The Grind (Book 2) Ch.33

— Heather —

Come early; the night was rather ominous. It was a shroud of darkness over the whole of Oldtown. A pitch black sky above, with a twisted knot of even darker darkness hanging where the sun should’ve been. What few pinpricks of light peaked through the shroud felt less like stars and more like… eyes… Watching, waiting, wanting… And Heather couldn’t help but shudder at that observation.

It should’ve been mid-afternoon. The brightest and hottest part of the day. But now, it very much wasn’t. Darker than any natural shadow, the sky looked frozen at the peak of midnight, without any moon in sight to light the way.

Even the temperature was falling steadily. Heather couldn’t imagine that whatever ritual was responsible actually controlled the sun… But it certainly seemed that way from the ground, in the middle of the dark, cold, magical storm.

This ‘little’ adventure to Oldtown had turned out to be anything but. Heather thought it would be a fun trip, with good friends and interesting companions, just getting out to see more of Westeros. Not… fighting to take back a city from falling darkness…

Instead, they first found themselves in a quarantined city engulfed by magical gang warfare. Then, the dark things at work within began to reveal themselves. Fallen stars and shadows and so on. Nothing they could just brush off, especially not stuck in Oldtown as they were.

So their pleasant ‘day trip’ turned into a proper quest that couldn’t be refused. All they were missing now was a prophecy of some kind. Heather didn’t tempt fate and say that aloud, though. The dream that Atlas, Luna, and Dumbledore shared in the Hightower was already too close for her comfort.

The thoughts and laments ran in the back of her mind as they emerged from the Starry Sept to see the falling darkness with their own eyes. At first, Heather gazed upward with awe and horror. She quickly realized that wasn’t the best course of action.

In the corners of her eyes, things seemed to move in the sky’s darkness. Never exactly where she was looking — everywhere she wasn’t looking, in fact — but she swore the movement was real. Like childhood fears of the dark come to life. Except Heather had never been particularly scared of the dark. It’d always been a sort of comfort in her life, a blanket of safety at her lowest points when Petunia was feeling petty or Vernon was feeling cruel.

This… This wasn’t that darkness. It was something fundamentally other. It was illogical phobias and hidden nightmares and unknown dangers made manifest. It was whatever lurked in the worst recesses of a mind, finding refuge in malicious murkiness. And now, it hung over a whole city, just waiting to descend and consume it all.

Other than the pinprick not-stars in the sky, only one source of light persisted over Oldtown. The light of the Hightower, its flickering, fighting flame. There had to be magic at work there, Heather figured. That little light shouldn’t have pushed back the darkness at all. But she was immensely glad that it did, even a little bit.

It was clear to see the beacon was slowly failing, though. Something primal inside her recoiled and rebelled at the thought. Caveman instincts, or something. Hermione would probably put it better, fully describing that instinctive human fear of the fire going out in the middle of the night.

Heather just knew she didn’t want that to happen. Couldn’t let it happen. Looking around, she hoped the others felt the same. The more astrally sensitive of them — Marwyn, Luna, and poor little Bran… — were most affected. Marwyn’s frown could’ve shattered stone with a look. Luna was almost folding in on herself in a way that was so painfully unlike her that Heather hated it. And little Bran was trying to stay strong, but he hadn’t stopped shaking since the darkness fell.

“Shadow-and-star-worshipping whoresons…!” Marwyn swore.

“You know the parties responsible, my friend?” Dumbledore asked. He was unusually serious for once. That was actually more worrying than his amused and intrigued reaction when they first encountered whateverthefuck lurked in Oldtown’s darkness.

“I can make a damn good guess,” Marwyn spat. “Shadowbinders and starspeakers working together to invoke things they damn well shouldn’t have!”

“They’re aiming for the Remnant under the Hightower,” Atlas said. “They have to be. I don’t want to see what happens if they succeed.”

“If that beacon goes out…” Luna softly warned. “All will be lost…”

“We’ve gotta break them somehow,” Heather insisted. “Disrupt their ritual, kill ‘em all, something. And we’ve gotta do it fast. Even if they’re focused on the Hightower, I doubt they’re leaving the rest of the city alone.”

“You will have the Faith at your back,” The Sparrow declared.

“Wholeheartedly,” Aldin the Most Devout agreed. “All we have at our disposal. Yet we have to yield to Hogwarts’ expertise when it comes to fell magicks. Direct us, my lords, my ladies. We will carry out the Seven’s righteous will through you.”

“What forces do we have? Numbers? How many septons and septas will fight?” Willas asked.

“All who are willing and able,” The Sparrow said confidently. “Our calls for miracles won’t go unanswered now. I know it to be true. The Seven shall march with us, through us.”

“The Starry Sept is tended by hundreds of our fellows,” Aldin reported. “300 devoted souls here, and more to rally as we march. Two score of my Most Devout as well. I’ve purged the usual corruption of our station well, and I know all of their hearts. They won’t back down from this call to arms. So we will all try our hands at miracle and intense prayer, even if we haven’t before. And if the Seven deem us unworthy, give us clubs and staves and daggers so that we may still fight.”

The Sparrow laid a reassuring hand on Aldin’s shoulder, “Worry not, my fellow, you and yours are worthy. More worthy than the best of our enemies, by far. The Seven will answer your prayers just as they answer mine.”

Heather never thought she’d be silently thanking Merlin for religious fanatics… They were certainly rising to the occasion, though. Even where what was required of them went against Aldin’s earlier arguments, he showed himself willing and able to push past his pride. And the Sparrow showed the same. United and undeterred despite the ongoing schism, the Faith didn’t falter when they were most needed.

“Do not take this situation as permission to re-establish the Faith’s martial strength,” Renly said with a stern royal glare. “After our victory here, you must lay down whatever arms you take up.”

Margaery winced at that potentially divisive statement, “Your Grace… Perhaps this isn’t the time-…”

“No, this is important,” Renly insisted. “I will not be known as the prince responsible for reviving the Faith Militant!”

“Priorities, man!” Atlas snapped. “Save the royal posturing for when the sun actually fucking exists again!”

Renly glared at him, and Atlas glared right back, not backing down an inch. Heather, of course, was at Atlas’s side in an instant, glaring down the Prince with him. She was ride or die for Atlas — for all of the White Coven, really, even the newly and unofficially joined Margaery.

Prince Mini-Thor (nowhere near as cool as his brother, Bobby ‘Big Thor’ B) seemed to be seeing some kind of dominance issue that wasn’t really there, trying to take charge when he had no real business doing so. Atlas was objectively better suited for the leading role right now. But this was some weird manly challenge for control from the prince if Heather had ever seen one.

‘Trying to assert authority in a situation utterly lacking control,’ Heather could practically hear Hermione’s lecturing, assessing voice in her mind.

With everything going so tit’s up, Heather almost couldn’t blame Renly for lashing out in whatever way he could. Almost… That didn’t mean she’d ever back him over Atlas, though.

In the end, it was worrying noises echoing in from the rest of the city that made Renly back down first, “Tch… There will be a discussion about this later.”

Heather could practically feel how much Atlas wanted to roll his eyes. He didn’t, but it looked like a near thing. “So noted. Let’s make sure the eldritch starbeast and its cults are taken care of first, okay?”

“We can likely reinforce our forces with whatever Hightower guards we can rally along the way to the Hightower,” Willas said, quickly moving the conversation back onto more productive topics. “I’m sure Grandfather’s men will follow me and Loras into battle.”

“And me,” Margaery firmly declared. “Get me plant cuttings and I shall fight, too.”

Willas frowned, and Loras tried to sputter out some sort of denial, but Margaery wouldn’t be convinced otherwise. Heather just smirked. She loved a bitch with balls. Margaery was already turning out to be a great addition to the coven.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep her safe,” Hermione cut in to soothe the Tyrell boys’ concerns.

“Yeah, backline plant transfiguration support,” Ginny nodded and laughed. “She’ll barely be in any danger at all.”

Eventually, Willas sighed, “Your mind is made up, isn’t it, Sister…?”

“Indeed,” Margaery gave a decisive nod. “For Grandfather and this city, I’m willing to dirty my hands with the work of men. Many septas will be doing the same. How can I call myself a Rose of the Reach if I’m not willing to bear my thorns?”

“You are a lady for the ages,” The Sparrow gave her a respectful nod. “Color me very impressed, my lady. Many in your situation would simply wring their hands uselessly while waiting for their fate to be decided.”

“More out of powerlessness than any real choice, I suspect, good fellow,” Margaery said, raising her nose in a slight challenge. “Please don’t make ladies out to be cowards when any other course of action has long been impossible for us. Now, I have been blessed with magic. And I intend to use it for a most worthy cause.”

Heather could already see that that was going to be a sensitive topic for many. The Westerosi menfolk had many reactions to Margaery’s declaration of intent. Some were impressed, like Willas and the Sparrow. Others were frowning and uncertain, like Loras and Aldin. And others still were just utterly bemused by the very concept, like Renly, who barely seemed able to comprehend the textbook definition of a Westerosi noble lady volunteering for a fight.

The previous status quo of ladies being at the whim of fighting men might’ve made perfect sense before Magic’s Return. But it would quickly be changing now. By necessity, too, since some ladies like Margaery were more magically powerful and dangerous than many ‘mere’ knights and warriors had ever dreamed of being. And that was without including any of Hogwarts’ lady witches in the equation, of course. Professor McGonagall alone would tear half of Westeros a new one without so much as a crack in her usual stern mask. Professor Sprout would do worse…

Ultimately, though, it was a conversation for later and for more socially inclined minds than Heather’s. Phoebe, Narcissa, Ada, Daphne, Astoria, Gabrielle, and even Fleur would eat the issue alive, especially with Hogwarts’ unique perspective. If Margaery did well here, they might just elevate her as their primary example for upending the status quo.

“No harm will come to Margaery,” Atlas assured Willas and Loras. “Hogwarts so swears. Right now, we need all the willing hands we can get. You haven’t seen it, but she’s a right demon with her plants. Trained under our Professor McGonagall. I’d say be more worried for enemies, but… well, don’t. These cultists don’t deserve that much consideration.”

Willas let out a wary but convinced sigh, “… So be it. We can’t afford to dally much longer. I doubt even the Seven know what Grandfather is currently holding at bay.”

“Then, best to get moving, innit?” Heather put forth. “We’ve got ground to cover, and Merlin knows what’ll get in our way. So get out your swords and clubs and miracles and put some steel in your spines. We’re going to war with the night.”

She said it almost flippantly, but people seemed to like that statement. As if it were some sort of rousing speech. A grand, sweeping, and determined declaration of intent. The Faithful stood straighter, already practically frothing at the mouth to crusade, to take their city back. The noble blokes with them nodded seriously, drawing their swords (and a dagger for little Bran).

And when Heather turned to them with a slightly confused question in her eyes, Atlas and Dumbledore smirked back at her with some amusement.

“Well said, Girl-Who-Won,” Atlas teased.

“Oh, don’t start, Man-Who-Helped,” Heather shot back with rolling eyes. “Just get to leading and leave me to be inspiring or whatever that was.”

After a moment of soft laughter, Atlas took a fortifying breath. He was the one to take the first steps off the Starry Sept’s grounds. The first steps into the unnatural night… When he did, everyone followed.

Immediately, the darkness was almost all-consuming. It seeped into the streets, choked out alleyways, and just kept deepening as they got farther from the Starry Sept. Any protection they might’ve enjoyed there disappeared into the gloom…

With a tap of Atlas’s stave (Heather still wanted one…) against the cobbled stone below, wisps of bluebell flame appeared to light their way. They pushed back the immediate shroud, and he wasn’t the only one trying to do so. Aldin bowed his head in tentative prayer, as if not expecting his gods to answer. They did.

Holy light rose over his head, blooming high above like a flaring firework. As helpful as it was — both for the light and for proving to the anti-Magic Faithful that they could still work miracles — Heather sighed. Their march wasn’t going to be subtle at all, it seemed.

That approach had benefits of its own, though. Many must’ve fled from the streets as soon as the ritual began. But seeing the bursting light above, heads began to peek out of windows to watch them pass. The people of Oldtown cheered at the sight of the Faith and their miracles. Some brave souls even came down to join their march, wielding whatever they could find.

Where terror gripped the city, their coming pushed it back. They were rallying hope, just as much as they were rallying more fighting hands to their side. The commonfolk flocked; men and women and even some of the older children. The people of Oldtown wanted to help in any way they could.

They couldn’t afford to go slowly, though. Atlas cut a quick pace through the streets, leading from the front. To Heather, it still didn’t feel fast enough.

“Some of us should fly ahead on broomback,” She suggested. “Well, and my tattoo, but you get the point.”

Atlas looked at her from the corner of his eyes, “In this?”

Heather looked upward. She just barely caught movement in the black sky before it went utterly still. She winced, “… Fair point. But I still think we shouldn’t completely limit ourselves to marching speed. Give me Ron and Ginny. I’ll risk it to scout.”

Atlas didn’t quite look convinced, but he still turned to Dumbledore to ask, “Albus? Know any spells that would protect from terrible, eldritch predators in the dark?”

“Most that I know require preparation…” Dumbledore considered aloud. Heather wasn’t at all surprised he knew some… “But the local faith seems to be working, well, miracles in pushing back this particular darkness. Get yourself a local blessing, my girl, and I’ll see if I can fortify it further.”

“… Fine. If it works, it works,” Heather nodded slowly. She turned on her heel, grabbed Ron and Ginny by their hands, and marched up to the Sparrow. “One blessing, please. Err, one for each of us, I mean.”

The Sparrow blinked at her, “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“Same,” Ron helpfully chimed in.

“We’re going to scout ahead,” Heather curtly explained.

“We are?” Ginny tilted her head slightly in confusion for just a moment before shrugging in acceptance. “Alright, sure. I’m game.”

“Asking beforehand would’ve been appreciated…” Ron sighed. “But yeah, I guess we can make ourselves useful here.”

Heather waved them off, focusing on the Sparrow, “The Seven’s light is well-suited for pushing back all of this darkness mess. SO I need you to give us a prayer or a miracle for protection. We’ll take care of the rest from there.”

The Sparrow genuinely smiled as he heard more, “Very well. You may be children of Magic, but I expect the Seven shan’t turn you away in such troubled times. Which of the Seven faces would you like your protection to most embody?”

Heather was about to throw up her hands in impatience, but Ginny beat her to answering, “Smith, Crone, and Stranger.”

The Sparrow paused, “… An unorthodox combination. Not the Warrior? The Father? The Maiden? Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Ginny confirmed, but didn’t elaborate further.

“So it will be,” The Sparrow nodded, clasping his hands in front of them. “Seven, though they may not cleave to you, grant these potent young souls protection so they may do good work on this terrible, terrible night.”

Heather didn’t quite know what to expect, but she imagined more fireworks or some noise like the ringing of bells. It never came. Maybe the Sparrow was more practiced and subtle with his miracles than anyone else she’d seen in action. Or maybe ‘felt, not heard, not seen’ was just how the Smith, Crone, and Stranger operated. Whatever the reason, the only sign Heather got that anything had happened was an anchoring sensation. As if something diagonally removed and a bit too the right of her bloody soul was now holding fast.

“May the Smith guard you, the Crone guide you, and the Stranger never turn you away,” The Sparrow said.

“Cool,” Heather muttered, mostly to herself. “Cool, cool, cool… Hopefully, this gives the Headmaster something to work with.”

IIIII

As it turned out, it did. The Sparrow’s miracle of protection absolutely gave Dumbledore something to work with.

“I feel like we don’t talk enough about how insane Headmaster Dumbledore’s magic is,” Ginny said with wonder, simply reveling in the feeling of spellwork on top of blessing.

Heather almost snorted, “Atlas complains about how insane Dumbledore is all the time.”

“Yeah, and that’s rich coming from him,” Ron joked. “He added his own flair to this thing. I mean, ‘It’s not technically dragonfire’…? Yeah, what a reassuring way to describe it while it keeps tingling something fierce…”

When they returned to Atlas and Dumbledore with the Sparrow’s miracle, the pair of them quickly got to work pulling their own brand of miracles out to play. Dumbledore did so with years and years of experience and magical lore at his disposal. Atlas did so with instinct, talent, and pure power. The latter had Heather tingling as well, but likely for a different reason than Ron…

The end result was a reinforced and subtly tweaked blessing of faith, anchored by distant Lady Hogwarts, according to Dumbledore, and another blessing from holy wood burned by dragonfire, according to Atlas. That anchoring sensation Heather had noticed felt sturdier, and she swore she could feel hints of familiar magic trickling in from far to the north. Additionally, rhythmic flickers of flame licked protectively across her skin.

Most of the magic-talk back and forth between Atlas and Dumbledore went over Heather’s head. But she got the gist of it by feel. She’d always leaned that way with magic — feeling over thinking.

Regardless, they were as protected as they were going to be. Ron and Ginny mounted brooms, and Heather lifted off under her own runic-tattoo-channeled power. The black of the sky seemed to shy away from them, cautious and unwilling to press against holy light and flickering flames. That she could put such feelings to darkness was worrying… but still, the protections held.

Slowly, Heather tested the proverbial waters. She usually felt so at home in the air, but here, shrouded in sheer shadow all around, it felt foreign. Things still moved in the corners of her vision. Heather didn’t ignore them, couldn’t… but she forged on anyway.

“Keep a Patronus on your lips,” Heather advised. “I have a feeling it’ll be bloody well effective here… But until something tries to stop us, let’s see what we can see, yeah?”

They stuck together in flight, Heather leading the way with bluebell flame projected in front of her. The darkness wavered and surged back, trying to intrude. It didn’t find any footholds, though. When it came too close, Atlas’s blessing flames leapt. Burning faith and magic took bites out of the invading black.

Heather found some confidence, then. The black sky and the things within wouldn’t touch them so long as the protections held. She kept them low but pushing forward, still in sight of the ground through the gloom.

As if looking through clinging black fog, their vision was partially obscured. But eerily empty streets still greeted them below. Not a soul in sight. How many had successfully gotten into cover? How many had been consumed by the sudden night?

Behind them, Heather could still see miracles bursting above the march like fireworks. The main group’s pace was steady but relatively slow. It wasn’t as if Atlas and the others could up and leave their new allies, though.

The miracle-wielding Faithful and whatever other fighting folks they could gather were too useful to abandon. They didn’t know what awaited them at the Hightower, with its beacon already strained and shrinking. With how widespread this whole mess was, Heather expected an army of cultists. But then, that was why she insisted on ranging ahead to scout the scene.

For the most part, their flight was made in silence. Heather could see that Ron and Ginny were dead-set on being useful. They kept their eyes pointed downward, avoiding the things that moved in the periphery. Heather kept her eyes more on those things than on the ground, trusting them to call out trouble.

She led them forth in a zigzag pattern, scouting as much of the city in front of the main group as they could. And as they zigged and zagged, trouble certainly made itself known.

“Shadows,” Ginny called out. “See? There, in the path. They blend in with the rest of the darkness, but I saw ‘em shifting into position. An ambush?”

Ron nodded along, “Yep, lying in wait for us to march right into them. I don’t know what they are, but they can’t be waiting to offer us tea and biscuits.”

Heather fingered her wand, twisting a Patronus messenger into existence, “Atlas, you’ve got resistance waiting for you. About… three blocks ahead, where the street starts to narrow. We’re your support from above, though. Want us to handle it?”

The reply came back quickly, Atlas’s ghostly direwolf form carving through the gloom with its galloping bounds, “Wait for us to get a bit closer, but then, spring the trap early. Try to funnel them right into the main group here.”

Heather smirked slightly, “Well, you heard our fearless leader. We’ll get behind them and push them forward.”

Ron grinned, “Air support hammer to marching anvil?”

“Sounds like a good time to me!” Ginny laughed.

The shadows below shifted some more when the three of them flew overhead. Heather saw black-robed but much more solid figures amongst them. Curling goat horns sprouted from beneath their hoods. They tried to reposition, but Heather was already bringing herself, Ron, and Ginny into a hover above the street at their backs.

“Patronus first! Bombardas follow!” Heather ordered. “Expecto-!”

A sense of righteousness and resistance was martialled in Heather’s heart. A reason to fight. A reason to hold back the dark. For the hundreds of thousands of people who called Oldtown home.

Made manifest, it sprang forth from the tip of her wand in the form of good ol’ Prongs. Ron and Ginny mirrored her with a snarling ghostly terrier and a charging ghostly horse, respectively.

The shadows swelled. They formed a writhing bulwark at the rear of the ambush. Prongs lowered his antlers into the charge. There was a chuff, a yip, a nicker; sounds from righteous emotions manifest. As they echoed, the shadows flinched. Then, the Patronuses carved through them like butter.

Prongs speared a portion of shadow on his antlers and raised it high away from the whole. Ron’s terrier tore pieces from the darker-than-black bulwark. And Ginny’s horse trampled through the gap. Everywhere the manifested spirits touched, the shadows burned.

The hasty defense was torn a new one, right up the middle. Heather felt righteous victory rise in her heart, resonating from Prongs.

The rest of the shadows abandoned cohesion to countercharge them. But Heather, Ron, and Ginny were already riding high. Their wands jabbed forth, spells on their lips. Threefold explosions passed right through the charging shadows.

The more solid, goat-horned figures behind weren’t so lucky, going up in plumes of smoke and force. But the shadows charged on, untouched. Heather hurried to muster another Patronus in her heart. Ron didn’t bother.

“Lumos Maxima!”

There was a blinding flash that forced Heather’s eyes closed. But also, a cacophony of unholy shrieks as the charging shadows were forcefully banished by that same light. Heather blinked painful spots from her vision. By the time she could see again, the shadows were nothing but burned stains on the cobbled street below.

“Quick thinking, but a bit of warning would’ve been nice,” Ginny grumbled.

“Don’t worry, sis, you’ll look cute with glasses by the time this ‘night’ is done,” Ron joked.

“Oh, I’ll kill the look for sure,” Ginny said cockily. “That was never in question. Just watch me to make glasses a ‘thing’ in Westeros!”

Heather laughed while shaking her head, “… Should’ve known light was the way to go. We’ll tell Atlas just to be sure.”

The main group arrived to find broken bodies, imprinted shadow-stains, and token resistance. The goat-horned cultists who survived the threefold bombarda were put to the sword and stave.

Renly, Loras, and Willas led those more ‘conventional’ forces, surging forth from the main group to make themselves seen, heard, and felt. Traditional weapons were wielded to deadly effect. The dozen or so mutated goat-men resisted with everything they had. But against trained noble swordsmen and a veritable mob of Faithful, they all fell quickly enough. At the front, Atlas didn’t even pause the march.

Heather, Ron, and Ginny flew ahead again, keeping eyes out for more ambushes. They called most out. They missed some. They must’ve. Because behind them, the sounds of fighting plagued the main group, coming from all directions. Not enough to stop progress, but enough to slow it, for sure. Based on the flashes of magic and miracle, the march was still in good hands, though.

The three of them kept themselves busy with scouting. Here and there, they would come across smaller groups of cultists terrorizing the citizens of Oldtown. More goat-horned, robed figures tried to smash their way into homes at random. Other cultists, with hoods full of starlight and shadow, dragged innocent people into the streets to ritually sacrifice.

Heather directed them to swoop down on the former and rain bombardas from above. They continued to be effective against physical targets. For the latter, Heather had to hold back the explosions for fear of collateral damage. Instead, they sniped the hoods of starlight and shadow with piercing hexes like flying sharpshooters.

She wanted nothing more than to trawl the rest of the city for similar terror attacks. But they had to pick their battles and stay focused. Heather still remembered Luna’s words of warning. If the Hightower’s beacon fell dark, all was lost. And it was already guttering dangerously low.

By the time the march met the sea, the beacon’s flame barely felt like a candle. The chill descending over Oldtown seemed to correspond, too. It wasn’t just temperature, by Heather’s reckoning, but the feeling was bone-deep with the beacon burning so low.

Then, there was the issue of getting everyone to Battle Isle and the Hightower. The usual ferries wouldn’t cut it, not with how much the main group had grown through the city. They were joined by the people of Oldtown and the Hightower guards in the city, all eager to fight for their home. But it’d be hard for them to do that, stuck on the docks so close to the Hightower as they were.

Heather didn’t have an easy solution, but she could see that they needed to act quickly. From her vantage point in the sky, the Hightower was clearly under siege. Hundreds of robed figures crowded around its base. They might’ve breached its doors already, Heather couldn’t tell. They were certainly assaulting it with dark magic and sheer numbers, though.

She relayed as much to Atlas and Dumbledore on the ground. After a moment of tense consideration, it was Dumbledore who stepped up to the task. He was even chuckling.

“Oh, I never thought I’d get the chance to use this spell~… I suppose even this dark, dark cloud has a silver lining.”

He walked up to the water’s edge before Atlas or anyone else could truly question him. That gnarled old wand of his was raised, and Albus Dumbledore took a moment to collect himself. Wasn’t that a worrying prospect? That one of the greatest wizards of all time needed to concentrate to such a degree for whatever spell he was casting?

Dumbledore raised his wand. The whole world fell silent. Even under a city-wide ritual, the Headmaster of Hogwarts stole the show. When he called, Magic itself waited eagerly with bated breath. After a building moment of sheer silence, he brought his wand down decisively, as if cutting through the very world in front of him.

There was a pause. An undescribable rush. Then, with a roar, the sea parted. Unfathomable tons upon tons upon tons of water surged to each side, leaving a clear path from Dumbledore to the Hightower. From there, the spell held…

The reactions were immediate and likely to have consequential effects going forward. No one there would forget the scene.

“By the Old Gods and the New…!” Renly exclaimed in awe and horror.

“Godsdammit! I knew you were still holding out on me, old man!” Marwyn swore.

“The Seven bless our cause through our allies!” The Sparrow declared to cut through any other reactions from the Faithful.

Even those from Hogwarts were swept up in the impossible magic.

“Merlin…” Ron murmured.

“Moses, actually, methinks,” Heather absently corrected. “Dumbledor-ses…?”

Ginny shushed her, grinning as she gestured to… well, everyone, “Shh, don’t ruin this awesome moment with puns, Heather! Look at their faces, they’re fucking flabbergasted!”

“Hell, Gin, I am too,” Ron laughed with no small measure of disbelief in his tone. “I mean, I know it’s Albus fucking Dumbledore we’re talking about here, but still…!”

“Never anything by half…” Atlas sighed before stating louder for everyone to hear. “Alright, looks like we’re walking!”

He also motioned Heather down for more orders, “I need the three of you to buy us time to cross. Stall, harass, wreak havoc, anything to distract from the main forces. Once we get closer and I get eyes on, I’ll unleash some artillery battle magic to cover the rest of our advance and give you three some breathing room. Just stay safe and hold out until then, yeah?”

Heather nodded, but still couldn’t help but ask, “We, uhh… Are we gonna be okay? This… whole thing, I mean. It’s a big reveal of Hogwarts’ real hand. The locals haven’t seen anything like it before. Now, they have something very real to point to when talking about how bloody terrifying Dumbledore and the rest of us can be.”

Atlas sighed again, “We’ll be okay… Gabrielle and Fleur should know how to deal with the optics of revealing our true capabilities like this. If it’s truly unsalvageable… well, at least we made ourselves bloody terrifying as you said.”

“Heh, make ‘em think twice, and then two more times, about crossing us,” Heather joked. “Yeah, we’ll manage somehow.”

Before Heather could go off again to do her duty, Atlas pulled her down from the air into a brief but lingering kiss, “… I mean it, stay safe. We still don’t know enough about what we’re dealing with here. I’d never fully forgive myself if any of us got hurt because of some… Just stay safe, Heather.”

“Yeah…” Heather somberly nodded back. “I’d never fully forgive myself, either…”

When she returned to Ron and Ginny in the air, Ginny teased her for the parting scene, “Fearless leader seeing you off with a kiss, huh~?”

“It was a nice kiss,” Heather nodded shamelessly. “Shame you don’t have anyone to see you off in the same way.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find a pliable local knightly hunk somewhere or another. I’ve got plans and options, don’t ya know~? Most eligible bachelorette fostering in the Reach,” Ginny boasted with a smirk.

“To my eternal stress,” Ron deadpanned.

“Alright, Miss Reach 297AC,” Heather chuckled. “Before that, we’re flying ahead again. Gotta buy the mob down there time to cross Dumbledore’s act of magic. It’s time to strafe, stall, and stay the fuck alive!”

Below, Atlas began leading the charge once more, through Dumbledore’s parted sea. The majority were slower to follow him now, but still did eventually, helped by those eager few wanting to write their names in history. Dumbledore stayed where he was, standing stoically like a magical prophet. He’d have to bring up the rear to release the held-back water in a way that wouldn’t cause a minor tidal wave.

Meanwhile, Heather had Ron and Ginny on each side as they crossed above it all. For some reason, Heather couldn’t help but feel that the things in the black sky were… more restless there above the sea, closing in on the Hightower. They were shifting more when she didn’t quite look. She was half expecting to get jumped in mid-air. But it seemed their protections still held for now…

On the other side of the parted-sea passage, they found the cultists in a similar state of disbelief as the locals. Lessened to a degree, sure, but not even they could fully comprehend a magical feat on that scale, done without a bit of sacrifice or dark invocation.

Still, by the time Heather, Ron, and Ginny swept down for their first bombarda strafing run, the robed figures were spurring themselves into motion again. About half of them moved to hold the line and prepare hasty defenses. The other half redoubled their assault on the Hightower itself.

Worst of all, Heather saw that the tower’s doors had already been breached. The bodies of Hightower men littered the base and entrance, being dissolved by shadows to feed further fell magicks.

Their first strafing run made the cultists bleed in turn, to be sure… But the numbers weren’t in their favor just yet. Hundreds and hundreds of cultists were putting the Hightower to siege. Oldtown must’ve been infested before they revealed themselves, just teeming with this black-robed invasive species.

Blasts of magic ripped into their ranks. Goat horns were thrown into the air, shadows shrieked, and stars seethed. Heather directed them back and forth over the siege grounds, never lingering too long for any strafing run. It didn’t seem like it would ever be enough.

Some of the shadowbinders turned up to focus on them. The black sky began to churn and roil. Those lurking things in the corners of Heather’s vision came out to hunt then. They took so many forms that she couldn’t keep track.

A stalking snake with the head of a big cat. A bucking bull with slavering jaws stretching open on the tip of its horns. A hunting hawk that ran through the air on too-long legs. A shark with ventral fins like a centipede. All black of tooth and claw and tentacle, with features that stretched like shadows in the mid-morning light.

The things swiped and slashed and snapped. They rushed. They lunged. They coiled. They aimed to rip them out of the air and would stop at nothing to do so now that they were spurned into action by the shadowbinders below.

Heather found herself dipping and diving in constant evasive maneuvers. Something would strike from the black sky all around, invisible until it made its move. She was forced to fall back on instinctive magic to anticipate and react just to stay airborne and in one piece.

She, Ron, and Ginny were separated as they dodged the malicious things. While the flames and blessed protection surrounding them struck back, the things didn’t seem to care anymore. The shadowbinders worked them into a furious frenzy so that even when burned and illuminated, they kept coming back for more.

The sky above the base of the Hightower was filled with flashes of light like lightning in a storm. Heather, Ron, and Ginny flared lumos wherever they could. But the things seemed to be just as physical as they were cast in shadow. They recoiled from the flares of light. Then, they lashed out even more fiercely.

Frustration burned in Heather’s chest at not being able to carry out Atlas’s orders. The three of them were meant to harass, but they were being harassed in turn. All the while, the cultists had more time to fortify their position from the coming main assault.

As the constant assault from all angles continued, fear and fatigue joined her frustration. They were unstoppable and seemingly infinite, with the whole of the black sky to call upon. A whole world of predators existed in this void. And to them, Heather, Ron, and Ginny were chum in the water.

Their salvation came in massive arcs of lancing light. The main approach was now close enough for Atlas to help. The battle magic he called upon to do so must’ve been the stuff of legends. The kind of spell lost to all but the most treasured relics and ancient books. The massive set pieces that made wizards so feared during Earth’s medieval period and ancient world.

The magical artillery looked like a smiting from the divine. Atlas threw them out like it was a world war. He made the cultists’ hastily fortified position into No Man’s Land. The arcing lances of light shook the world as they landed amongst the enemy’s ranks. Everything they touched there simply ceased to be.

One of them speared a thing — a massive, gruesome, shifting combination of whale and squid — from the sky right in front of Heather. The awe and relief she felt at the coming support were palpable. Still, she didn’t worry about being caught in the crossfire. Not when Atlas was in control of the spell.

Dumbledore parted the sea, and Atlas smited their enemies like an approaching, vengeful god. Heather’s heart lurched. In awe, in pride, in triumph as scores upon scores of cultists simply disintegrated under eviscerating light.

She took the moment of respite to look for Ron and Ginny in the air again. Ron, she found quickly, harried but whole. Finding Ginny took a moment longer, and Heather’s whole soul caught in her throat when she did.

She’d been driven farther afield into the black sky. Chased at every opportunity, isolated from the whole… And as Heather saw Ginny cast another bright flare… completely surrounded.

“GINNY!” Ron was already surging toward his sister, pushing his broom to its limits.

Heather surged forth as well, pumping magic into everything she had to reach her friend. But Ginny had been driven too far, assaulted on all sides until even her protective blessing and flames were strained. Thing after thing lashed out at her. More and more began to connect.

Ginny’s broom was sent spinning by a lucky claw of shadow. Her whole body viscerally flinched as a questing tentacle sliced across half her torso. A charging rhinoceros beetle-bear hybrid caught her in its horns and flung her from her broom.

Ginny fell. The void around her leapt hungrily, licking at her falling form. Her protections began to fail in earnest. Pitch blackness stuck to her body like tar.

Heather gave her magic one last push. She had to get there! She had to catch Ginny! Below, the sea turned to void, eagerly waiting for its prey to fall into its cruel embrace.

With a shout, Heather’s magic flared light and blessed flame. For a moment, just a moment, the black was pushed back. It was just enough to catch Ginny, to snatch her from the void’s clutches at the last second. Ron wasn’t far behind, covering Heather’s back further with magic she didn’t know he was capable of.

Ron’s Patronus bloomed into existence with blinding, blessed light and a titanic form. It snarled and snapped protectively, pushing back the void and its things. But still surrounded and stranded over where the sea turned to void, their rushing rescue was only half over.

Ginny’s body was completely limp in Heather’s arms. Unnatural shadows clung to her, and the wound on her chest was already turning black. She didn’t focus on that. She couldn’t. No, now, they needed to get back, to find someone who would be able to help.

“Atlas will know what to do. If not him, then Dumbledore,” Heather whispered shakily.

She wasn’t even sure Ron had heard her. All he seemed able to do was stare at his sister with heartbreaking horror written across his face, “Ginny…? Ginny, wake up… Wake up!”

Heather held Ginny’s limp form to her chest almost gingerly and used a free hand to pull Ron’s broom along. After only a moment, they were rushing back through the hungry black sky and its shadowy, predatory things.

But that hungry void wouldn’t relinquish its prey easily. Shadow upon shadow began to lunge at them. The renewed assault snapped Ron back into action. Heather actually had to close her eyes against the sheer number and brightness of lumos he unleashed on the slavering shadows.

She trusted her instincts in the air to keep her flying straight. Against her chest, Ginny’s protections had failed almost completely. Even Atlas’s flames were barely an ember. Heather desperately tried to share hers with Ginny. It didn’t seem to work that way, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

Through shaky skies, they rushed back to someone who might be able to help — could…! Heather had to believe… Ron fought with a vengeance, clearing a path for Heather to follow.

Vaguely, through stinging eyes, she saw that the main group had reached Battle Isle and engaged the cultists. Faithful men and women and the remaining Hightower guards were fighting for their lives, their homes, and winning. Steadily, the cultists were slaughtered. The survivors retreated within the Hightower, but there, they’d be under attack from two sides. Yet, high above, the beacon was still failing…

Heather and Ron came in like a pair of streaking meteors, only pulling up at the very last second for Ginny’s sake. They went straight for Atlas and Dumbledore, standing alone near the back to direct their magicks. Behind, the path Dumbledore had carved from the sea was slowly filling back in to avoid collateral damage. And ahead, Atlas was still calling in his smiting bombardment.

When they saw Heather carrying Ginny’s so limp, so cold body, however, both spells faltered. The lances of light from Atlas cut off immediately, and the sea suddenly rushed to fill its own absence without Dumbledore’s control over it. Thus, their arrival was heralded by a jarring silence and then a thunderous crash of breaking waves.

“Atlas! You’ve gotta help-! You’ve gotta-!” The words spilled from Heather’s lips before she could stop them.

“Shit!” Atlas swore. “What happened?!”

Somehow, Ron was the more composed between them, “She got separated from us in the chaos. Forced to fly way out over the water. Those things in the sky didn’t let up for a moment. It was too much. She got slashed and knocked about and even thrown from her broom. The sky… The sea… The void was about to swallow her up when we caught her.”

“Merlin’s wretched half-brother, Morgoth…!” The fact that Dumbledore swore as well wasn’t a good sign. “Lay her down. I will do all that I can. I swear.”

Heather complied and watched Dumbledore go over Ginny’s body with his wand. A frown quickly emerged on his face, thunderous, tormented, and thoughtful all at once. He didn’t say anything more, just focusing his whole being on tending to Ginny. Heather didn’t like that expression one bit, though…

Her heart ached. It roared. She spun to face Atlas with tears and determination in her eyes, “I’m going to kill anyone even remotely responsible for this shite!”

Atlas just nodded, “I’m with you, Heather.”

“The shadowbinders are mine,” Ron said without any emotion in his tone. His posture was stiff and his expression was frighteningly blank, as well.

Again, Atlas just nodded, “I won’t stop you. The beacon is still failing. The main orchestrators must be hitting it from the inside. Likely stirring the Remnant something fierce, too. I think I can suppress it back down with a little help from the Old Gods, but you’ll have to keep the leading cultists off my back.”

“That…” Ron said slowly. Deliberately… “Suits me… just… fine…”

With Dumbledore watching over Ginny and doing all he could, the three of them pushed toward the Hightower and the frontlines. They picked up the rest of their core group along the way, each fighting where they’d be most effective.

Hermione, Luna, Marwyn, Sarella, and Bran were first, remaining behind the lines to coordinate and use mostly ranged magicks. Grave expressions and determined momentum had them following with only a few words from Atlas.

“Ginny’s hurt. We’re finishing this.”

Margaery and Dora were next, with Margaery growing her plants to deadly effect and Dora watching her back. Again, those few words were enough to have them fall into the new formation.

“Ginny’s hurt. We’re finishing this.”

Then, there were the noble blokes. Willas, Loras, and Renly fought at the front, Tyrell swords and Baratheon storm side by side. Once again, Atlas barely had to explain.

“Ginny’s hurt. We’re finishing this. Now.”

Led by Atlas, Ron, and Heather, they cut through any resistance that tried to stand in their way. Through the frontlines, through the doors to the Hightower, and through the cultists holding out inside. But instead of climbing the stairs, they descended into the depths of Battle Isle, encountering more cultists that they proceeded to carve through with extreme prejudice.

Heather didn’t know she could feel so numb and so angry at the same time. She was chilled. She was burning. Her vision narrowed down to the next cultist with stars in their hoods and nothing more. She imagined Ron did the same for every cultist cloaked in shadow…

The halls and cells beneath the Hightower, a labyrinth that spread all throughout Battle Isle, must’ve been eerie. Dark, confusing, terrifying, something… Heather didn’t care to notice. She just followed Atlas and left only bodies and vengeance behind her.

… Likewise, their Westerosi allies, and even Heather’s fellow witches, must’ve been shaken by their single-minded, devastating march to Battle Isle’s core. But again, Heather didn’t care to notice. All that mattered was making these wretches hurt more than she did.

In a cavernous room, they found the sources of Heather’s rage and pain. There was a living, writhing mass of black and silver, coating a barren tree to mimic its form, and slowly stirring more and more. There was a cadre of cultists enacting their awful, waking ritual. And there were two unhooded cultists waiting for them, the first a handsome, asian-looking man with a smile of twisted greeting and the other a sensual shadowbinder with a crown over her eyes.

“Come to witness greatness? Welcome, welcome all! I am Shan, Speaker of the Stars, and here, you will watch me herald in a new Bloodstone Age!” The asian man threw his arms out to greet them. “The stars stir, oh how they stir~! You have tried and tried, but it’s already too late-!”

He spun up a villainous monologue. Atlas completely ignored him and walked right past. Speaker Shan froze, sheer confusion overtaking him. Slowly, he turned and watched as Atlas approached the kneeling ritualists around the writhing tree and began stabbing each of them in the heart with the obsidian blade of his Weirwood Stave. The bone-white wood drank deeply of the offered heart’s blood.

“Hello…?” Shan tilted his head slightly and tried again. “Are you deaf or just ignorant of starry greatness? The waking has already begun. Killing fodder won’t change anything.”

The insulting question went just as unacknowledged as his monologue. But while Shan was focused on Atlas, Heather marched up to him. He turned back, opened his villainous mouth once more… and Heather drilled through the soft top of it with an abrupt piercing hex right into his brain.

The crowned shadowbinder tried to react, frantically whispering sinister shadows into existence… She didn’t get far before spontaneously imploding as Ron dropped her just as quickly. Feminine curves, fancy crown, and all, nothing outlasted Ron’s not-so-bloody vengeance.

The sudden and violent realization of justice for Ginny… it didn’t actually help how numb Heather felt. But her anger subsided a bit. Enough to realize that the others were cautiously staying back at the entrance of the cavernous room. Away… from her, Ron, and Atlas…

Hermione looked worried. Even Luna was strangely somber compared to her usual mood. Heather could recognize that much. But it all… failed to register, really. Why was Hermione worried? Why was Luna so unlike herself?

In front of her, Atlas stamped his staff in a steady, almost lulling beat against the blackstone below. It was soothing. Surprisingly so. Heather felt her eyes growing heavy. So very heavy…

Idly, she reached for Ron’s hand and squeezed it. Half to comfort him. Half to comfort herself. It was the first time she’d actually touched him since… that whole mess he made so long ago.

He really had changed since then. She might just be proud to call this Ron a friend again…

Ginny would be happy about that. Happy that her brother’s effort and change for the better were being recognized.

Heather would have to… tell her… when they… woke… up-zzzz…

IIIII

Bonus Pics (sauce below)