The Confectionary Chronicles || HP/SPN

Lollies and Loki- CH31

A/N: Well, this is disgustingly late, but I hope you all enjoy it~

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:

It only took a mere moment of concentration for Gabriel to transport his sons and himself to the bright beacon of Hermione's presence— and when he recognised the new location, recognised the cliffs above his old prison, all his previous convictions of subtly and reigning himself in vanished in an earsplitting crash of thunder. Lightning split the sky as far as the naked eye could see as dark, heavy clouds gathered and thickened. The wind howled as the skies opened, rain lashing down, and another crash of thunder heralded the earth splitting beneath his feet, revealing the cave he knew was below.

Flames, enchanted flames, rose up to greet the open sky, but Gabriel gave them no attention, too focused on the source of the constant prayers streaming to him. Hermione's skin was waxy white, bruised, and soaked with wet crimson, her clothes torn and bloody, her red, blistered face was drawn tight with pain and terror— and there was a fucking dagger in her stomach.

Gabriel had her in his arms in less time then it took to blink; he hadn't been this furious since his son had been murdered, or before that since Lucifer had turned their brothers and sisters against each other and Michael had cast him into the Cage. It was the sort of terrible, terrible rage that had the potential to bring about untold destruction on a scale Earth hadn't seen since the Great Biblical Floods. Already, the ground around him was beginning to shake apart as the storm brought with it lashing rain, screaming winds, crashing thunder and burning lightning.

Hermione's eyes, glazed with agony, managed to meet his and her blood-flecked lips curled into a small, heartbreaking smile, the sudden softness on her face such a juxtaposition to the violence painted over her body. "I knew you'd save me," she murmured, her eyelids drifting shut.

"Hermione, keep talking to me!" He immediately demanded, but the little girl was still as death in his arms, her heart barely beating as her battered, smoke-scorched lungs struggled to draw breath. Her soul, her beautiful, vibrant, kittenish soul, was unfolding from her being, barely attached by gossamer-like threads (she was closer to death then she'd been even when he found her mostly-drowned, those scant few years ago).

"Faðir," Jörmungandr rested a scaly hand on his, golden eyes solemn and otherworldly, "take her from this place. Heal her. You are the only one who can."

"Odin—" he started to say, but Jörmungandr's grip tightened.

"Trust us." He said firmly. "Save her. And go, before the angels arrive— this storm is not inconspicuous."

Faintly, Gabriel could feel Odin's foul presence, could practically taste his blood-drenched power, could swear he even heard the god-king bellowing his name (could definitely hear the Choirs in his head, could hear Zachariah giving orders, assembling a garrison to investigate the massive disturbance)—

But Hermione came first.

"Try to stop your brothers doing anything too stupid," he told Jörmungandr, before spreading his wings through the storm, through the swirling, overwhelming power an archangel's wrath had summoned, and flying— not back to London, no, but closer, much closer, in the same country even, to the wild forests where Loki's altar had remained hidden and untouched for centuries, the pale stone still stained with old blood and brimming with the heady power of sacrifice.

He laid Hermione's deathly still form over the altar, gently but swiftly untangling the tiny Vashti from her bloodied curls and using a swirl of power to carry the reborn phoenix to one of the closest trees, leaving her perched on an overhanging branch as his attention focused on Hermione.