give fuck all about Roxy and her friends; they were aiming straight for the two young people sprawled out on the ground. And they were relentless in their pursuit.
It wasn't as if Dementors were particularly hard to defeat. For those who played the Game they were child's play, really; nothing but shitty bags of protoplasm that exploded on impact from the lightest touch of their power. The fact that the mere presence of those same shitty bags of protoplasm was enough to sap the life out of two innocent people was the part she was concerned with. It would have been easy enough to teleport away, had things been less dire. But neither prone teenager was in any shape to travel their way, being on death's door and all - even John's crazy retcon teleportation was too dangerous to chance in their condition. A Fenestrated Plane wasn't the perfect solution, but it was miles better than any other option. Problem being, she didn't want to take the chance one of those things would follow them through.
The girl she was holding shuddered, still whispering her mantra - 'You came. You came. You came.' Scowling, Roxy realized she was wasting time wool gathering. Holding out a hand, she produced a hank of dark chocolate out of thin air. She offered it to the girl shivering in her arms, but she was insensible. She pushed hard on the girl's cuticle, just hard enough to break whatever fugue state she'd found herself in but not hard enough to really hurt. The girl looked up at her with wide brown eyes, tear tracks running down her gaunt face.
"You gotta eat this, okay? Make you feel better," Roxy explained, urging the chocolate into the girl's shaking hands. Very slowly, she nibbled on it, resting her head on Roxy's shoulder. "S'gonna be okay. You'll see."
"M-my friend... Please, you have to help him," the girl begged, her breath hitching.
Gulping, she whispered soothingly, "S'all good. Janey's gonna take good care of him. See..." And she directed the young woman's gaze to their right where Jane was kneeling over the young man. Her hands held over him as she directed healing fire over his battered body. The boy was too still and Jane glanced at Roxy. For a fraction of a second, she saw worry there but thankfully the girl didn't notice. While still holding the young woman, she wrangled her phone out and sent a single text to Rose with trembling hands: 'shit has hit the fuckingg whirrlied device like a mofo*whirled... exit stradtgey would b gr9 rn. *strantney *strrannienny fuck *strategy -any sighn of serket?'
She scanned the sky, looking for Vriska - who quite frankly should have been here the entire damn time. Jade was probably the most powerful but everyone knew Vriska was the deadliest out of all of them. And she'd taken off the second they'd arrived here. Not that anyone had expected anything else of her. Serket always had plans within plans and rarely tipped her hand when it came to certain parts that involved her and her alone. Since the plan had went more than just a bit sideways, from Roxy's point of view, it might have been nice to have been informed a bit better of how shit was going down - or at least have some kind of contingency when things went tits up.
"God dammit, Vriska," Roxy murmured, nervously smoothing the young woman's unruly hair as her eyes searched desperately for some sign of the Thief of Light.
And then she saw it... eight small points of light falling from the sky. They hit the frost covered ground with a light patter, glowing hot cerulean as they turned over one by one. They singed the ground and melted the frost as they burned more brightly - eight eights - an impossibly lucky roll. High above them, Roxy could see a disturbance. The Dementors had stopped trying to breach their barriers. They were following something else now, like moths foolishly chasing flame.
There was a pulse of light and Vriska came blazing down straight through the dome of air John had created, destroying it entirely as the Dementors followed not that far behind her. Her boots thumping heavily yards from where Roxy sat. The girl in her arms reacted to Vriska's arrival with muted alarm. She gasped, looking at the figured who'd fallen from the sky. The woman was tall... intimidatingly so. Her skin was grey and her black hair was a coarse tangled mess from which her horns, nearly full grown now, stood proudly. She glanced over at them, her strange mismatched eyes glowing fiercely.
There was an incredible flash of light and her clothes changed from the plain saffron and gold of her Godhood to the black with cerulean piping of her Ancestral Awakening. She flicked out her hand sharply as a wicked looking cutlass appeared, formed from light and shadow. Fingers curling around the hilt, she smiled unpleasantly, exposing her sharp canines. And then she leapt into the air, twirling the cutlass in a series of elaborate movements that sent swaths of light sweeping out to thin the ranks of swarming Dementors.
With a final twirl, she pointed the sword down and with a single vicious thrust she stabbed it into the rock hard ground. The area around where she'd planted the cutlass began shake and glow white hot, hotter and hotter till it hurt to look at. The girl and Roxy both closed their eyes, not that it did much good. There was a pulse, a burst of raw power that made Roxy's heart skip a beat and stole her breath. She buried her face in the young woman's hair, her hand covering her ward's eyes to shield them.
And when she could see again, it was the night sky that greeted her. Every last Dementor had been wiped out by one furious blast of pure, undiluted Light. Vriska stood, her wings fluttering triumphantly as the last vestiges of her transformation reverted like burning paper. The cutlass in her hand disappeared in a cascade of shattering cerulean stars.
"Those two don't look so hot. Be a big ol' shame if they died after I went to all that trouble to save the day," Vriska commented over her shoulder with arch blandness. "Might wanna set up that portal reeeeeeeeal quick, huh?"
"Yeah, I'll get right on that, Serks," Roxy retorted laconically, her eyes narrowed.
They gave each other the ol' hairy eyeball for a hot minute before Vriska, apparently bored, waltzed off to greener pastures. Which was just great as far as Roxy was concerned. There was only so much of that bitch she could take. Looking down at her charge, her expression softened.
"Hey, can you sit up by yourself for a sec?"
The young woman nodded and pulled herself into a semi-comfortable position as Roxy stood. Opening her specibus, she chose the Crockertop Appearifier Rifle and shouldered it. Aiming carefully, she pulled the trigger and smiled as a Fenestrated Plane hovered a good ten feet above them. The young woman had collected herself enough to stand unsteadily on two feet, a small beaded bag clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes were focused on the young man still lying, unmoving, on the ground. Jane's face was now showing obvious worry as she poured blue healing flame over him.
She looked up at Roxy, eyes shining. "I don't know why, but it's not working. We have to get him some place more stable... safer."
"Right," Roxy said, nodding grimly. She turned her attention to the young woman. "Gonna take you back to our base camp. Traveling via Fenestrated Plane is unpleasant, but you ain't up to any other mode of travel. You got some good shit in that bag of tricks, I hope." The girl shook her head in the affirmative. "Rad. Gonna hafta pick you up full princess mode. You're a bit too wobbly for something more dignified."
And without asking further permission, Roxy picked her up like the prettiest of all princesses. Hermione held on tightly, burying her face in Roxy's shoulder to prepare herself for the unsettling dark of the void. Far behind them on the cliff, Dave had arrived and fireman carried Harry off with Jane clutching his shoulder as she continued to try and heal the boy. They arrived safely on the other side in the middle of a forest, a camp already neatly set up. Before Hermione gave into exhaustion, she pulled the tent out of her beaded bag and handed it silently to Roxy. And then she blissfully lost consciousness.
I had a bitch of time choosing a title for this one. Because I kind of wanted it to be a theme you could listen to while reading it and it was super hard to I considered naming it specifically for Vriska, but then decided not to. Anyway, I kind of wish this was a Karkat chapter, but that's not happening for a bit. As usual, Vriska takes over any narrative that you bring her into. My story is no exception, to a certain extent. I know she's controversial, and some folks don't like her. But she was an important component in this story and, just like in Homestuck itself, she serves as aggressive motivation for the characters contained therein. You might not like her, but you can't say she doesn't get shit done.