Chapter Text
Griffin almost misses it.
She would have, if not for the immediate twitch in Cloud Tower’s magical signature, if she had not been soul-deep in its heart checking on the Tower’s health and therefore paying attention to a degree she does not usually do, because typically she trusts the Tower to be a goddamn adult about things.
She blinks. Pulls herself out of the guts and blood of her home, and looks to Discorda. The pixie is glaring balefully at the nexus of raw magical energy in front of them, arms folded over her chest. The heart dims at Discorda’s expression.
“Don’t give me that. If you want to play games you get to live with the consequences.” The pixie sniffs, sneers, and Griffin rolls her eyes to the ceiling.
The last time Cloud Tower had played games with any of her students had been - well. She’d been a student.
“I don’t even need to guess who.” She says flatly.
“I should hope not.” No competent witch would goes entirely unsaid, and Griffin has to resist the urge to flatten the pixie at her side like the fucking bug she is.
Discorda is - special. Witch, not fairy bonded, which is entirely unheard of, and therefore entirely unheard of. That therefore makes her as annoying as a pixie but with all the general ire and misery of a witch crammed into a tiny little body. She’d been bonded to one of Griffin’s predecessors, and after their death had taken to mothering the Tower itself.
Griffin has not, nor will she ever, ask. She does not say goodbye. Neither does the pixie - She’d hardly exited the Tower’s heart before it snaps shut like a steel trap, and both pixie and nexus disappear.
The Tower rarely gets petulant with her, but it tugs at her footsteps and whines and tries to catch the hem of her dress in every door she passes. It doesn’t dare try and rearrange itself or hide her target from her, but it does make itself a general irritant. It might have done more, may have dared stop her if she hadn’t known where she was going, if she’d had to rely on the Tower itself to pinpoint her query.
“I cannot believe you let them do something so stupid.” She hisses at the wall as she stalks down hall after hall - the only thing that could register so sharply when the Tower was trying to hide it was some form of interplanetary travel and portals are not taught until post-graduation for a reason.
Their illegality, for one.
She doesn’t trust any of students to not be complete and utter dumbasses with them, for another.
And clearly - she was right, if the morons managed to get caught!
Griffin’s palms are heating with rage, her heels letting out sparks with every strike against the stone beneath her, and then she yanks open the door to her girls’ room and hears -
“If - Alphea may not honor the nymphs but Linphea has never forgotten what they did for us. One of our own was - if Alphea slew one what is to say they didn’t slay the others?”
She freezes. The door jerks to a halt before it can slam against the Tower’s walls.
There are three fairies standing in her girls’ room, and Darcy and Stormy are wearing expressions ranging from concerned to poorly concealed upset, and then -
“We didn’t intend to leave anything standing before.”
That.
That is a purely witch sentiment. The threat, the promise of destruction, delivered reassuringly.
And it has just come from the mouth of a fairy. A fairy who is rapidly paling even as the Tower rumbles out a mournful apology to the fucking fairy, and -
The bottom of Griffin’s stomach drops out. She ignores it.
“What is going on here?” She snarls, and steps into the room proper. The door slams shut with a crash behind her, and the Tower’s conscious skitters to the corners of the dorm as if it could ever flee her wrath.
Before anyone can properly answer, there is a yelp. Griffin’s head snaps up to find Icy standing in front of an open wardrobe with a red-headed fairy at her side. They had not been there a minute ago. There is, very visible over the fairy’s shoulder, clearly a passage behind them and not an actual wardrobe back.
“Fuck.”
“Oh, god, I am not prepared for this.” The red-headed fairy says weakly, and then shoves Icy forward. Towards Griffin.
Icy allows this.
Griffin closes her eyes, and breathes, and tries to remind herself that blowing the horde of idiot children in front of her straight out the side of the Tower is a bad idea, even without the Tower whining at her feet. She’d not heard much of their conversation but for fairies to seek refuge with her witches, for her girls to allow that -
Her first instinct is to contact Faragonda and make her sort this whole mess out. That is how it has always been done in the past; she does not care what business her girls have with Faragonda’s. But Griffin did not get where she is today by acting rashly, or by ignoring her instincts, and she has never felt so sick with unease before in her life.
Much less persuasive is the fact that she can see both the witches and fairies in front of her gearing up for a fight. Even less convincing is the Tower’s pleading, desperate in a way it has never been before at her feet.
“Darcy.”
The witch straightens, and Griffin watches the girl’s gaze dart between her companions before she gives a sharp nod and turns her attention to Griffin. She takes a deep, slow breath. Steadying herself.
“Cast a truth spell.” Darcy instructs.
Griffin nearly flinches in surprise at the request. It’s only the fading remnants of her ire and her sheer stubbornness that keep her expression cold and blank and the resulting spell sharp and crisp.
The fairies do not relax at its casting, but her girls do. They had earned the privilege of knowing Griffin’s affinity years ago; it is for that reason Darcy has asked the spell of her.
Stormy claps her hands together, the sound sharp and cracking.
“Musa, you can throw up a silencing spell can’t you?”
The blue-haired fairy stares for a moment, and then beams, and then lifts her hands and -
- casts -
Griffin feels the blood drain from her face.
“Right. Well. Guess we’re jumping right into it.” Icy sighs, and perhaps Griffin shouldn’t hold students in such high esteem but she knows exactly what her girls are capable of and Icy’s voice shakes despite her typical masks of casualness and indifference. Stormy, all but bouncing on her heels, flings both hands up to bring a familiar cheery yellow light into existence. It fizzles out shortly, but Stormy hardly notices - the girl reaches out and slaps her open palm against the blue-haired fairy’s palm with a barley-restrained squeal.
“You included Stormy in your mess.” Griffin says numbly, and feels her soul try to flee her body.
“I take offense to that, Headmistress!”
“Stormy, dear, you could not properly clean up after yourself if I handed you an enchanted broom and step-by-step instructions.”
“In her defense, Stormy’s the only one who talked to me.” The red-headed fairy offers, hesitantly. Griffin turns a cold gaze to her. The girl doesn’t shrink back, although she doesn’t at all look comfortable.
Griffin takes advantage of the awkward, and tries to get herself in order.
Faragonda doesn’t know. Neither can Saladin. Griffin is an accomplished witch and the foremost expert on coven bonds - she feels her kin when they cast, and has long since learned to associate that bright, warm magic that Faragonda exudes as fairy and the cool, dry power Saladin utilizes as wizard. She’d have felt a difference, if either had used other forms of magic.
And that thought alone is nearly - incomprehensible.
How can they not know?
Unless -
“Alfea is intentionally obfuscating this from its students, I suppose.”
“Well, the whole feud between fairies and witches and all the shit-talking really does a good job at keeping interest minimal. But, yeah, they doctor their lessons and censor their books.” The red-headed fairy says gamely. Brightly. Ugh.
“Mother’s code has been tampered with.”
The Zenith fairy’s voice does not shake. Griffin turns her glare to the girl, and is rewarded by a perfectly solemn nod and an outstretched hand.
“You’re hoping I’ll forget to punish you.” She says coolly, but she does accept the offered communication device. The value of having another adult to speak to is immeasurable enough to warrant forgiveness, frankly. She won’t risk her reputation by panicking in front of fellow witches let alone fairies let alone children.
“What Mother has to tell you will buy your silence.” The Zenith fairy says gravely in response, without missing a beat. Griffin stares at her, and then turns back to Darcy. The witch shifts uncomfortably, uneasily.
“You’ll find out the rest eventually.” Darcy mutters. Griffin closes her eyes.
Tentatively, the Tower reaches out to her. Whispers. Pleads, but only once.
Working off what she knows already, there is absolutely no chance Faragonda is not aware of this, that a fairy is capable of using witch magic and vice versa. That is just as incomprehensible as Faragonda’s ignorance would have been. The insanity, however, does not matter.
Because Griffin had not known. And Faragonda must have.
In that moment, Griffin makes a decision - not conscious, not at all aware - that will radically change the fate of the entire magical dimension, send it all spinning on its axis in rotations not even the Fates could have predicted.
Griffin’s affinity is that of oaths; not something so benign and insignificant as promises, but oaths, things sworn with bleeding tongues and broken hearts and impenetrable will. And coven bonds are not so light as a partnership or an alliance. They are one of the most powerful, binding, and important oaths a witch can take. Realizing her partners have betrayed that - for any witch, but for Griffin specifically - should have shattered and splintered that bond so viciously that Faragonda in her office would scream at the agony and Saladin crumple seizing before his class.
But these are her girls before her, her favorite students insofar as she has those, children to whom being Headmistress, teacher, confident has been less a burden and more a privilege.
More importantly, Griffin is a witch. Her revenge will be on her own terms. Her revenge will be greater than mere agony. And she will never, ever, stoop so low as to show weakness to her enemies.
She grips her coven bond and holds it together with sheer force of will. She breathes. She opens her eyes.
“Out of my Tower. Detention, for the three of you. I expect a full report on how you managed to open an interplanetary portal within the Tower on my desk by morning. And for magic’s sake, be more subtle about this.” She snarls, words sharp and biting and furious. She nearly crushes the damn communication device in her hand in her rage. She turns on her heel and the door behind her leaps open, leading not out into the hall but rather directly into her office. She leaves before she can see the fairies’ faces go bright with relief and joy and whatever other disgusting emotions they would dare express.
She leaves before she can second-guess her decision.