The New Princess
Hogwarts Year 1 - Arc 2 - Part 6 - Chapter 29
A Very Troll-ish Stand-off
Previously:
Sensing the tide of battle shifting decisively in its favor, the Youma advanced with malevolent glee, its eyes glowing with a sinister light as it bore down on the Headmaster. Dumbledore stood resolute on the last remaining staircase leading to the Great Hall, his expression a fierce testament to his unwavering courage and resolve.
The corridor pulsed with anticipation, the walls adorned with portraits of all shapes and sizes seeming to hold their breath, watching fearfully as the pivotal clash between light and darkness approached. Dumbledore understood that, whatever the outcome, he would fight until his last breath to protect his students and the institution to which he had dedicated his life.
The Youma, a creature of pure malice, met his gaze with a twisted grin, its eyes burning with dark satisfaction. It seemed almost amused by the old wizard's defiance. The air crackled with ominous energy as it stepped forward, shadows twisting and writhing around it in a grotesque dance. Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards alive, stood his ground, his stubbornness fueling his resolve. He would not, could not falter.
"You. Shall. Not. Pass!" Dumbledore's voice boomed through the corridor, each word a declaration of fierce determination. Sweat beaded on his brow as he began to channel a spell of immense power, his entire being focused on the task at hand. The atmosphere thickened, charged with the sensation of building magic, the tension of the impending clash nearly suffocating.
"We shall see!" the Youma hissed, its voice a chilling whisper of impending devastation. The words lingered in the air, a dark promise that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who heard them.
Dumbledore drew a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he steeled himself for the confrontation. In that fleeting moment, he glanced toward Hermione's retreating form, acutely aware that the future of the light would soon rest in the hands of the younger generation. This could very well be his final stand—the last flicker of 'old good' against 'new evil.' Win or lose, he knew his days as the champion of light were numbered; that mantle would soon belong to others.
The corridor's shadows deepened, every flicker of light sharpening in anticipation of the coming storm. Dumbledore's wand glowed with a fierce, almost blinding radiance, illuminating the encroaching darkness. Simultaneously, the Youma's dark power pulsed ominously, ready to unleash its wrath.
"We shall see!" it sneered once more, then, closing the distance, it took one final, deliberate step.
And now the continuation:
It all happened in the blink of an eye, within a single step.
One moment, the Youma and Dumbledore faced off, locked in a fierce stare as the creature inched closer, a dark, menacing smile twisting its features. In the next, with a defiant shout, Dumbledore unleashed a spear-like beam of radiant magic, its blinding light streaking across the staircase like a star set ablaze. The Youma countered with a sickly purple surge of dark energy that intercepted the headmaster's spell. Light and shadow clashed with a thunderous crash, and the massive staircase trembled under the impact, the ancient stone warping under the strain. A low, ominous rumble filled the air as if the castle itself recoiled from the fierce exchange of powers. Then, with a deafening burst, the explosion sent debris spiraling into the air, engulfing the area in chaos.
Nearby, professors and two lone students scrambled, clutching at anything within reach as a shockwave of raw magic surged toward them. The air reeked of burnt stone and the electric tang of magic. McGonagall reacted instantly, casting a shield around herself and her students, her barrier shimmering fiercely as it absorbed the brunt of the blast before collapsing under the strain. Thrown to the ground as her shield dissolved, she hit the floor hard. Hermione, meanwhile, clung to the staircase railing as she was thrown backward, her nails scraping against the wood, leaving a trail of scratches, one nail painfully snapping as she fought to hold on. The heat from the impact seared her fingers, and the ground trembled beneath her.
Ignoring the sting, Hermione's heart leaped into her throat as she teetered on the edge, gripping the wobbling railing fiercely with one hand while the other shot out to grab Hannah, whose scream echoed around her. For a fleeting, horrifying second, she thought she might lose her friend. Just as Hermione's grip began to falter, McGonagall's magic wrapped around them both, drawing them back to safety. Hermione shot McGonagall a quick, grateful glance, while Hannah sat trembling beside her, dazed, her eyes wide with shock. Hermione turned back to the battlefield below, heart pounding, as Dumbledore faced the ancient titan of darkness once more.
Still recovering from the initial explosion, Dumbledore had no time to regroup. With a guttural growl, the Youma retaliated, hurling another wave of dark energy. Dumbledore, catching his breath with visible effort, eyes wild, barely managed to raise a shield in time. The impact forced him to his knees with a cry of exertion, his face etched with strain, before flinging him backward. He slid across the ground of the already weakened staircase, which gave a groaning lurch before collapsing beneath them. With a startled cry, both Dumbledore and the Youma plummeted as the floor gave way.
The professors and students gasped in dismay, fearing the worst for the headmaster—and their own imminent peril. But just as it seemed the fall would be fatal, a burst of fiery red appeared—a flash of feathers and flame—as Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix familiar, swooped in. Clutching Dumbledore mid-fall, Fawkes lifted him to a stable, intact ledge nearby, leaving the Youma to continue its descent with a furious roar.
Enraged, the creature fired one final blast of dark magic at Dumbledore as it fell. Fawkes, seeing the attack, bravely intercepted it, sacrificing himself so his mortal partner might live. His body erupted in flames as the dark energy struck him. The flash of heat and light was blinding, searing into the darkness like a second explosion. As Fawkes began his forced rebirth, Dumbledore reached out, gently catching the tiny, newborn phoenix in his hands before it could fall. His weary eyes softened as he cradled Fawkes, drawing strength from the resilience of the fragile, featherless form that now nestled sleepily in his palm.
Meanwhile, McGonagall, Hermione, and Hannah faced similar peril. The Youma's impact had sent debris flying in all directions, unleashing yet another defiant shockwave in its fury that cascaded through the corridor, tearing apart several nearby staircases as it swept through on its descend below. Stone crumbled around them as the air vibrated with the force of the blast, and their only escape route collapsed, sending everyone sprawling once more. Groaning in exhaustion and pain, McGonagall raised her wand to cast another shield, her barrier flickering and dimming, barely holding as the reverberations of the impact coursed through the crumbling stairways. Her arm shook from the strain, and beads of sweat traced lines down her face, her own exhaustion and fear etched clearly as she strained to protect her students. "Hold on!" she called through gritted teeth, her voice tight with a mix of determination and desperation.
As the dust began to settle, the Youma's massive form lay sprawled on the ground below, its once-intimidating presence now battered and broken, a beam of wood skewering its shoulder. The battle between light and darkness had been fiercely contested, but Dumbledore had held the line—barely.
Now, he lay dazed on the ground, looking more like a frail, withered old man than the formidable Headmaster. Exhausted and trembling, he struggled to his feet, clutching the baby Fawkes gently in his hand. In the heavy silence that followed, Hermione and Hannah exchanged a look of disbelief and relief, each realizing the weight of what they had survived. McGonagall, her shield finally fading, lowered her arm with a trembling sigh, exhaustion sapping the last of her strength as she surveyed the devastation around them.
Their moment of relief however was short-lived. In a sudden, terrible silence, they heard it—a faint, rasping sound. To their surprise—and dismay—the Youma was still very much alive, twitching with residual dark energy as it began to rise. Every joint creaked with defiance, its form haggard yet unyielding, refusing to be bested. It would not fail its mistress. It refused to fail.
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly in dismay then took a ragged breath, his weary form illuminated by the flickering light of Fawkes' soft glow. He then looked up at them above, eyes full of silent resolve, willing them to go—to retreat while they still could—even as he steeled himself for what was to come.
The situation had spiraled beyond control. Desperation etched across Dumbledore's face as he clutched baby Fawkes close. The Elder Wand—said to be gifted by Death itself—struggled under the Youma's relentless assault, its ancient wood vibrating with each cast. A faint smell of burning wood and charred air drifted as smoke curled from the wand's tip, quivering as if it, too, felt the strain. Dumbledore barely survived the last attack; he doubted he could withstand another.
Across the shattered corridor, Hermione, Hannah, and McGonagall stood frozen, horror-struck. The only staircase to the Ravenclaw dormitory lay in ruins, a vast chasm separating them from a hidden passage on the far side. To cross would mean repairing the bridge—if only for a few desperate seconds—but it would leave them exposed to the Youma below.
"By Morgana's saggy tits, whit in the name o' the Highlands will it tak' tae pit that beastie doon?" McGonagall cursed, her Scottish brogue breaking through as her usual composure cracked. This rare outburst snapped Hermione from her daze, fighting her own rising terror.
"We have to move…now!" McGonagall urged, her voice jagged with urgency. Hermione nodded, her gaze drifting to the dormitory above, where her transformation wand lay abandoned. She longed to ask McGonagall to make a bridge long enough to retrieve it, but there was no time; McGonagall didn't know her secret. Swallowing her frustration, Hermione grabbed Hannah's trembling hand as McGonagall guided them forward.
They dashed toward the gap as McGonagall transfigured a bridge. "Cross now!" she ordered, her voice strained as the Youma's gaze locked onto them, its massive form climbing a nearby staircase, each footfall a tremor that rattled the stone walls around them.
The girls scrambled across, McGonagall following close behind, muttering reinforcement spells with each hurried step. The bridge creaked underfoot as they reached the other side, then groaned before collapsing behind them in a cloud of dust, slowing the Youma's pursuit. Hermione clenched her fists, frustration, and guilt surging within. If only I had my wand, she thought. Mercury could end this.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore stood alone, his expression a mix of grim determination and quiet resignation. Seeing the trio's predicament, he knew his path was set. Gently, he nestled baby Fawkes in a small alcove beneath the rubble, covering the tiny phoenix with a scattering of warm ashes. "Not ideal, but it'll have to do," he murmured, brushing a finger over Fawkes's feathery head. "Goodbye, old friend." Fawkes let out a soft, frail chirp in reply, its tiny voice echoing mournfully.
As he turned, Dumbledore lifted his wand to confront the Youma, his breath steady, his stance unyielding. The creature's footsteps thundered forward, shaking loose stones from the walls. If this is the end, it's a fitting one, he thought quietly, casting a last glance at the castle he'd sworn to protect. There's no nobler way to go than in defense of those we love.
With a deep breath, he raised his wand. "Raise up, Hogwarts…defend yourself…Piertotum Locomotor!" he commanded, calling the castle itself to arms.
The effect was immediate. The castle seemed to shudder in response, a low rumble resonating through the walls as if Hogwarts itself stirred to life. Instantly, suits of armor and statues rattled and clanged, metallic echoes bouncing off the stone, filling the corridor. They sprang forward with weapons raised—a medieval battalion answering his call. The Youma snarled as they pressed forward, their swords and shields clanging against it in a deadly rhythm. An arrow whizzed through the air, embedding itself into the Youma's side, but it barely flinched, pulling it free and snarling with fresh fury.
Watching Dumbledore's final stand, McGonagall felt a flicker of hope tangled with dread. She knew these animated guardians were a delay, nothing more. Her gaze darted between the advancing Youma and the girls, who'd finally reached the other side. The castle's defenses would not hold for long. Not against that! She grabbed both girls tightly, her own hands trembling slightly from the effort to remain calm.
Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for what she knew had to be done. Her heart pounded as the monster pressed onward, battering aside enchanted statues as if they were toys. The realization hit her hard, an inevitability she could not escape.
The statues were already crumbling, their once-fearsome forms reduced to piles of shattered metal. Reinforcements were coming, but they wouldn't be enough. McGonagall glanced at the girls—Hermione, her star student, and Hannah, both still so young. Her throat tightened, her resolve turning to Scottish iron. She looked at them with fierce protectiveness, desperation flashing in her eyes.
"Hermione, Hannah," she began, her voice gentle yet firm as she used their first names, something she rarely did. "Listen closely. You must reach the spot where Sir Barnabus's statue once stood," she instructed, pointing to the now-empty section of wall where the statue had been moments ago, beside a portrait of a trembling knight. Beneath the knight was a plaque labeled The Fearful Knight, a darkly fitting name under the circumstances. "Tap the wall beside the portrait and say the words 'Lumos Gladius.' Do not look back."
Hermione's throat tightened. "Yes, Professor—" Her voice cracked as she realized McGonagall wasn't planning to follow. Instead, her mentor turned back toward the Youma, who continued its relentless advance.
Hermione felt her stomach drop. "No!" Hermione gasped, horror dawning as she realized what McGonagall intended.
McGonagall met her gaze, her eyes sad but resolute. "Go. I'll hold it off as long as I can."
"No!" Hermione repeated, barely able to breathe, the brutal truth sinking in. Both of her professors were about to lay down their lives. She felt Hannah's grip tighten around her hand, the raw terror they shared mingling with a profound sense of helplessness.
This can't be happening, Hermione thought, her chest tight with dread as McGonagall stepped forward, her wand held high, preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Hannah's voice cracked as she whispered, "She's walking to her death," silent tears streaming down both their faces. This is all my fault, both girls thought simultaneously, although for different reasons.
McGonagall gave them one last nod, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. She then turned, her jaw set, and advanced toward the Youma, who sneered with twisted satisfaction.
"You think you can stand against me?" it taunted its voice a low, resonant growl.
McGonagall remained silent, her wand raised and her gaze unflinching. She cast one last look back at the girls—her students—then turned to face the monster with a heart as resolute as steel.
"Mebbe…prob'ly nae. But I'll be damned if I let ye pass wi'oot tryin'."
It seemed all hope was slipping away, her world crashing down around her—literally.
Two of her professors were fighting, sacrificing themselves so she and Hannah could escape. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not in her current form.
She was just a first-year student—untrained, defenseless, weak, and inexperienced. What was she supposed to do? Sure, she wasn't meant to handle monsters like this Youma, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. Especially when she felt uniquely suited to deal with such threats. If only I had my blasted wand, she thought again for the umpteenth time that day, frustration mounting. Damn it, I'm starting to sound like a broken record.
Suddenly, a cry of pain from McGonagall pierced through the chaos, followed by a mocking laugh from the Youma. Hermione forced herself not to look back; she kept running, tears of anger and helplessness blurring her vision as she urged Hannah on.
Every second counted.
She could not let her professors' sacrifice be in vain.
It was at that moment—just when it seemed all hope had faded—that a voice suddenly called from above.
"Hey!… Mercury!… Catch!"
"Huh?... Mer...Mercury?" The words barely registered through her panicked mind. Wait! WHAT?! Startled, she looked up to see a fleeting silhouette cloaked in shadows above, tossing something toward her before vanishing around a corner. Reflexively, Hermione reached out and caught the object, her fingers closing around its familiar weight.
"What the—" she began, but another shockwave hit, nearly making her drop the object as she struggled to maintain her footing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McGonagall thrown to the ground by the force of the blast. Ignoring Hannah's desperate pleas to hurry, Hermione focused on two things: McGonagall's crumpled form and the object she had just caught.
Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized it—her transformation wand, the very key to becoming Mercury.
But how?
Who the fuck cares!
She had her wand. No time to question a gift like this.
Time seemed to slow. She looked from the wand to the Youma, now closing in on McGonagall. Dumbledore was desperately conjuring a makeshift bridge, racing up the stairs as fast as his old body could manage. Even if he made it, she feared it wouldn't be enough. He hadn't succeeded so far...
"Hermione!" Hannah's frantic screech cut through the chaos. The passageway to safety was open, and Hannah was waiting for her, face pale and eyes filled with fear.
But Hermione didn't hear her. She was far too focused on the wand in her hand. She didn't understand how she had it, but she didn't care. She had what she needed, and that was all that mattered. She knew what she had to do. The time had finally come!
"Hermione!...Please!" Hannah's voice came again, pleadingly, louder and more frantic. Hermione glanced toward her friend, desperation etched in Hannah's features.
"Go!" Hermione shouted. "I'll deal with it!" she insisted, clutching her wand tightly.
"WHAT?!" Hannah's incredulous shock mingled with fear. Hermione managed a reassuring smile, understanding how insane her command must have sounded. "Trust me… I'll defeat that thing," she promised, giving Hannah a final, knowing look before turning back to face the Youma. "I'm the only one who can," she added quietly to herself.
"Hermione! NO!" Hannah screamed, torn between escaping and staying to help, her face a mix of confusion and fear.
But Hermione was no longer listening. Time was running out. The Youma was only a few meters from McGonagall's body. If she was going to act—if she was going to make her stand—she had to do it now. With renewed determination, Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself.
Gripping her wand tightly, its weight grounding her amid the chaos, she remembered the incantation she had memorized all those weeks ago. "Mercury Power, Make Up!" she shouted, her voice ringing with newfound conviction. As the words left her lips, energy surged through her, igniting a brilliance that enveloped her in a blinding blue light.
Hannah's point of view.
Hannah's heart thundered in her chest as she watched the chaos unfold around her, each beat echoing the terror flooding her veins. She could hardly breathe, her lungs constricted from sprinting across the twisting stairways and the paralyzing anxiety that clutched at her throat. She had never believed it possible—until now. Hogwarts, a place that was supposed to be one of the safest in the magical world, was under attack by a Youma—a creature of ancient myth and nightmare. The stories she had heard from the media over the past few months since the first one appeared in Diagon Alley painted these beings as nothing short of demons. After witnessing the devastation this one had wrought—and was still wroughting even now—she had no trouble believing it.
Only moments ago, the Youma had single-handedly—or perhaps more accurately, single-clawed—fought, won, and survived a fifty-meter drop. Even now, it overpowered some of the school's most powerful figures. Dumbledore, a wizard renowned worldwide for defeating a dark lord, and several battle-hardened professors were struggling to hold it back. The air crackled with energy as they cast spells, but even the school's defenses—wards and enchantments laid by the Founders themselves, which had protected the castle for a millennium—seemed powerless. Each spell was swallowed or deflected with terrifying ease. The fifty-meter fall it had endured when the staircase collapsed beneath it had done little more than momentarily stun its ravenous fury.
And now…the creature's chilling laughter echoed through the corridor, reverberating off the stone walls like the tolling of a death knell. Hannah's fear intensified with every passing second as the dark figure loomed closer. She screamed in dismay as the Youma, having defeated every defense, advanced toward Professor McGonagall, who lay unconscious and defenseless on the cold stone floor. The acrid scent of burnt magic and fear hung heavily in the air, suffocating her thoughts.
"So, this is what everyone's been talking about for the last few months?" she thought wildly, racing toward the portrait of the Scared Knight, who guarded the passageway she desperately hoped would lead her and Hermione to safety. Her hands shook as she fumbled to tap a small area beside the portrait with her wand, as McGonagall had instructed mere moments ago. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as she heard the screams and other sounds of battle behind her, and she nearly dropped her wand before finally managing to scream the passphrase at the trembling knight.
"Please, hurry!" Hannah cried, her voice rising in pitch, ignoring the knight's feeble attempts to beg her to move away and not lead the demon toward him. She banged her fist against the frame as if sheer will could pry the passage open faster. The knight's armor rattled, clanking as he quaked in fear, moving sluggishly. Only then did Hannah realize—Hermione was no longer beside her.
"Hermione, where are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her ears. She risked a fearful glance over her shoulder and saw her friend standing a few meters away, staring intently at her wand.
"Hermione!" Hannah screeched, her face pale, eyes wide with dread. The passageway to safety was open—they had to go!
But to her horror, Hermione didn't move. Her focus was locked on the wand in her hand as if contemplating how to help their unconscious professor.
"Hermione!...Please!" Hannah's voice grew frantic, reverberating off the stone walls. The Youma was dangerously close to McGonagall's unconscious form. She understood the urge to help—she felt it too—but what choice did they have? Now was not the time. As much as she hated to admit it, there was nothing they could do—nothing. They had to get away before it was too late.
But then Hermione turned to meet her gaze, her eyes ablaze with fierce resolve.
"Go!" Hermione responded calmly, her voice steady and unwavering. "I'll deal with it."
"WHAT?!" Hannah's voice broke with shock and fear. "You can't be serious! Is she out of her mind?" Panic surged through her as she watched her friend. Hermione was going to get herself killed—this was madness. Pure insanity! Hannah's hands trembled, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. All she knew was that if they stayed, they would die.
"Trust me… I'll defeat that thing," Hermione insisted, her voice unwavering as she met Hannah's gaze. She gave her a look she recognized all too well—the one that said, I know something you don't. Hannah had always hated that look when Hermione used it in class, but now it filled her with dread. Without another word, Hermione turned to face the Youma.
"Hermione! NO!" Hannah screamed, her body paralyzed by indecision, torn between fleeing and staying to help. I can't lose her, she thought, her heart racing. This can't be happening!
But Hermione was no longer listening. Already she was stepping closer to the Youma, which was only a few meters from McGonagall's body.
Hannah could do nothing but watch in despair, her mind racing. Her friend was acting strange—suicidal, even. Hermione was going to stay and fight the Youma. But how? If even Dumbledore had failed, what chance did she have?
Her eyes widened in horror as a chilling thought crossed her mind.
Was Hermione planning to sacrifice herself too?
It was at that moment that Hermione raised her hand, wand in hand, and said four words that would turn Hannah's understanding of the world upside down.
"Mercury Power... Make Up!"
And then all Hannah saw around her friend was a bright blue-white light that enveloped her friend, illuminating the dark corridor with an otherworldly glow...and then as Hermione began to transform.
"Mercury Power... Make Up!"
In an instant, a swirl of dazzling blue and silver light enveloped her, the world dissolving into a vibrant whirl of colors and energy. A surge of power rushed through Hermione, cool and invigorating, like crystal-clear water coursing through her veins. Her school robes transformed into a sleek, blue sailor suit, accented with softly gleaming silver. Her usually bushy hair swept effortlessly into a high ponytail, magically held in place by a silver tiara crowned with an icy blue gem. As the transformation progressed, a profound strength and confidence flooded her, melting away all fear. In its place came a deep sense of purpose, as if the weight of the world had been placed upon her shoulders—and she was destined to carry it.
As the blinding light dissipated, Sailor Mercury—the legendary Guardian of Love and Intelligence—stood resolutely where Hermione had once been, a figure of radiant determination and elegance. The magical uniform felt both unfamiliar and empowering like a long-lost friend rediscovered. Struggling to control the immense power surging within her, she took a deep breath, the air charged with magic and tension, feeling the energy crackle at her fingertips, like a planet-sized storm waiting to be unleashed. When she opened her eyes, they briefly glowed with a wild, stormy blue before softening to their usual calm brown. She spotted the Youma looming over McGonagall, poised to strike.
The Youma, still focused on its fallen prey, laughed mockingly, oblivious to the new threat nearby. Thinking itself invincible, it had failed to notice her transformation.
Good, it didn't see me. I might be able to take it by surprise, Sailor Mercury thought, her mind racing to devise a strategy. But I can't hurt Professor McGonagall...
But how to do that... and how to use my new power? Panic and indecision threatened to take hold for a fleeting moment—until she recalled Setsuna's words from the night she discovered her true identity. Instinct will guide you, Setsuna had said. Trust in your connection to Mercury, and it will never lead you astray.
As if answering her call, knowledge of her basic attacks and powers flooded her mind, intuitive and precise. Feeling more confident now, Sailor Mercury raised her hand, focusing intently. A sparkling orb of blue water began to materialize at her fingertips, swirling with energy. As the Youma reached out toward McGonagall's prone body, she hurled the orb with determination. The misty sphere shot forward, radiant and unstoppable. It barely missed McGonagall but struck the Youma head-on, sending it crashing into the wall with a guttural roar.
Taken by surprise, the Youma let out a howl of pain, its dark form struggling against the force of the attack pressing it to the wall. Its malevolent laughter twisted into a cry of anguish as it was pushed back and held in place.
As the energy of the attack dissipated, the Youma seemed disoriented, its movements faltering as it tried to regain its footing. Hermione's heart raced as she watched it collapse to the floor, writhing in pain—seemingly defeated.
Wow! Sailor Mercury stared at her hands in shock, her heart pounding in her ears. The power crackled through her fingertips—wild, powerful... untamed. Did that really just happen? she asked herself, her chest tightening. She had barely managed to control her attack. What if I lose control next time?
Well... that was... anticlimactic, she thought. Way too anticlimactic. It can't be that easy... can it?
In the silence that followed, a lingering sense of unease gnawed at her. The Youma's body gave a faint twitch—almost imperceptible , but enough to send a chill down Sailor Mercury's spine. She nodded grimly. This isn't over, she realized, her resolve hardening. Not by a long shot!
Once again, as she readied herself to continue the fight, the part of Sailor Mercury that was still Hermione Granger felt a pang of urgency. I can't let anything happen to Professor McGonagall. She's always believed in me...
I wish the others were here.
A few moments ago, somewhere in the Scottish Highlands…
The cool night air swirled around Sailor Moon and Sailor Venus as they dashed through the shadowy glens of Glen Affric, the silvery Halloween moon casting an eerie glow over the desolate landscape. For the past hour, they had been patrolling the rugged hills near Loch Ness, ever vigilant for signs of dark energy. A report from the YDF in London about monsters terrorizing a local farm had brought them here.
They had found the farm—or what remained of it—easily enough. The flames still smoldered, consuming the last remnants of what had once been a home. Now, they searched for the 'monsters,' certain they were just a few low-level Youma.
"Monsters?" Susan had scoffed earlier. "More like pests."
"Good practice for later," Aryanna had replied, a hint of melancholy creeping into her voice. She had accepted this mission not just for its simplicity but as a way to escape Hogwarts and its Halloween feast—a celebration that marked the anniversary of her parents' sacrifice. She felt the weight of their memory pressing on her chest, reminding her of what she had lost. Understanding her unspoken sorrow, Susan remained silent, choosing to stay by Aryanna's side, knowing her friend would rather be anywhere but Hogwarts tonight.
People often forget that while they celebrated Halloween, it was also the anniversary of the night Aryanna's parents lost their lives to Voldemort. Though not thrilled to miss the feast, Susan's commitment to her friend shone through, reinforcing their bond.
As Aryanna glanced at her friend, she made a mental note to find a way to thank Susan later. For now, however, they had pests to eradicate.
Aryanna sighed to herself. It also helped to take the strain off the poor regulars. The YDF could barely handle one or two low-level Youma on their own; maybe one mid-level if they were lucky and surrounded it from all sides. But if three or more appeared, it would be suicidal for the regular forces. The regulars struggled against level twos. Normally it was the Huntresses who took care of level twos and the occasional level three, but even the Huntresses could only do so much. Youma attacks had been rising steadily in the last few weeks. While the level ones they were dealing with tonight were...target practice for Guardians like themselves...
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted as seven low-level Youma materialized before them, their grotesque forms emerging from the shadows.
Aryanna smirked, battle instincts kicking in as they stepped into formation. "This shouldn't take long."
"Definitely not," Susan quipped, already launching her Love-Me Chain to immobilize one of the creatures. "Let's take out the trash."
With practiced ease, Sailor Moon and Sailor Venus sprang into action, moving like a well-oiled machine. Aryanna's Crescent Tiara flashed, slicing through the air—one Youma crumbled, dissolving into purplish dust. "I love it when they're just level ones." Her voice was confident, but a glint of seriousness lingered in her eyes.
Venus's Love-Me Chain encircled another Youma, tightening around it before she snapped it into dust with a flick of her wrist. The two Guardians fought with a rhythm born of countless battles.
"Yes...very considerate of them...Textbook level one-oh-ones," Susan remarked. "But at least they're making it a little interesting."
Two down, five to go.
"Piece of cake," Aryanna muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she threw her tiara again, obliterating another Youma in a flash of gold.
Yet, as the battle continued, Aryanna felt a bead of sweat trailing down her brow. Her chest heaved with each breath, muscles tense and ready for the next move. She mentally cursed. Got to increase our morning runs, I've been slacking off, she thought, scanning the battlefield. Her eyes flickered between the remaining Youma—each one had to be turned to dust, or the fight wasn't over.
As the fight wore on, Aryanna's mind wandered briefly, recalling a lesson from Setsuna during summer training about Youma—the dark creatures of the Negaverse and how they came into existence.
"There are three types of Youma," Aryanna began, her voice calm as she fought, transforming the battle into an impromptu lesson.
Susan rolled her eyes but smirked, launching into a spinning kick. "Really? Now?" she teased, her tone slightly labored from her own exertion but her gaze sharp and focused on Aryanna. She knew her friend needed the distraction, even in battle.
"No time like the present, Venus," Aryanna replied with a wink before continuing. "The first and weakest are born directly from Nega, the base energy of the Negaverse. They're almost always low-level—level ones or twos—and easy to defeat... if you are a Guardian or a Scout. What we're fighting tonight falls into that category.""
She blocked an attack aimed at Susan's blindside with ease and then kicked a Youma in its face, sending it stumbling back.
"If they're created directly from Nega, they're usually level one or two, maybe level three at the most," Aryanna added as she dodged a claw swipe from the same Youma, which was now focused on her. "But level threes are rare, thankfully."
Susan kicked one of the creatures off balance before smashing it into the ground. "We've definitely got lucky tonight. These guys haven't fed on human energy in a while."
Aryanna nodded, continuing her explanation as she deftly avoided another attack. "The second type relies on Vitalis—energy stolen from humans. They can grow stronger based on how much energy they absorb, potentially reaching levels three or four."
Susan raised an eyebrow, her eyes meeting Aryanna's briefly. "Well, at least we don't have those on our hands tonight."
A shadow crossed Aryanna's face as her mind drifted to the third type. "The third type..." she shuddered involuntarily, "is the most despicable. Created through sacrifice."
Susan's expression darkened, and her next strike filled with more force. "Sacrifice... meaning a human soul trapped inside the Youma." Her voice was lower, tinged with disgust. "Those are level four or five. Correct?"
Aryanna grimaced, flipping backward to avoid the charge of a Youma before roundhouse kicking it into a nearby wall. "Yes. They're trapped, unable to break free unless the Youma's destroyed. It's worse than death."
Susan tightened her grip on her chain, enveloping and shattering her current Youma with one final pull. "Can we not think about that right now?" she said sharply but with understanding. "We've got enough problems without contemplating level five Youma."
Aryanna shivered, recalling what Setsuna had said about the humans used to create those Youma. Trapped in a living nightmare, they supplied their Youma forms with a never-ending source of energy, very difficult to defeat and fully aware yet powerless to stop it. She mused that in those cases, death would indeed be a blessing.
On the bright side... if the Youma was defeated early enough, the 'sacrificed' could sometimes be...
But whatever thought she had next was cut short when suddenly...
A soft pulse began to emanate from Aryanna's chest, startling her mid-movement. "What the—?" She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening.
"What's wrong?" Susan asked, noticing the shift in Aryanna's expression as she narrowly dodged another strike from the remaining Youma.
"The crystal..." Aryanna whispered, her hand flying to her chest where the Silver Crystal pulsed from deep within herself, under her sailor uniform. "It's reacting... to something happening at Hogwarts."
Susan's eyes widened with alarm, quickly connecting the dots. "Hermione?"
Aryanna nodded, her brow furrowed as the pulse intensified. "She's transformed... into Sailor Mercury. But... something's wrong." A deep sense of dread filled her.
Susan's focus wavered for a split second, barely avoiding another attack from the final few remaining Youma. "What! Tonight?"
"She has to be," Aryanna replied, stepping in to take out one of the last Youma with a swift strike. Her tiara boomeranged back into her hand. "The crystal is warning me... we need to get back to Hogwarts now!"
Aryanna's heart pounded, a knot of dread tightening in her chest. Hermione's transformation wasn't supposed to happen yet—not until later tonight, not until they could be there. The crystal pulsed faster inside her, warning her, urging her forward. If Hermione had transformed now, it could only mean one thing...
'The castle is under attack!'
Fear settled into Aryanna's stomach. Hermione was untrained!
She had to reach Hogwarts—before it was too late!
Not knowing Aryanna's thoughts, Susan scowled, frustration etched on her face. "We agreed she'd wait. If she transformed now..."
Aryanna nodded, her voice hardening, her resolve clear. "Hogwarts is under attack! We have to move. Now!"
"I'll finish things here," Susan replied, though her tone carried a hint of worry. "But you—go. Hermione needs you more than I do right now."
Aryanna nodded, trusting Susan to handle the remaining Youma. Her decision was made. With one final glance, she took a deep breath, focusing on the power within the Silver Crystal. With her heart racing she knew she couldn't waste any time. She couldn't fail Hermione. "Moon Crystal Teleport!"
In a flash of radiant energy, Aryanna vanished, leaving a shimmering trail in her wake.
For a moment, Susan stood alone, staring at the spot where her friend had been. Then she turned back to the battlefield, cracking her knuckles and narrowing her eyes at the last Youma. "Alright," she muttered, "let's finish this."
With renewed determination, she charged into battle, knowing that even though she was alone for now, the fight wasn't over yet. She needed to hurry, her friends needed her.
Meanwhile, back at the castle, the battle at Hogwarts spiraled out of control. Hermione Granger—now Sailor Mercury—was locked in a desperate struggle against the relentless Youma. Her attacks connected, but each time, the creature rose again, more enraged and unyielding.
Frustration clouded her mind. No matter what she did—every spell, every strike—nothing worked. The Youma only seemed to feed off her efforts, growing stronger with each passing moment.
"Why won't you stay down?" Mercury gasped, narrowly dodging a vicious swipe. Her new form granted her greater speed and strength, yet she felt her body weakening under the relentless assault. Breaths came short and labored; her arms trembled from the strain of defending herself. If this continued, she feared she wouldn't last much longer.
What am I missing? she thought frantically. Dumbledore's magic had failed. Her powers had failed. Even knocking the Youma from a great height had done nothing; instead, it kept getting stronger.
Her eyes darted across the creature, searching for something—anything—that could turn the tide. At least it hadn't unleashed a long-range attack in a while. But why? Was it toying with them? Was it growing tired? The uncertainty twisted her stomach. She hoped it was tired rather than just playing with them. Even now, the Youma leered at her, its jagged teeth glistening in the dim light as if mocking her every effort.
Then, like a splash of cold water, the answer hit her. "It's draining us!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking through the chaos. "Every time it touches us, it gets stronger!"
Stumbling back, her mind raced. I just have to make sure it doesn't touch me. Easier said than done.
"Stay away from it!" she yelled to Dumbledore, who was desperately trying to support her from a distance. Each of his spells fizzled uselessly against the Youma's dark energy. "It's feeding off us!"
Dumbledore's eyes widened, but then a grim calmness took over. "This creature…" His voice trembled with frustration, a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor. "It's beyond anything I've encountered. My magic—it's useless," he said, ironically echoing the exact thoughts a young Tom Riddle once had many years ago.
Mercury's heart sank. If even Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard alive, couldn't stop it, what hope did she have?
Sensing her despair, the Youma grinned wickedly. "Caught on at last, have you?" it sneered, its voice dripping with mockery, resonating through the air like a chilling wind filled with icy despair.
She clenched her fists, biting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "There has to be another way!" she called, pushing herself to her feet despite the pain that screamed through her body.
Before she could act, the Youma's claws swiped at her, finally connecting and sending her flying across the room. A jolt of pain coursed through her as she braced for impact, but Dumbledore's quick spell softened the blow. She landed heavily, pain shooting through her side as she gasped for air. If I had been a normal human, she realized, I would have been dead.
"Careful, Lady Mercury," Dumbledore called out, his voice strained, laced with concern. "Without you…"
She didn't need to hear the rest. So far, her attacks were the only ones that had any effect.
Annoyed that the old man had thwarted its attack, the Youma turned its attention to Dumbledore. Dark energy crackled around it as it lunged toward the old wizard. Dumbledore, exhausted, raised his wand, but Mercury could tell he was spent. His magic wouldn't be enough this time.
"No!" Mercury cried, forcing her battered body to move—but already she knew she would be too late.
Just as the Youma's claws were about to strike, a blinding flash of light erupted in the room. Mercury shielded her eyes against the intensity. When the light faded, her heart surged with hope.
At the center of the room stood Sailor Moon, her foot planted firmly on the Youma's face, twisting it sideways as the creature howled in pain, its head snapping back with a satisfying crack.
"Sailor Moon!" Mercury breathed, exhaustion momentarily forgotten, relief washing over her like a warm summer breeze.
"Moon Tiara Magic!" Sailor Moon cried, launching her glowing tiara. It sliced through the air, leaving a trail of shimmering light behind, and struck the Youma, bathing it in blinding radiance, and sending it crashing to the ground.
For a moment, it seemed the battle was won. But then, impossibly, the Youma began to rise again, snapping its head back into position, its wounds closing as if they were mere inconveniences. A deep, guttural laugh echoed through the room, chilling Mercury to the bone.
Sailor Moon's heart sank. A direct hit from her strongest attack... and it wasn't enough.
"Dumbledore!" Sailor Moon gasped, rushing to his side. His body lay motionless, his breath shallow, his hand grasping at his chest. He was alive—but barely. Sailor Moon's heart twisted as she looked down at Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard of the century lay on the brink of death.
Sailor Moon's eyes flicked to the Youma, now fully healed. A terrifying realization gripped her. "A Level 5 Youma…" she whispered in horror.
Mercury's eyes widened, going pale. "A Level 5? Are you sure?" she asked, her voice trembling. Though her knowledge as Sailor Mercury was fresh—her transformation occurring only that day—her understanding of Youma threats had swiftly grown, as expected from the Guardian of Knowledge.
Sailor Moon nodded grimly. "I wish I wasn't but...no other Youma can regenerate this fast." She stepped back, dread tightening her chest. "We're not ready for this."
"So, another lamb joins the slaughter." The Youma sneered, its cruel voice slithering through the air, "Two against one? How pathetic."
Sailor Moon studied the creature closely, her heart pounding. If only I could access my more powerful techniques—or better yet, transform into my super form—then I could handle this... but as I am now... She took a few steps back as the Youma regained its feet.
Frantically, she searched for a solution. "We need more power," she whispered, her eyes momentarily falling to her chest. The temptation to unleash it was great, but she quickly dismissed the thought. Using it recklessly could destroy her and everyone around her. She had already used it once today to teleport to Hogwarts—her eyes widened as she realized what had happened to Dumbledore. In her haste to arrive and help Hermione, the wards of Hogwarts—millennia-old protection—had been overwhelmed, obliterated by the Silver Crystal's legendary power, as if they were made of wet tissue paper. Now the most powerful wizard of the century lay on the brink of death because of her—so great was the power of the legendary Silver Crystal. Any further use could be dangerous in her current state. She simply wasn't ready to safely wield it more than once or twice a week...and even then it was dangerous.
She clenched her fists, pushing the guilt down. "We have to end this now," she whispered as guilt swept through her, her voice trembling with both urgency and fear. "If we don't, Hogwarts will fall. And Dumbledore… he may not make it."
No, she decided firmly, pushing the temptation away. I will only use it as a last resort. Not yet. There had to be another way.
Mercury's voice broke through her thoughts. "What if we hit it together?" she proposed, her voice trembling yet resolute. "Maybe we can overwhelm it."
The Youma's eyes narrowed, its grin faltering. Sailor Moon's heart leaped. Was it afraid?
"Together," Sailor Moon echoed with a nod, hope reigniting in her chest. "It might work."
Realizing their plan, the Youma roared in anger, its monstrous body tensing, readying itself for another attack. The flicker of fear in its eyes was enough for them. This more than anything told the two girls that they were on the right track.
Sailor Moon powered up her tiara once more, the energy crackling around her like a storm. "On my mark," she instructed, her voice firm and steady.
Mercury summoned the last of her strength, her hands glowing with power, each pulse of energy resonating with her determination. "Let's end this... together!"
"Get set... BLAST IT!"
Together, they launched their attacks—hoping, praying that this time, it would be enough.