The Eighth Weasley

By Fyre

Chapter 31: Call For D.A.D.A.

"Buffy, there’s a man at the door for you?"

"Huh?"

"Buffy, down here, please."

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, the Slayer shuffled out of her bedroom, wondering why her mother’s voice had such a funny tone to it. After all, it was daylight, so it could hardly be anything of the demony variety.

They had the rude habit of breaking in at night without knocking.

It was barely eight o’clock on a Saturday morning and she had really been hoping for a little extra sleep, which explained why she was still in her baggy pyjamas, her hair sticking up all over the place.

Making her way down the staircase, she could hear her mother talking to someone in the living room, which suggested the man there to see her had been invited in, which made her groan.

Hadn’t her mother learned from the whole Spike and Angel business?

Okay, so the guy couldn’t be a vampire, judging by the sunlight streaming into the house from all sides, but still...

At the bottom of the stairs, she turned to the right to see her mother standing over the couch, talking to the man sitting upon in the direct sunlight and it was a man that she recognised, her eyes going wide.

Clad in vivid blue and scarlet robes, his long white beard and hair more than a give away, the end of his beard tucked into a wide, brown belt with a gold buckle. He was chatting quite amiably to her mother, his cheeks rosy and he reminded the Slayer a good deal of what Santa Clause was meant to be like.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Twinkling blue eyes looked over at her. "Ah, Miss Summers," he started to rise in time to get grabbed in a hug by the Slayer, who almost lifted him off his feet. "Oh my, you are rather strong..."

"Oh! Sorry!"

Deposited back on the floor, he chuckled, adjusting his robes. "Not to worry, my dear," he said jovially, as he sat back down on the couch. "Joyce, dear lady, you mentioned something about a cup of tea?"

Smiling, Joyce nodded. "I’ll be back in a minute...Earl Grey is all right, isn’t it?"

"Perfect, dear lady."

Dropping down on the couch next to the old wizard, Buffy cocked her head at him curiously. "Why are you here, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked. "I mean, not that I’m not pleased to see you, but you...here?"

"There are three reasons, Miss Summers," he replied. "One part of it is that I wished to report on your sister’s progress. She has settled and appears to like the school, although she wanted me to inform you that no one believes you exist."

"Me? Senior Summers sister?"

"No," he chuckled. "You, the Slayer."

"Oh! Right! I’m a legend or something for the kids. That creepy Draco-guy didn’t believe in me, but most of the adults I met did."

"Precisely, Miss Summers, which leads me on to my second reason for visiting..."

"It does?"

Dumbledore shifted slightly to look at her directly, his blue eyes serious. "Have you ever considered teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts?"

"Huh?"

"You see," he sighed. "We have a member of staff who wishes to take...I suppose you could call it sabbatical leave. Only, we need to find a substitute for him until the end of this school year at least."

"And this guy teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Precisely."

"And you want...me to teach in his place?"

Dumbledore smiled. "If you would like to."

"Me? Teach? But how? I mean, not exactly big in the magic department..."

"Ah, yes, but you have something that few of our previous Defence Against The Dark Arts teachers have, Miss Summers," the Head Master murmured. "You have the experience in the field. You fight the dark creatures on a daily basis."

"But not the kind of things that your people deal with...I dated a vampire and I have friends that are werewolves and ex-demons...I’m not sure that’s a good impression to give the kids at school."

"On the contrary, Miss Summers," he smiled again. "I believe it is exactly what the pupils need to make them understand that there are shades of grey in all areas. After all, not all werewolves and demons are bad, which you have shown by your associations with your friends. This is why I believe you would be an ideal candidate for the position. You may be able to quash a little of the prejudice."

"But I can’t teach! I wouldn’t know how!"

"Wouldn’t know how to what, honey?" Joyce Summers re-entered the room, with a tray with cups of tea and a plate of home-baked cookies on it.

"Professor Dumbledore wants me to go and teach at Hogwarts, mom," Buffy replied.

Joyce, sitting down on the opposite side of the low coffee table in front of the couch, looked from the old wizard to her mussed-looking daughter. "I think that would be a wonderful idea, Buffy," she said, smiling. "How often do you get the chance to work at a real magic school?"

"But I don’t know magic," Buffy protested adamantly. "How am I meant to teach the kids how to defend themselves by magic, if I can’t do any magic."

Dumbledore gave her a knowing smile. "I do believe I have a solution for that little problem," he said. "If I manage to convince you, will you agree to it?"

"Honey, it would make me feel a lot better to know that you were there to look out for Dawn, in case that Glory-person finds out where she is," Joyce put in, giving her daughter a meaningful look. "And it is a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"I-I don’t know...I mean, Slayer...sacred duty..."

"But, be honest, Miss Summers, have you really had so much to do, since the closure of the Initiative? After all, the majority of the demon population were killed in the fray and the only person to really cause you any problems of late has been Glory."

Buffy pulled a face at him. "You have this all worked out, don’t you? You’re not going to let me say no..."

"Alas," he chuckled. "It appears that you understand how my mind works."

The Slayer ran a hand through her sleep-tangled hair. "All right," she sighed. "You convince me that I would be able to do a decent job as this Defencey person and I might considering coming with you...and that’s a definite ‘might’."

"If it helps you to make up your mind, Miss Summers, your sister and friend are looking forward to seeing you."

"And I really have no choice in this, do I?"

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Of course you have a choice, Miss Summers, although, if you do say no, I will be forced to stay here and irritate you until you do agree."

"You’re mean," she muttered, faking a scowl.

"I know," he chuckled. "But don’t let word out. It is always awfully amusing to see people’s faces when they realise that."

***

"Omigod!"

"Professor, you really are quite clever, despite what I’ve heard people say," Rupert Giles couldn’t help laughing, as Dumbledore primly smiled at him and folded his hands in his lap.

"But Buff...leaving Sunnydale..." Xander’s face creased. "C’mon, Buffy, what about the loyal scoobies here?"

The group was seated in the living room of the Summers house, Giles, Anya and Dumbledore on the couch, Buffy perched on the arm beside Giles. Xander was sitting on the edge of the fireplace, while Joyce and Spike occupied the two last chairs.

"That is also a subject I meant to raise with you," the old wizard said. His eyes were twinkling again. "As I am the Head Master and no one can tell me what to do, I wished to extend an invitation to you all, if you wish to join us."

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed. "You want our whole merry band to tag along with you? Are you completely barking?"

"So I have been told on several occasions," Dumbledore smiled. The vampire shook his head, chuckling. "However, my reasoning is actually serious. If this Hell Goddess does descend on Hogwarts, we will need the experts at battling the Dark Side and there are few people more experienced than all of you."

"I'm in."

Buffy and Giles both looked at Spike in surprise. "You?"

The vampire shrugged. "The old wiz here's all right and I wouldn't mind being around to make sure that the Niblet is being looked after right. Kids like a sister to me, y'know," He gave Dumbledore one of his rare, genuine smiles. "You got room for a vampire somewhere in your ruddy great castle?"

"Of course, William," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I have the ideal room for you."

"So who else is coming then? Joyce, pet?" Spike turned blue eyes towards the oldest of the Summers women. He jutted out his lower lip, when she shook her head, trying not to smile at him. "Oh, c'mon, pet! What am I gonna do without you there to make me hot chocolate and put the little marshmallows on it?"

"I'm sure you'll cope, Spike," she replied, reaching across to pat his hand. "But I can't afford to leave the gallery again. I mean, with my being ill, I have really got a lot of work to keep up with, if we're going to keep this house."

"You're not coming, mom?"

Joyce shook her head. "I can't, Buffy. And you know I'm not comfortable with the whole...magic thing, especially after that..." she trailed off, after glancing at Giles, both of them going bright red. Buffy looked from one to the other and snickered. "But you...you can tell Dawn that I'm missing her and when this Glory-business is over, the house'll be waiting for her when she comes back."

"Are-are-are you sure, Joyce?"

"I’m positive," she said. "I trust all of you to take care of my baby for me."

"But mom, what if Glory comes here...?"

"Honey," Joyce sighed with the patience that only a mother can have. "You’re the Slayer. She believes you have the Key. If you’re not here, she isn’t going to come here, is she?"

"But if she does...?"

Spike grinned. "She’ll offer hot chocolate with the little marshmallows and give this Glory-bird advice on her love life."

"Oh no, Spike," Joyce smiled. "That’s just for you."

"We’re coming too!"

"Anya..."

Anya gave her boyfriend a glare. "Okay, I’m coming. If Xander wants to stay here, he can."

The dark-haired youth sighed. "Okay, okay, I guess I’m coming along as well..." He gave Buffy a tired smile. "And it would be kinda neat to see Wills and the Dawn-monster again..."

"I believe Miss Weasley may be in need of your comfort as well," the Head Master said quietly. "Daniel Osbourne has left indefinitely for Tibet. Miss Weasley has not been handling his departure well. That was my third reason for coming."

Xander’s face paled, then an expression of determination crossed his features, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. "Why didn’t you say about that before?" he demanded. "I have to be there for my Wills."

"Atta boy, Xander," Buffy smiled, then looked at Dumbledore. "She is okay, isn’t she? I mean, she hasn’t done anything crazy..."

"I left her in the care of Professor Granger and your sister, Miss Summers, so I do believe she is in the most capable hands at the moment," he answered. "Although I do assume this means you will be coming to join us as soon as is possible?"

"Yeah!" Buffy nodded emphatically.

Dumbledore looked around at the little group, smiling serenely to himself. Hogwarts had gotten wildly interesting with the addition of the eighth Weasley and the Key, in the last two months.

Now, that he was adding a Slayer, a Watcher, a Vampire, a muggle and an ex-demon to the mix...

He only hoped that the other members of staff wouldn’t kill him.

***

Two days had passed since Dumbledore had visited America and he still hadn’t gotten around to mentioning to the full staff body that their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was on her way, travelling over the weekend.

All right, he had told everyone except Severus, because he really didn’t want to have to face the expression on the Potions Master’s face.

Snape wanted the position.

Desperately so.

Dumbledore understood why: Severus longed to make amends for the crimes he had committed as a Death Eater and the only way he could see himself doing that was by teaching their pupils to succeed where he had failed.

That was why the Head master would not give him the post. He had to learn that he had already made amends simply by his actions as a normal teacher. Being one of the D.A.D.A. didn’t have to mean absolution.

Shifting at the top of the High table, Dumbledore prodded absently at a piece of pastry soaked in gravy with the prong of a gold fork, distracted by the knowledge that fireworks were about to start, with the group who would be arriving within a matter of minutes.

Regular owls had been arriving from every stop along the journey, letting him know how they were progressing and Hagrid had gone down to collect the little group from Hogsmeade Station.

His eyes rose to the door as they opened and he smiled, starting to rise.

"HOLY CRAP! Look at this place!"

Ah, there was Miss Summers making her entrance.

"OMIGOD! BUFFY!"

And there was the expected reaction.

Dawn Summers and Willow Weasley both erupted from their seats at the Gryffindor table, Willow smiling for the first time in days, both of them running down the aisle towards the group standing in the doorway.

Squeals and hugs were exchanged between the Slayer, her best friend and her sister, then the rest of the little group joined them and it looked like on massive, multi-armed hug was taking place.

A few of the teachers were looking to the Head Master in expectation, especially one Severus Snape, who had a distinctly suspicious look on his face. Dumbledore gave a mental sigh and hoped that he would be forgiven, yet again.

The group started down the aisle, with a distinct lack of Giles, who was remaining behind for a couple of days to tidy up affairs at the Magic Box. The Head Master was amused to notice a few of the senior females casting surreptitious looks at the tall, angular, blond-haired vampire, who was striding down the aisle.

Of course, he would draw attention.

Tall, lean, dangerous-looking. Of course, all of the older girls would appreciate the cheekbones, the blue eyes and the rebel look that he had about him, right down to the leather duster flaring around him.

There was a sigh from beside him and he looked to his right. Professor McGonagall was gazing at the vampire, her eyes misty with remembrance, and the Head Master stifled a chuckle.

"You know him, Minerva?" he asked.

"Someone who resembled him a great deal, although, the hair is certainly not right in that colour," she replied, a suggestion of a smile on her face, her chin propped on her upraised right hand. "He can’t possibly be who I’m thinking of..."

Dumbledore raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Indeed."

The group neared the table and Dawn and Willow both hurried back to their spots, Hermione running down from the High table to help them by conjuring an extra section of table for the group of four.

"Hi, Professor Dumbledore," Buffy smiled and stuck out a hand, which he shook with a smile. "This place is amazing!"

"Yes, we do keep it rather well, don’t we?" His eyes twinkled. "I assume you had a safe journey?"

"Bit bumpy on the flight, but hey! No biggie. We got here in one piece."

Dumbledore nodded. "As I can see," He couldn’t help glancing at Anya, who gave him a delighted wave. A smile came to his lips immediately and he turned back to Buffy. "I ought to introduce you," Clapping his hands for attention, even though every eye was already on the group, he gazed around the upturned faces. "We have a new member of staff joining us, today," he announced. "This young lady is Miss Buffy Summers and she is an honorary Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. She will be your new teacher in this subject."

A wave of murmurs broke out.

Clearly they hadn’t expected someone young, blonde, pretty and female to replace a werewolf, but - judging by the grins on some of the boys’ faces - they weren’t about to complain about it either.

"Hey!" Buffy waved around.

There was a loud thump from further along the table. Dumbledore glanced along, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Apparently, Severus’ meat knife had somehow got lodged in the thick wood of the table, to the hilt.

His bone-white hand was still clenched tightly around the thick, wooden handle of the knife, his knuckles jagged peaks of bone almost thrusting through his skin. His right arm shaking fitfully, as if he were trying to jerk the blade free from the wood, while the look on his face suggested that he would prefer it to be lodged in Dumbledore’s back to replicate the betrayal that Snape was clearly feeling.

The Potions Master’s eyes flashed at the Head Master, who sighed.

"Perhaps you ought to take your seats, Professor Summers," he suggested, nodding towards Willow and Dawn. The Slayer nodded, smiling. Xander and Anya joined her as they headed towards the table, but Spike remained.

He was gazing up at the ceiling pensively.

"You know how this is an enchanted ceiling, mate?" he remarked to Dumbledore, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat. "If I come here in the morning and avoid the light from the windows, would I be fried like a crispy critter because of the light from the ceiling?"

The Head Master’s blue eyes twinkled jovially. "You would be quite safe," he said with certainty. "After all, what you see in the ceiling is only a representation of what you see outside, William."

"William? B-Billy?"

The vampire looked down from the ceiling at Professor McGonagall. His eyes grew wide and his mouth falling open. "Bloody hell!" he whispered, taking a step towards the table. "Minnie..."

She was staring at him with about the same level of shock, holding out her left hand – which was shaking - to him, which he immediately took in his right and lifted to his lips. "What are you doing here?"

He nodded in the direction of the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher. "I’m her sample for the kiddies," he answered, shaking his head. "Bloody hell...I should have known you’d be hereabouts..."

"You... you haven’t aged a day, Billy..."

"Well, I wouldn’t, ducks," he replied, staring at her, his voice only audible to the Head Master and Deputy Head Mistress. He was still holding her left hand with his right. "Being all undead and whatnot. I’m amazed you still remember me."

"From this, I assume you have met?"

They nodded in unison.

"Fifty years ago," Professor McGonagall replied, her voice shaking. "One winter night in Stirling..."

"A football club house, a sudden storm, some impressive right hooks and helluva lot of whisky if I remember correctly," Spike added with a reminiscent grin.

Much to Dumbledore’s amusement, Professor McGonagall, one of the sternest teachers in the school, went a flattering shade of rosy pink. "There was rather a lot of whisky, wasn’t there?" she had a small smile on her face. "Enough to make you forget about eating me..."

"At least in the way I originally intended, ducks," he purred, the pink glow moving rapidly to scarlet. Dumbledore’s blue eyes widened slightly, although he managed to quash a squeak of surprise that rose in his throat.

"Billy!" she muttered, blushing furiously. "Not in front of the Head Master..."

"I’m no pupil of his, Minnie. He doesn’t mind," Spike murmured, still staring at her in disbelief. "You’ve aged well, too..." he remarked, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. "I s’pose a girl like you is like a fine wine..."

"Flattery all the way," she gave him a wan smile. "Whatever happened to that cocky, arrogant loudmouth who said I knew nothing about bare-fist street fighting and got very drunk with me after that riot at the club?"

Professor Dumbledore silently made careful and not-so-subtle adjustments to his mental picture of Professor McGonagall.

"You want me to misbehave, Minnie?" Spike widened his eyes, drawing a chuckle from the deputy Head Mistress, who swatted at the hand holding hers. "And in front of all your pupils?"

"Billy, you would misbehave if the Pope himself was standing over you," she said, fondness in her voice.

He gave her a smile. "One night spent in my company and you know me better than I know myself," he said.

"Ahem..."

Both of them glanced sideways at Dumbledore, who subtly nodded towards the sea of faces staring up at them. Spike was still holding McGonagall’s hand in his, a few people looking bemused by the striking blond fornicating with the Deputy Head Mistress of the school.

Shooting a look over his shoulder at the bemused face, Spike chuckled. "How about this, Minnie," he said. "You and me and a bottle of cognac tonight? Reminisce about the good old days and such like?"

"Cognac?"

"What can I say? I has gone and got a bit more refined, has I."

"I’m sure you have, Billy," she still smiled when he lifted her knuckles to his lips, bowing over them. "And I’ll see what I have planned for tonight. If I’m not too busy, I’ll keep your offer in mind..."

He gave her a devilish grin. "I’ll be seeing you tonight then," he purred, before strolling off towards the rest of the newly arrived group.

"Well..." Dumbledore said.

Professor McGonagall looked like she was having trouble keeping a broad grin off her face. Her lips were twitching and she raised a hand to cover her mouth, her green eyes twinkling in the direction of the vampire.

"What is it, Albus?" she asked, although her voice sounded a little more giggly and girly than it had in many years.

He gave her a look. "Well..." was all he said.

"Have I finally succeeded in...surprising you?" she asked, giving him a thoroughly innocent look.

Dumbledore was hard-pressed not to smile. "It would certainly appear to be the case, dear lady," he replied.


Chapter 32: Friends & Fellowship

"And this is where your room is located, Miss Summers," The Head Master stopped in front of a painting of a golden-haired angel, who waved out at them. "Your sister will be moved down to be in your protection temporarily."

"How...uh...how do I get in?"

"You simply say the password to the painting and it will open into your private chambers," Dumbledore replied. "Your password is hellmouth for now, but once I have departed, you may change it if you so desire."

"Hellmouth?"

The painting swung open, revealing an arched doorway which lead into a room that looked warm and glowing, lamps hanging from the ceiling and the walls.

The Slayer ducked into it and stopped short, staring around, her mouth opening in an ‘o’ of delight. While not one of the biggest rooms in the castle, it could still easily fit the lower floor of the family home in Sunnydale.

Two four-poster beds stood in it, one to the right and one to the left, hung with blue and gold drapes, the blankets on the beds the same colour. Crisp white pillows were marked with the Hogwarts crest in gold and one of the beds was turned down revealing silky looking white sheets.

The floor was dark grey stone, but had a wonderful mosaic of colourful rugs of different depths and softness scattered here and there.

Beyond the beds, on the wall to the left, there was a fireplace with two large, comfortable-looking leather chairs in front of it. By the right wall, there was a desk, a couple of chests of drawers and an immense wardrobe, while the wall facing the doorway was lined with deep, wide windows, which Buffy hurried towards.

Looking out, her eyes rounded in awe. They weren’t in one of the highest towers, but they were high enough so that she could see out into the grounds of the castle itself, the moonlight giving everything a bluish glow.

"This is...its amazing..." she whispered.

Dumbledore, standing in the archway smiled. "I hoped you would like it," he said gently. "But, now, I must get William to his quarters, so I will leave you to settle in. You will be able to find Miss Weasley’s chamber by following the hall, to your left, and there is a large painting containing a group of nuns. Knock twice and they ought to grant you entry. If you require anything or if you need any assistance, you have a bell by your bed to allow you contact with the house elves. I have given them special permission to aid you, until you feel comfortable."

"Thank you," the Slayer said sincerely. "I mean...wow..." Climbing up into the window-seat, she looked out across the grounds, not even noticing as the Head Master and her vampire friend departed.

"Nice room you got for her," Spike noted. "Bit roomy for my tastes."

"I thought it may be, William," Dumbledore murmured, motioning for the vampire to follow him. They had already taken Xander and Anya to their room fairly near Willow and Hermione’s. "This way."

Going down two flights of stars, into the upper level of the basements, the head Master turned into a narrow passageway, lined on both sides with paintings of all sizes of a variety of dark creatures.

Conjuring a candle, he lead the way halfway down the cool, dry passage and stopped at one of the biggest paintings on the wall, giving the vampire a chance to register exactly what he was looking at.

Spike doubled over laughing.

"Bloody hell...when you said you had the ideal room for me, I think you should have said you had the ideal door..." he laughed, grasping Dumbledore’s shoulder. "You really have a nutty sense of humour..."

"So I have been told, William," Dumbledore smiled, giving the password and letting the painting swing outwards. "I hope you will find this room...fitting for your tastes."

The vampire took the candle and stepped into the room, then nodded, a broad grin crossing his face. "Just the way I like it," he said. "Not too much, but not too little either and you even got me a chair!"

"Something suggested to me that you were not exactly the type for hanging clothing up, so I thought it would be easier than the floor."

Spike’s grin got wider. "You understand the way I think so well, Professor," he remarked, looking around.

The room was about as large as an average size double room, with a large four-poster bed in the middle of the wall to the right of the door. The drapes were dark, almost black, but the blankets a deep shade of red.

A chest of drawers, crafted of the same dark wood as the bed posts, stood next to the bed, closer to the door. At the end of the bed, the large, black, leather-upholstered chair stood, close to the fireplace that took up a fair amount of space on the wall to the left of the door.

The back wall was occupied by a large painting of a battle, which Spike took one look at and sighed dreamily, especially when a couple of the soldiers starting having a punch-up right in front of him.

"This is ideal," he murmured.

Dumbledore reached into the capricious depths of his robes. "I also went to some lengths to acquire a...I suppose you would call it a room-warming present for you. I am not certain if it will be to your tastes, but..."

He withdrew a hefty book that was about a foot wide, by a foot and a half long. It had a thick, dark, knobbly-looking leather cover which bore the last flakes of gold leaf, which had once formed words, and heavy parchment pages. The smell of dust and age rose from it and the vampire looked down at it, part-wary, part-curious.

"What is it?" he asked in a voice choked with some odd emotion.

"I did suppose you might recognise a book when you saw one," Dumbledore replied dryly. His eyes were on the vampire’s face. If possible, he had gone paler, his lips parted in wonder. "I have had some close friends searching for this for some time now and it came into my hands just a few days ago."

Carefully, Spike took the enormous book in his hands, which Dumbledore noticed were shaking slightly. "I...I’ve heard of this..." he whispered, opening the thick cover reverently. "I thought it had been destroyed..."

"As did I," the Head Master said quietly. "However, I have no use for it. I believe it may serve a greater purpose in your hands."

"My...my hands?" the vampire’s voice caught painfully, then shook his head, pushing the book back into the old wizard’s hands. "No...no. You’ve got the wrong vampire. You should send it to the poof...he’ll want it..."

"William," Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, but strong. "You know the legend that surrounds this book."

"I know it," he nodded grimly. "But I don’t deserve it."

Dumbledore’s lips moved into a smile. "That is the answer I hoped that you would give, William," he murmured. He turned and placed the tome on the chest of drawers beside the bed. "Should you decide that you feel worthy, the book will be ready for you to open."

The vampire’s eyes stayed on the book, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Dumbledore knew he had offered the vampire something more valuable than any amount of money, but also more dangerous than anything he could even have faced in the demon world.

It was understandable that he might be dubious.

Reaching inside his robes again, the Head Master withdrew a small, rectangular, leather-bound box, about eight inches long and three wide, and placed it on top of the book. "Just in case, William," he said softly. "And if you wish to find Minerva, I shall let her know that you will be in the Entrance Hall in an hour."

"Yeah...yeah. Thanks."

He was still gazing dazedly down at the book on the dresser as the Head Master exited the room, the painting closing quietly behind him.

***

"Why, Miss Emerson, whatever is the matter?"

The former demon started at the voice, whipping around from the window she was staring out of to find the head Master of Hogwarts standing several paces behind her, an anxious expression on his face.

She had been standing in one of the deep window boxes that lined the hall, the moonlight washing down her face. A misty handprint still lingered on the pane, where she had been leaning, looking out over the grounds.

"Oh...I...I...Xander is being a jerk again and we fought and yelled and I left..." She tried to smile at him, but he could see that she had been crying. "H-h-he got mad at me... cos I wasn’t upset e-e-enough that Willow’s boyfriend dumped her... h-he knows I-I-I don’t l-like Willow much...he-he went to find her... and I left...and I had been thinking about how nice it was to be back in the wizard world...but I wish I hadn’t brought him, Professor..."

"Do call me Albus, Miss Emerson," he said as he approached her. She nodded with a little sniff. He offered her a handkerchief and she blew her nose loudly and with great gusto, making him chuckle.

"What?"

"I have seldom heard such a...remarkable sound come from so dainty a young lady as yourself."

She smiled sadly at him, sniffing softly. "Xander doesn’t like it when I’m loud or when I’m honest like I was about Willow," she said, studying the handkerchief that was gripped between her hands. "He thinks I should be more like Willow or Buffy. He gets embarrassed because of me."

"I’m sure that is not true, Miss Emerson."

"It is. He gets cranky and tells me to be quiet all the time," Her lower lip trembled a little and tear-filled brown eyes blinked hard. "I-I love him, but he...he is such a muggle sometimes..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her hand. "I can sympathise, my dear," he said gently. "But now, will you join me for a mug of hot chocolate? I’m sure it will soothe your nerves."

Anya studied the Head Master for a minute, then nodded and smiled. "I would like that, Pr...I mean, Albus. I would like that, Albus." He returned the smile as she took his arm.

***

"I’m surprised you actually came."

"Likewise."

Standing several paces away from one another, the vampire, still clad in his long, black, leather duster, and the transfiguration Mistress both studied the floor beneath them, McGonagall’s arms folded over her chest, as she shifted slightly.

"So..."

"Right..."

There was another prolonged silence.

McGonagall lifted her eyes to glance at him, then looked away. What was she doing? Was she completely insane? Meeting up with a dangerous vampire, who had - not more than fifty years ago - threatened to kill her...

Although, he was allowed in the school by Albus, which meant that the balance had shifted somewhere.

The silence was broken when he laughed.

Even after fifty years, she could still remember that laugh, as if it had only been moments since she heard it. It rang off the walls and high ceiling of the hall and she found herself smiling reluctantly as she looked at him.

"We must look a right pair of bloody tits, eh?" he said, shaking his head, with that familiar devilish grin on his face. His eyes were twinkling with mirth in a way that reminded her a lot of the Head Master. "Standing here like a pair of bloody teenagers on their first date!"

"It is rather...odd, you must agree."

"I’ll say, Minnie," he cocked his head at her. "I never imagined I’d see you again, after everything..."

"How many times," she sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "Do I have to tell you to call me Minerva, Billy?"

"Well, you punched me a dozen times, last time we met," he smiled. "And that didn’t work. I thought you would have given up on it. And don’t you start on me, with your bloody ‘Billy’ crap all over again. I go by Spike now and you know it, Minnie."

"Of course you do, Billy," she said tartly.

He glanced around the Hall with a grimace. "Look, luv, not to ruin the creepy feeling we have going here, lurking in the shadows and what have you, but is there anywhere in this dump that we can sit and talk like civilised people?"

McGonagall nodded up a flight of stairs. "I have a study near here, although the idea of you being civilised seems almost...obscene."

"Likewise, luv," he chuckled, motioning her to walk with him. "And d’you maybe have some whisky to mark the occasion?" A dark brow rose in his direction, her lips thinning into a narrow line. "Well, you can’t blame a vampire for trying, can you?" he grinned roguishly at her.

"Come with me, Billy," she started towards the stairs. He was walking alongside her, but she swung around sharply when one of his hands squeezed her right buttock through her robes. "William..." she cautioned.

He gave her a thoroughly innocent look, withdrawing his hand, biting on his lower lip and raising his eyebrows ceilingwards.

"I wish I could remember why I never staked you," she huffed, turning and hiking her long, green robes up, and stalking up the stairs, although there was no mistaking the glint that had twinkled in her eye when she had chastised him.

***

"Y-you guys should be sleeping...or something...jet-lag and everything..."

"Not a chance, Will," Buffy thrust a pot of ice cream into her friend’s hand, along with a spoon. "We brought all this Ben and Jerry’s with us for a reason and now, we’re going to help you eat it all, until we’re sick."

The Slayer, Willow, Hermione, Dawn and Xander were all piled into Hermione and Willow’s bedroom, sitting in the floor space between all the beds, several bobbing illumination charms providing a soft light.

A large pile of colourful pillows had been provided by Hermione, scattered on the floor, as a replacement for a couch, the thick carpet soft and warm around them, none of them aware of the winter chill that was starting to permeate the castle.

"You don’t have to..." Willow tried to insist futilely, until a spoon of Phish food was popped into her mouth by Hermione, who gave her a stern look.

"Now, young lady," she said determinedly. "You are going to eat ice cream until you puke, all right? It isn’t often we get ice cream in Hogwarts and I’m certainly not going to let you turn it down!"

The red head gave the brown-haired witch an utterly pathetic look. "Mguh..." she mumbled around the spoon.

"If you don’t want it, can I have it?" Dawn asked eagerly, reaching for the pot of Phish food, only to be smacked on the hands by Xander and Buffy’s spoons and the end of Hermione’s wand. "Hey!"

"That one belongs to Willow," Hermione said firmly. She was kneeling beside her roommate and wrapped an arm around Willow’s shoulders. "And if anyone is going to eat it, it is going to be her, whether she wants to or not..."

Willow raised her eyes to the older witch. "I really don’t get a choice, do I?"

"Sorry, Will," Hermione gave her a genuine smile. "But you’re going to eat it, even if I have to slap it all over my barely clad body and put a spell on you to make you lick it off me."

There was a clatter.

Xander had dropped his spoon.

"Hermione..." Willow moaned, going a little pink in the face.

The older witch grinned at the stunned expression on both Buffy and Xander’s faces, her brown eyes dancing. "Let me guess," she remarked dryly. "You never told them you were living with a perverted witch who lives for the soul reason of trying to make you blush daily."

"You...uh...were you joking about that whole ice cream-all-over-barely-clad-body thing?" Xander inquired carefully, retrieving his spoon, his eyes skimming over Hermione’s robed body. "Cause if you want to..."

"XANDER!"

Both Willow and Buffy yelled it, one of them punching his arm, the other hurling a pillow at his head.

Hermione laughed. "Ladies," she suggested, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "What do you say that we teach Mister Harris a lesson about what classes as civilised conversation, when you’re in a room with two witches, a slayer and a key?"

"Oh God! I’m sorry!" Xander was on his feet faster than any of them thought he could move. "Will! Tell her I was joking!" He backed rapidly towards the door, as all four of the young woman rose, grinning.

Even Willow was smiling.

"Will!" he whined.

Exchanging looks with Hermione and Buffy, Willow was the one who yelled it:

"GET HIM!"

***

Had anyone passed the room, the occupants would have quickly been certified.

Professor Minerva McGonagall and the vampire known as William the Bloody had somehow managed to get hold of the bottle of cognac that he had suggested at the feast, earlier than evening and were ever so slightly...merry.

They were sitting in two large chairs - facing one another - in front of a dancing fire in one of the small studies that the teacher used, leaning on a table that stood between their chairs, the nearly-empty bottle between their glasses on the table.

It was a side of the strict teacher that was rarely seen, especially since her last liaison with the vampire sitting with her. In fact, it was partially his fault that she had become as strict as she was, with the hope of resisting the urge to...

Well, the phrase that sprang to mind was to ‘give in to the dark side’ again.

It was a little know fact that the Transfiguration Mistress and Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts had partaken of a somewhat later than average teenage rebellion, when she was in her early twenties.

During that brief period, she had rejoined her family and met Spike.

And now...now, he was easily wrapping her around his little finger again.

Something about the blasted vampire made it impossible for her to resist as he shared the full bottle of expensive - and apparently filched from Dumbledore’s own stores - cognac between their two glasses.

She had insisted she would only take one glass.

Just one.

And she had.

Unfortunately, it had been refilled half a dozen times and it had been so long since she had taken much alcohol...

"You were an arse, Billy...a bloody arse," she wagged a finger in his direction. "I told you it was just that one night..."

The vampire’s equally hazy eyes were foggy with remembrance. "Yeah, but what a night it was, eh?" he was studying her. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, but some of the severity had left her features, replaced by a genuine smile that made her green eyes gleam. "By God, you were a tiger, woman..."

"Actually," she almost giggled. "I’m a pussycat..." Despite her inebriated state, she performed a quick shift to her animagus form and back again, the vampire blinking at her in surprise. "See."

"Blimey..."

She shook her head as he started to top her glass up again, but still knocked back the contents at a speed to match him. "I shouldn’t be doing this," she noted, studying the empty glass. "I have classes in the morning..."

"You mean we’re not going to go staggering off to a sports club house somewhere on the grounds and shag on the gear a few times?" the vampire said, giving her a petulant look, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And I went to all the effort of getting this booze for you."

"You stole it, Billy."

"Yeah, but I still had to make the effort, didn’t I? All that for no getting laid..."

McGonagall gave him a small smile. "I am a teacher here, Billy. It would hardly be appropriate, would it?"

"I know, ducks," he replied, picking up the bottle and studying the last trickles of flame-dashed liquid in the bottom. "I’m just teasing you, but just so you know, if you ever feel the urge," his eyes were on his glass. "The offer is open..."

There was a moment of befuddled silence, when the teacher tried to work out if he was joking or being serious.

Blue eyes rose to hers, twinkling.

"Oh, you annoying, blood-sucking twit..." She stretched across the table and slapped him on the top of his head, smirking when he yelped and batted her hand away. "I must look like such an old hag to you now...fifty years older..."

The vampire leaned back a little, regarding her by the fire light. "I dunno about that, ducks... maybe it’s something in that magic blood of yours, but you could still pass for someone in their late thirties."

"Oh, you..."

There was an odd expression in his blue eyes as he tilted his head, gazing across at her. His bottom of his glass rasped as he slowly turned it in circles on the tabletop. "If you hadn’t run off the next morning," he finally murmured. "I think I would have kept you, you know...Dru would have killed me, but you were something..."

"Why do you think I ran off, Billy?" She lowered her eyes for a long moment. "I didn’t want to die. Certainly didn’t want to become one of your kind..."

He shook his head. "You wouldn’t have, ducks," he said quietly, her face rising again. Blue eyes met green. "Not you. You had too much fire and spice as a human. I wouldn’t want to have ruined that."

There was a silence as the both looked down at their glasses.

"Did you regret it?" he finally asked.

McGonagall looked across the table at him. He was as striking as he had been that night. The firelight only highlighted the sharp, handsome lines of his eternally-young face. "I’m sitting here getting sloshed with you, Billy," she replied. "If I regretted it, do you think I would be here?"

"That’s why I asked, ducks," he said with a lop-sided grin. "You’re female. I might be over a century old, but I still haven’t worked out how the female mind works."

"Pig," she said succinctly.

"You got that right," he chuckled.

She leaned forward, placing the glass on the table and crossing her arms on the tabletop. "Billy," she said. "I have never and will never regret that night, if only for the fact I walked away from a liaison with one of the most notorious vampires in British history, without so much as a bite on me," His scarred left eyebrow rose. "Oh, all right, maybe a nip or two, but nowhere that anyone would notice..."

"And there’s my feisty Minnie," he chuckled. "You look ready to smack me."

"And we all know where that lead last time," she sniffed.

The vampire grinned broadly. "Oh yeah..." he said dreamily.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You are terrible, Billy," she sighed, unsteadily levering herself to her feet. "But now, I think I have kept you up too long and will have to send you to bed..."

"Which is lady-speak for ‘God, I think I’m going to puke! Let me abandon that stud of a vampire and get out of his line of sight before I embarrass myself’?" he suggested dryly, on his feet and round to her side when she swayed, catching her around the waist. "Whoa, easy luv."

"Don’t flatter yourself, Billy," she gave him her sternest look. "And now, you’re just taking the chance to grab a handful..."

"I take any excuse, ducks," he flashed her a grin, steering her towards the door. "Or maybe I should call you ‘kitten’ now."

A finger tipped with a sharp nail tapped his firmly in the middle of the chest. "You even think about doing that, Mr. Billy T. Bloody," He chuckled at the name. "And I will be forced to stake you...rather hard..."

"As opposed to staking me softly, right, kitten?" he said, negotiating her along the hallway, one of his arms still holding her around the waist.

She sniffed. "I am a witch," she reminded him.

"And I’m a vampire," he said. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"I’m going to ignore you in the hopes that you’ll go away and never get me this tipsy again," she drew away from him at the top of the staircase, pointing vaguely in the direction of the hall. "Off with you."

"You sure you don’t want me to make sure you get back to your room all right, kitten?"

"Positive," she glared at him. "And I would prefer if you refrained from calling me that."

"Whatever you say, kitten," He gave her one of his most charming, devilish grins and bounded down the staircase, leaving her glaring down at him. At the bottom, he paused to give her a wave before darting off into the shadows.

At the top of the stairs, Professor McGonagall was torn between the urges of hunting down the vampire and staking him, walking straight back to her room and putting a memory charm on her to forget him or being very very sick very very soon.

Unfortunately, the latter prevailed.

Unsteadily making her way back down the corridors to her room, she made a solemn vow to herself never to allow the cocky, arrogant vampire to convince her that half a bottle of cognac would be good for her.

***

"I trust you are feeling a little better, Miss Emerson."

"Albus..."

The Head master smiled. "Of course, Anya. I trust you are feeling better?"

Wizard and former demon had spent almost two hours talking over mugs of hot chocolate in one of the comfortable little living rooms that were scattered throughout the school, if one knew where to look.

"I feel great," she smiled broadly at him. "Its nice to find someone a little more mature to talk to once in a while. We have Spike, but he isn’t very mature and Xander still thinks with his penis a lot..."

"Why, Anya," Dumbledore gave her a look. "Are you implying that I am old?"

"Albus, I saw you blowing bubbles in your hot chocolate," He went a little pink at that. "I just said more mature and it wouldn’t be difficult to be more mature than Xander or Spike."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I must say it is delightful to find someone with more worldly knowledge than I, for once," he said, patting her slim hand. "And it is always a pleasure to talk with you."

"I like talking to you too," Rising on her toes, Anya kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Albus," she said sincerely, before whispering the password and slipping through the portrait hole, into the room she shared with her boyfriend.

The Head Master was still standing there ten minutes later.

One hand finally rose and touched his cheek, which was positively glowing.

"Goodness..." was all he could think to say.

***

"Ugh..."

"Good morning, Minerva!"

"Do...not...shout..."

"I was not aware that I had shouted," Professor Dumbledore studied his Deputy Head Mistress. She was sitting rigidly in her seat her head resting against the back of her hard seat. Her eyes were closed and she looked a little paler than usual. "Are you all right, Minerva? You aren’t looking too...healthy."

"Don’t ask..." she replied hoarsely, slowly opening her eyes and looking down at the large plate of fried food that was in front of her. Baulking, she looked away, a green tinge washing over her features.

Sitting down, the Head Master raised a brow. "If I may ask...?"

"I think I might kill him."

"Pardon?"

Her blood-shot eyes opened and were pointed in the direction of a blond-haired male, who was sitting in the shade of the walls, gazing up at the ceiling with a blissful look on his face, as the false sun washed over his skin.

They also noticed Harris, the muggle, limping past, shooting dirty looks at the High table, where Granger and Summers were sitting side-by-side, grinning down at him in a way that would make the bravest soul cower.

"Would this, perchance, be something to do with a rather nice bottle of cognac that... vanished from my office?"

"I really would prefer if you didn’t remind me, Albus."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You ought to have Severus produce one of his hangover cures. I hear they are remarkable for clearing the head."

"I think that clearing the stomach would be better at present," McGonagall replied delicately. She looked at Dumbledore. "And I do tend to avoid situations that will put my life in danger, so I would rather not seek out Severus this morning..."

"Ah..."

"Yes, ‘Ah’. He is more than a little...frustrated with you, Albus."

"Yes...yes, I rather suspected he would be. I expect he will remain so for the rest of term. As he has every year since he started teaching here," Sighing, Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a small, round, clear bottle containing a pale yellow fluid. "However, since it would awkward for you to teach your classes with a hangover, this ought to save you the terror of facing an angry Severus."

McGonagall sighed, tipping the contents of the bottle into a goblet. "You are an angel, Albus," she said, before drinking the fluid and pulling a face. "Good God! It tastes like cat piss!"

"As a lesson to you about the sin of drinking too much, dear lady," the Head Master’s eyes twinkled at her impishly.

The witch glared at him. "If I was feeling less nauseous, I do honestly believe I would smack you for that."

Dumbledore just raised his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled to himself.


Chapter 33: Potions vs. D.A.D.A

Despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon, no one in their right mind was anywhere near the Potions dungeon. Not many people would be there anyway, but now, especially...

Those who feared Snape were probably cowering under their beds with a teddy-bear, the ripples of his emotions spreading even further than he realised.

Something smashed.

It went without saying what kind of mood he was in.

He was angry.

No.

He was beyond angry.

He was furious!

With a savage sweep of his hand, Snape sent a rack of test tubes hurtling across the room, the glass smashing on stone and tinkling on the floor, the combined liquids hissing and sizzling, green fumes curling off it.

His fists slammed down on the workbench, a roar of anger escaping him.

Once again, his chance for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been quashed and, this time, by some stupid little girl, who probably didn’t even know how to fight off a Boggart.

It just wasn’t fair!

After everything he had done for Dumbledore, for the school!

His hands clenched into tight fists on the splintered surface of his workbench, his fingernails biting into his palms, his knuckles whitened until the bone was virtually thrusting through his skin.

Panting angrily, his crooked yellowed teeth grit together, lips peeling back from them, he searched around for something else to take out his frustration on, something he could break and leave for the house elves to clean

While most people went red with anger, the little colour in the face he had seeped from Snape’s already-sallow skin, leaving him deathly white, his black eyes glittering malevolently from beneath his dark hair.

"Damn her!" he threw back his head and shouted it again, smashing his fists down on the workbench once more.

He hadn’t even met the girl.

Seen her in passing in the Great Hall, before he had been informed of who she was and the fact she was taking his career of choice, yes, but he had never met the little blonde bitch.

"No time like the present," he growled, storming towards the door, bellowing an angry curse when his robes snagged on the broken leg of a chair that he had smashed just after Dumbledore had told him.

Jerking it free, landing a savage kick on the broken piece of furniture - which still didn’t make him feel any better - he thundered out of his classroom, his robes catching on his legs with every step.

Pulling the hefty door of the classroom shut behind him with savage force, he heard the wood splinter, his lip curling. It probably had swung open behind him, but he didn’t care about that now.

The halls ahead of him were clear of pupils. He could even hear fleeing footsteps in the distance and he sneered. He was feared by the pupils. He had their respect and downright terror.

As if any little blonde bimbo from America could compare to him as an expert in the Defence Against the Dark Arts.

***

Buffy Summers liked her classroom.

It wasn’t anything like any classroom she had ever seen before, but it was nice and the Head Master had given her permission to decorate however she deemed fit. Giles had insisted on books.

Lots of books.

In fact, so many books that he been forced to fill six crates with them. Those very crates which stood between the rows of desks, looking enormous and depressingly full in the dusty light that shone through the tall, narrow windows in the wall to the right-hand side of the desk, when looking out at the class.

She was sure she had already emptied two of the crates, but there still seemed to be an awful lot of literature to be unpacked.

Grabbing the third crate, which stood level with her hips, she easily heaved it over towards the wide desk that stood at the front of the classroom, bathed in the quiet afternoon sunlight.

All of the desks and chairs seemed so big and old, all antique-y and cute and like they had been stolen from the films of Pride & Prejudice and all those old costume movies, with different shades of wood, where they had been in the direct sunlight for too long.

They even had neat little ink-wells, which she thought was seriously cute.

Not only was she teaching a group of magic kids, but they used quill pens, just like they used to in all the old movies, sitting at old-fashioned desks with old-fashioned robes and everything else.

Smiling, she jerked the top off the crate, groaning at the tightly packed block of enormous Defending Yourself Against The Dark Arts books, many of them the demon books liberated from the Sunnydale High School Library before it had... uh... blown up.

Using a ruler to pry the first ones out, she managed to negotiate a pile out onto the desk, dusting her hands down on her trousers, the musty and dusty smell of the books making her nose tickle.

Heaving the stack of books onto the bookshelf beside the blackboard, behind the massive desk that was to be hers, Buffy looked around when there was a rap on the door at the opposite end of the classroom, a second before a tall, angry-looking man in black entered.

"Oh! Hi! Uh..." Distracted from the leaning tower of books for a second, she yelped as one of the larger ones slid off the top of pile and bounced off her head and landed with a heavy ‘thud’ on the floor. "Ow!"

Hastily pushing the rest on, bending to get the last, she rubbed her head.

"Sorry. Not really big on the book stacking. Usually leave that to Giles," she said by way of explanation, taking a chance to get a better look at her visitor.

He really was big on the glowering, she noted wryly, his greasy black hair hanging around a face that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun for at least a decade. And his robes, all black and creepy-looking.

Walking around the desk briskly and up the classroom, she held out a small, dainty, feminine hand to him, smiling broadly. "Buffy Summers. Nice to meet you."

The man looked down at her, his upper lip curling, black eyes glittering with an emotion she really didn’t want to identify. Suddenly, she had the odd image that she was holding her hand out to a cobra.

"Or not..." Withdrawing her hand, she pointed a finger up at him, forehead creasing in thought, then she grinned, a flash of recognition crossing her face. "You’d be Professor Snape, right?"

"Indeed."

"Not big on the wordiness, huh?" His eyes skimmed down her body, his upper lip curling a little more. "What?"

"That...ensemble. You are a teacher here, yet you dress like a common muggle."

Buffy looked down at her cream sweater, chocolate pants and matching boots, her brows wrinkling. "I like the way I dress," she said defiantly. "At least I don’t go all out in embracing the stereotype."

"Tell me, little girl," He took a slow step towards her, his black cloak flaring around him in a way that reminded Buffy a tiny bit of Dracula. And a big ‘Ew!’ on that mental image. "Do you have any knowledge of magic."

Apparently, he expected her to back off or be frightened or something.

"Nice glare you’ve got there, Snapey," She tapped him in the middle of his chest and was amused when he actually growled. She wasn’t sure if it was the use of the nickname or the poking in the chest, but God! Over-reacting much? "You’re almost scaring me." She hopped back a step to sit on the desk. "And yeah, on the magic. Got a friendly neighbourhood witch."

"But you know no spells yourself?"

Sitting on the desk, swinging her legs back and forth, Buffy grinned at him, aware that she was probably definitely bugging the crap out of this guy who was going for Angel’s dominating flarey-coat-King-of-Pain thing and would have been succeeding if she hadn’t known he was just a human. "Nope."

Snape's thin lips narrowed even more, his dark eyes glittering malevolently. "And you have no Wizarding blood in you?"

"Nuh-uh," She tilted her head to one side, eyes dancing. Apparently, this guy had no clue who she was and he definitely didn’t like her for some reason. She was sensing a whole lot of fun about to come her way.

"And you have been assigned the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts at this school?" She nodded brightly. He stepped directly in front of her, plunging her into shadow, his face obscured. He definitely knew his intimidation tactics, but he had obviously never met a Slayer before. She just looked up at him, as if they were in perfect light, smiling. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Summers," his voice was coated in ice. "What makes you think you are capable of the job?"

"You really wanna know why, Snapey?" She grinned at him and saw a flicker of annoyance and consternation in his eyes when she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is why..."

In a heartbeat, the Potions Master found himself pinned on his back on the desk, a razor sharp knife in the blonde's hand pressed against his throat, her other hand spread on his chest, holding him down.

Grabbing at her wrists, he tried to push her hands - and the knife - away from his bare neck, but was unable to make her budge even a millimetre, panic and confusion filtering into the rage on his face.

"See, Snapey!" she cooed sweetly. "I got the job because Dumbledore didn't want me to decapitate him with his own wand," She grinned down at the wizard. "I could probably do it too, you know...might take a while, wands being all blunt and woody, but hey! I could always try," She paused, then smiled genuinely. "Actually, he asked me and my pet vampire to come and work here cos we're too cute to not be seen by your pupils."

"Release...me..."

Buffy pressed the edge of the blade against his throat a little harder. "You didn’t say the magic word."

"NOW!"

Laughing, the Slayer stepped back, folding her arms over her chest as Snape sat up, pushing himself off the desk, onto his feet, rubbing his throat. "You know, Snapey, you’re never gonna make any friends with that attitude."

Snape's hand reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand, but the Slayer got there first, grabbing his right arm and twisting the wrist until his hand was almost backwards, the wizard hissing through his teeth in pain.

"Nuh-uh," wagging a finger at him, she tutted. "That's cheating. Now," She said with a bright smile. "Do I kick your ass and show you why I'll be a good Dada teacher? Or do I let you go?"

"Dumbledore will hear of this," the hook-nosed teacher gasped as the blade came up under his chin again.

"I would hope so, Professor," She grinned up at him. "You want the job of the Dada and yet, a small girl can still throw you onto a desk and could have cut your throat before you could even defend yourself." She tutted as he straightened his robes. "Not very good at all, Snapey."

Scowling, the black-haired teacher stalked towards the open door, his black robes flaring around him.

"Oh, and Snapey," she called after him with a demure look. He glared at her, a muscle in his cheek twitching furiously. "Wash your hair, would you? I'd hate to have to force your head under a shower."

The Potions Professor growled something that sounded very rude, before storming out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, leaving Buffy leaning against the desk, chuckling in his wake.

***

"I demand her departure at once!"

Professor Dumbledore had his back to Snape, as the Potions Master raved, as he had been doing for the last ten minutes. He was bent over one of the gleaming gadgets in his office, watching miniature replicas of the planets revolve around the sun.

Sunlight flooded in through all the high windows, making Uranus - yes, two hundred-years-old and he still snickered at that joke - shine, which was no doubt a bad omen for anyone who happened to be a dancing leprechaun wearing a sundial on his nose.

He made a mental note never to invite Sybill Trelawny to his office, unless this new toy was covered up, or he knew he would have at least a dozen deaths hanging over him before she left.

Straightening up, he glanced briefly at a picture of the graduate class of two years earlier that hung just above his planetarium, smiling at the faces of Potter, Granger and Weasley in particular.

However, seeing them redirected his attention back to the teacher who was currently chaffing at the bit behind him.

Wandering back around his desk, the Head Master sat down in the large seat, his deep green-blue and purple robes shifting around him, smiling as Snape continued to pace furiously, growling about something that had occurred with their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"Severus, do you really think that necessary?" He had wondered how the Potions Master would react to the fearless little blonde who had been called in to replace Remus Lupin.

"The little hussy damn near killed me!"

Steepling his fingertips in front of his chest, Dumbledore’s lips lifted in a smile beneath his beard. "Indeed?" was all he said.

"And she’s a muggle, Head Master!" Swinging around, Snape pointed an angry finger at Dumbledore. "How on earth is a muggle meant to efficiently teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? If a Dark Lord rises, what are the children meant to do?"

Raising a hand for silence, Dumbledore motioned for the Potions Master to sit in the chair opposite him. "Severus, are you questioning my judgement in this situation out of a true concern for the pupils or out of envy?"

Snape opened his mouth to retort and quickly shut it again. Spots of colour appeared on his cheeks and he glared at Dumbledore in a way that suggested he would very much like to hit him.

"As you are remaining oddly silent, Severus, I believe I should inform you of a little secret that Miss Summers holds," Black eyes gleamed bitterly at him, daring him to give an answer that would sate Snape’s anger. "I trust this will remain confidential between us, the staff and Miss Summers."

Snape made a grunting sound, which the Head Master translated as assent.

"Miss Summers is the Slayer."

Black eyes seemed to double in size, staring across at Dumbledore, who was merrily chuckling to himself. Snape’s mouth opened and shut several times, the anger in his expression replaced with astonishment.

"You did wonder why she wasn’t intimidated by you, did you not?" Snape glared at him, making Dumbledore chuckle again. "Ah, Severus, your face is an open book to me. You wanted her to fear you and run away home," He smiled, his eyes twinkling with glee. "Alas, Miss Summers has faced many things more frightening than you, if you can believe there is such a thing. I believe she has even journeyed to Hell, so your little act would hardly dissuade her."

"When you say the Slayer...?"

"I mean the Chosen One, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "She, alone, who stands against Vampires and Demons and the forces of Darkness. The Slayer," He paused for a hearty chuckle. "Although, in Miss Summers’ case, it ought to read she who - with her madcap band of friends and relatives - shall stand against vampires and demons... and befriend a few of them as well."

"Pardon?"

"That charming young lady, who accompanied Miss Summers," Dumbeldore’s blue eyes shone with an emotion that no one had seen in them for many a year. "Miss Emerson. She was previously a Vengeance Demon and I find her a rather enchanting, if blunt, young lady," Snape looked like he was torn between laughing hysterically or running, screaming. "And Spike is none other than William the Bloody."

At that, Snape exploded again. "You let him into the school after what he did the before?" he cried out angrily, the colour disappearing from his cheeks again. "He sided with Voldemort!"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I did ask about that. If I recall correctly, he claims he did it because he ‘got bored’. He also remarked that he told Voldemort that he had bad breath and should probably refrain from eating so many mice." A chuckle escaped the wizard. "Apparently, the Dark Lord was not entirely amused."

Snape was looking disorientated by this revelation, which had been Dumbledore’s gleeful intention all along. "One...one wouldn’t think so."

"Apparently William’s lover at the time had to get him drunk and spirit him away, in order to prevent Voldemort from killing him out of frustration." Dumbledore couldn’t help chuckling. "No one quite irritated the Dark Lord like that particular vampire."

Now, the Potions Master almost appeared amused. Almost, but not quite. "And why," he asked, his voice steady and calm again. "Is William The Bloody fraternising with the Vampire Slayer by choice?"

"He has been neutralised," Dumbledore explained, wondering if the story sounded as much like a theme of a Science-Fiction film as he thought it did. "A Government agency implanted a behavioural modification chip into his brain. He is no longer able to harm humans."

Snape’s expression was sceptical. "And is there evidence to support this theory?"

"Well, on one of my visits to Sunnydale, he was living in a bathtub in the house of a Mr. Rupert Giles," Dumbledore studied Snape’s face carefully as he spoke.

He knew that Severus had practically idolised the Senior Gryffindor, in his early years at the school, when he had been briefly under the protection of the older man, before Giles had been withdrawn from Hogwarts for Watcher Training.

After all, Giles had been infamous for his ability in the Potions department, in spite of his prankster nature. He had also taken care of anyone else who proved to have a gift with the potions, until his father...

Snape’s fists contracted around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, a muscle in his cheek twitching, and the Head Master didn’t even need to ask what had aroused his anger again.

He had suspected that Snape’s affection for Giles’ overbearing and obnoxious father was so thin it was near transparent, after the one senior who had appreciate second-year Snape’s work was forced from his circle.

If he hadn’t known better, Dumbledore would have sworn that Severus saw Giles as almost a substitute for an elder brother.

"Is that sufficient evidence, Severus?"

Snape nodded, blinking. "Yes..." he said faintly. "Yes, I think so."

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore rose to his feet. "You are satisfied with my choice of teacher and her credentials?"

"Not entirely. What of the magical aspects of her classes? How is she supposed to teach them?"

"I wondered how long you would take to ask." Dumbledore walked to stand by the window, looking out over the clear grounds, a small smile on his lips. The soft sunlight washed in on his face. "She has a few assistants with her, all here voluntarily, including a Mr. Giles."

"Giles is back?"

The expression of delight that crossed Snape’s face was quickly smothered by his usual, surly look, but Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he watched the reflection of Snape in the window, knowing that the multiple invitation was definitely among his better ideas.

"Indeed," the old wizard answered. "He almost insisted on coming," He paused for a moment, tracing his fingertip along the windowsill. "Perhaps you agree with my decision now?"

Snape’s lip twisted slightly, as if he wanted to make some snide remark, but he settled for answering in a slightly stiff voice. "We will have to wait and see how well she performs, Head Master."

"Very well, Severus, but please," He turned. "Don’t irritate her anymore than you have to. She is a little stronger than you would expect." The closed look on Snape’s face told him more than words would and he turned back to the window, chuckling, as Snape stalked out.

If he knew Snape and the Summers girl, there would be fireworks before the week was out.

And personally, he was looking forward to it with great relish.

A small smile reached his lips, as he wondered if the charming Miss Emerson would like to share a bag of popcorn with him, when the inevitable explosion between the two strong personalities happened.


Chapter 34: Muggles & Puzzles

"Rise and shine, dear! It’s a beautiful morning!"

Buffy stirred groggily, squinting around at her surroundings. Why was it still pitch dark? If she was meant to be up, why wasn’t the sunlight pouring in through the light drapes she had and why...

"Buffy!"

"Ack!" One of the Slayer’s hands instantly jerked up to shield her eyes, the brilliant, autumn sunlight pouring through the gap in the curtains around her bed where Dawn stood, grinning broadly. "Oh God...Dawnie!" Squinting at her sister, she glared. "This is why I didn’t want to share a room with you."

Dawn didn’t seem at all put off. "Bob thought we should wake you," she said, sounding far too wide-awake. "You’ve got a class in an hour and Dumbledore thinks you might want breakfast first. Dobby brought it up for you."

Rubbing her eyes with a fist, still scowling, Buffy sat up and eased towards the edge of the bed, tripping over a small figure wearing a wool sweater and what looked like a knitted hat, and banging her knee on the seat beside her desk.

"Ow," she moaned, sitting down heavily. She was used to house elves being around the room, bringing up food for her and her sister whenever they asked or, in her case, whenever she slept in.

However, she had never had one standing where her feet were meant to be.

"Oh, Professor Summers! Dobby is sorry!"

Rubbing her knee, Buffy looked down at the small creature she had tripped over. He was kinda cute in a weird, surreal way: large green eyes stared roundly at her, from a face that had a worried, hesitant smile on it. Bat-like ears jutted out from the head that seemed too large for the creature’s skinny body.

"Is Professor Summers all right? Dobby will shut his ears in the door, if she is not!"

"No! No shutting-ears-in-doors!" the Slayer exclaimed quickly. "I’m fine. Just a little bumped, but no biggie," She extended her leg and pulled up the leg of her pyjamas, revealing an unmarred knee. "See."

"Ah, Dobby would be most aggrieved if he caused Professor Summers harm," the house elf said sincerely. "I am hearing all about you and I is not having a chance to see you before. Professor Summers is known to all..." He was staring at her with an expression of wonder. "The Slayer..."

Buffy looked up at Dawn, who looked equally shocked. "How...how did you know that, Dobby?" she asked. "No one except Professor Dumbledore and a few of the staff were meant to know about it."

"Oh my!" Dobby looked horrified. "Dobby is not knowing that it is a confidence he is speaking!" He hurried towards the window seat and drew his head back to hit it on the window-ledge. "Bad Dobby!"

"No, Dobby! Don’t!" Buffy hauled him back from the ledge quickly by the back of his sweater. "Just tell me how you know."

Dobby blinked up at her. "We is knowing of you, Slayer," he replied carefully, twisting his hands into the front of his jumper. "You is known to our world. We is sensing your power...your strength. Strength that is belonging only to a Slayer."

"You sensed me?" Dobby nodded a cautious affirmative. "That’s okay, then, but please, don’t let anyone else know that you know, okay? I do have to kinda keep a bit of a secret identity."

"Oh, Dobby is understanding, Professor Summers! It is a great honour to be meeting you!" He bowed so low that his nose almost touched the floor. "Dobby is hoping... that is, he wonders may he see you again?"

Buffy smiled. "Sure! I’d like that," she replied. "You can tell me more about how you sensed me, because that sounds way wiggy. Maybe you could come up one morning when I don’t have a class?"

"Dobby would be thrilled, Professor Summers," he said, staring at her out of those large, round eyes. "But Dobby must be going now! Dobby has many chores to do."

Leaving several plates on the desk: one stacked with toast, another with a full English breakfast and a third with various pastries: the house elf vanished with the tray, as the Slayer got to her feet and stretched, studying the selection of food.

"Do they expect me to eat all of this?" she demanded, staring at everything.

"You could do with it, dear," a voice spoke from the wall above the desk and Buffy rolled her eyes in Bob's direction. "Don't you give me that look, young lady! You really are awfully skinny! Both of you are! I would suggest that you eat everything they give you!"

"You want me to get to the size of a house before Christmas?" Standing up, the Slayer looked into the mirror.

"Now, now, dear, don't exaggerate. I just think you would look so much prettier with some more curves..."

Reaching up, Buffy patted the frame. "I'll eat," she replied. "But I'm not going to eat everything. I wouldn't be able to."

"I could!" Dawn said. She grabbed a warm, buttered croissant, flinging herself down on her belly on Buffy’s bed and sinking her teeth into the pastry, as she studied her elder sister. "You have to get ready cause you have a class in a while and I bet you haven’t got anything planned for it."

Buffy pulled a face, as she took a piece of jam-spread toast. "Today is just going to be my introduction day so I can find out what everyone has done so far and see what they all know."

"And I get to go to Potions," her sister grinned.

"You like potions?"

Dawn nodded, speaking with her mouth full of croissant. "Professor Snape is the coolest!" she exclaimed. "Everyone else is scared of him and he’s always threatening to do really mean things to me."

"And this doesn’t worry you?" Toast held in one hand, Buffy raked through her chest of drawers for a sweater. If there was one thing she wasn’t enjoying, it was the cold weather of Britain. Turning, she made an accusing gesture with her hand. "What if Snapey does do something mean?"

"Snapey?" Dawn choked. "You call him Snapey?"

"He did his lurky, scowly thing," Buffy shrugged. "I figured it would bug him."

"And he doesn’t like you for standing up to him?"

The Slayer swallowed her toast. "Um...I don’t think he likes me because I pinned him on the desk with a knife at his throat," Dawn’s eyes bugged. "Anyway!" she added a little more emphatically. "He was being a big jerk and trying to scare me!"

"But you didn’t have to use a knife!"

Buffy pulled a face. "You said he was threatening you. Wouldn’t you do it?"

"No! I tell him what I think and he tells me he’ll use my tongue in a potion and I tell him that he's a big jerk! I don’t use a knife!" The younger of the two rolled onto her feet, shaking her head. "Didn’t you even try reading any of the books, so you knew what he was like?"

"Huh?"

"Hello? The Harry Potter books? Kinda tell you about all the teachers who work here?" Dawn’s hands were on her hips and she raised her eyebrows. "Professor Snape is mean to everyone except the Slytherins! You just took his favourite job and you thought that was him being mean? If he was being mean, he would have made you drink a poison, then make the antidote yourself. God! And you say I overreact!"

Buffy tried to find some kind of justifiable reply, but her sister had already flounced towards the portrait-covered doorway and disappeared out into the Hall, the painting closing behind her.

"All right," she muttered, laying her toast down on the heaped plate and looking for her underwear. "Remember sister’s only advice...don’t use a knife on fellow-member-of-faculty-staff."

"It would be wise, dear," Bob agreed mildly.

Buffy whimpered.

She really, really didn’t feel ready to be a teacher.

***

"But I don’t get it."

Willow, Xander and Anya were seated at a table just short of the High table, yet not quite connected to the Gryffindor table, discussing the fact that Xander had been able to access Hogwarts at all.

"What’s to get?"

"You’re a muggle, Xander," Anya answered, although in a less than warm way. She was apparently still a little bitter about him leaving her alone on their first night, to spend time with Willow. "Muggles aren’t meant to be able to see Hogwarts."

"Maybe it’s the witchy vibe you two gave me," he suggested, looking from his lover to his long-time friend. "I mean Buffy’s all muggly as well and she can see the school okay. And Dawn and Spike."

Willow was studying her bread, which was thickly smeared with peanut butter. "I think Buffy, Dawnie and Spike can all get in because they’re not real humans," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, Buffy...she’s Buffy. Dawnie is special too and Spike... well, we all know what Spike is."

"Stunningly attractive and irresistible?" a fourth voice joined in, as the vampire slid into the seat next to Willow. All three gave him a look and he grinned. "Morning to you too, Red, Prat and Demon-gal."

"For once, can’t you call us by our names?" Xander groused.

"And kill you with the shock?" Spike raised his eyebrows, blue eyes glinting. "Sorry, mate, that would be no fun," He looked around the table, then grinned as a bowl of weetabix with blood liberally poured over it appeared in front of him. "Great service they have here!"

"Spike!" Willow looked horrified. "Do you have to eat that in front of us?"

The vampire looked up at her, a dripping spoonful of bloody weetabix halfway to his mouth. A wicked glint appeared in his eye and with exaggerated slowness, he ate the contents of the spoon a bit at a time.

"Mmm...s’good..." he groaned, smacking his lips. Offering his refilled spoon around, he raised an eyebrow. "Wanna try some?"

"Spike!" three voices chorused it and the vampire snickered.

"Wusses," he replied. "Whatcha on about anyway?"

Anya looked across the table at him. "We were wondering why a muggle like Xander can get into Hogwarts," she said, her voice cold, the frost clearly directed at her boyfriend. Spike noticed it and looked like he was having trouble grinning.

"Its obvious, innit?"

"It is?"

Spike nodded sagely. "He was invited by Dumble," he explained. "The minute you get an invite from the big chief of this place, you’ve been officially told about it, so all the charms to hide it stop working on you."

"For an uneducated creature of the night, you’re real smart sometimes," Willow said, shaking her head. Spike smirked at the commendation, mushing some more of the weetabix under his blood. "I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner."

"Because you were so busy thinking about your boyfriend leaving you again?" Anya suggested, receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs from Xander. "Ow! What did you do that for?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "Xander, it’s okay. She can say that. I’m not going to start crying again."

"You sure about that, Red?" Spike inquired. He was studying her with a half-smile on his face. "After all, I’m pretty sure there’s a certain little witch hereabouts who would be more than happy to comfort you, cheeky little bint that she is."

"Huh?"

Spike nodded towards the High table. "That roomie of yours," he replied, stirring his rather soggy breakfast. "She’s a bit of all right, that one. Quite the mouth on her, but the body to match it..."

"Yeah," Willow had to grin as the brown-haired witch pulled a face at them when she saw what Spike was eating, then froze. "Uh...Spike? How do you know what Hermione’s body is like?"

The vampire grinned. "I kind of accidentally walked in on her in the staff loos."

"Accidentally?" Willow raised her eyebrows. "Spike, you’re a vampire. You don’t pee. What were you doing in the toilets?"

He shrugged, with an awkward look. "I was on the lookout for Minnie... Miner... er... Professor McGonagall," he replied. "She wasn’t in the khazi, but Hermione was and she had her robes hiked up to her waist so she could fix up a ladder in her tights."

"So you’ve only seen her legs," Willow laughed. "That’s nothing."

"You’ve seen Hermione naked?" Xander gulped. "You mean when she said you and her and the ice cream...?"

"Xander!"

"What’s this about you and Hermi with ice cream?"

Willow shot a dark look at Spike. "Nothing! Hermione said it to tease me! And no, Xander, I haven’t seen Hermione naked, but I have seen her in her underwear, when she stripped on the first night we were living together to embarrass me."

"I think I could get to liking this Hermi chit," Spike grinned. "Sounds like a right gutter mind on her. She has a bloody good set of pins on her as well. Kind of made up for the missing McGonagall."

"Spike," Anya interrupted curiously, staring at the vampire. "Why were you looking for Professor McGonagall anyway?"

"Uh...we..." Hastily shoveling a spoonful of weetabix into his mouth, he seemed to chew on it for a long time before swallowing and replying. "We were planning a poker tournament, but she wanted to back out and was avoiding me."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," he said, realising a moment too late that the voice came from behind him and that the Scottish burr in the accent suggested that it was none other than Professor McGonagall there. "Um..." Turning, he slowly looked up at her, blinking at her in a display of mock-innocence. "Kitten! Fancy seeing you here!"

"So, we were having a poker tournament, were we?"

The three at the table were chuckling at the vampire’s obvious discomfort at being caught out. He scowled at them, then grinned boyishly up at her. "Well, if you feel you can face the might of Spike and the Sunnydale crew..."

"The Sunnydale guests are the competition?"

Spike glanced back at the trio at the table, then up at her, swivelling in his seat and rising smoothly to his feet to face her. They stood at almost exactly the same height, blue eyes meeting green levelly.

The left side of his mouth lifted in a lazy smirk, his brows rising. "You think you can take us, Minnie?" he murmured, his voice so low the constant hum of conversation in the hall almost drowned it out.

"I know we can take you, Billy," she replied equally quietly, her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was deadly serious to anyone who chanced to look at them, but only he could see the gleam in her eye that said she was amused. "What do you say? Three of your people against three of mine? Sunnydale guests versus the Staff. Split them into two groups. The winners play each other. Strip poker." Spike’s eyes widened, but he was incredibly proud that he managed to maintain his composure. McGonagall raised a brow in challenge. Damn, he hated it when she did that. It gave him no choice but to accept. "Well, Billy?"

To anyone who looked at them as they glared coolly at one another, it looked like she found him repulsive and irritating, while he clearly found her boring and the only reason he was bothering to talk to her was because he could aggravate her, but that certainly was not the case.

Bringing his hands to his hips, pushing his duster back from his lean body, several teenage girls sighing, he cocked his head at her. "I’ll have to see what my people say, but if I have my way, you’re on."

"And if you don’t?" She gave him that strict look, which was undercut by the twinkle in her green eyes. "Don’t tell me that you’re going to disappoint me again, Mr T. Bloody."

"And when, kitten," he purred in his silkiest tones. "Did I disappoint you before?"

A faint blush appeared in her cheeks and she cleared her throat. "Check with your people, Billy, and when you know the details," her voice returned to her more normal volume. "Come to my office immediately."

"Bossy bint," he growled at her, receiving a glare, as she stalked off and he threw himself back into his seat, receiving expectant looks from his three companions. "Oh, right, yeah...she wants to know if we’re up for a poker game against the staff."

Willow shook her head. "I can’t play poker. Never learned."

"I can! I wanna play!" Anya said eagerly. "Xander can’t. It was very boring at poker evenings with him."

Xander shot a dark look at his lover, then at Spike. "Count me out," he replied.

"Right, there’s me, demon girl...that’s two," Running a hand over his head, he raised his eyes to the charmed ceiling. "I s’pose I can always haul old Rupert or the...er... Professor in on it as well."

He shot a look up at the table, where McGonagall had sat down and was muttering to the Head Master. Dumbledore’s blue eyes flicked to the vampire and he actually gave Spike a knowing smirk.

So it was going to be dirty tactics, eh?

"Demon-girl, mind coming with me, while Red and the prat bond again?" he inquired, pushing his bowl aside. "We have to discuss how we’re going to do this, so we can outdo a bunch of people who are magic."

Anya looked up at the table, where Dumbledore sat and gave him a little wave, as she got to her feet to depart with the vampire. He immediately smiled very broadly. "I know how I can stop Albus from winning," she replied, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"I bet," Spike snickered as they started towards the end of the Great Hall. "And I’ll be pulling the same stunt on Minnie."

There was a moment’s silence.

"Why do you call her Minnie?"

Looking down at the young woman beside her, he half-smiled. "Same reason you call him Albus, demon-girl."

Anya nodded knowingly. "Ah."

***

In the silence of the dungeon, the crackling of the fires and bubbling of potions the only sounds, the squeak of the classroom door swinging open sounded deafening to the pupils in the class.

The grinning maw of light from the open door cut across the black stone of the floor, a figure silhouetted in the frame, leaning against one side of it. Whoever was there was a tall, broad figure, no one they could recognise by the shadow.

None of them dared to look around, though, lest more points get taken.

For reasons unknown, the Potions Master was in a worse mood than usual and his temperament seemed to have knocked the temperature in the already freezing room down several notches, meaning that more potions than usual were being botched by numb-fingered pupils.

A couple of the braver ones dared to shoot a look at Snape, who had risen from his desk, one hand still spread on the surface. His dark eyes were glittering oddly and his knuckles were white around the edge of the desk.

"Out," he said in a strangely strained voice.

Looks were exchanged by the pupils.

Black eyes swung back to them, flickering. "I said," he repeated softly, his normally calm voice actually trembling. "Out. Now."

They weren’t about to protest.

Anything to get out of Potions early.

The whole fourth year class practically ran out of the dungeon classroom, some of them still packing their bags as they left, unwilling to linger in the grim room any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Snape, though, remained rigid by the desk, staring at the man in the doorway, as he watched the pupils go.

"Always knew you’d do well," Rupert Giles said, as he turned and walked into the dungeon, shivering as the chill hit him. He crossed the floor and came to a halt in front of Snape, a small smile on his lips. "I’ve heard you’re the best Potions Master Hogwarts has ever had."

"Rupert..."

"Who else would it be, Sev?" he asked, extending a hand, which Snape immediately grasped with his own. The contact lasted barely a heartbeat before Giles pulled the younger wizard forward in a hearty embrace.

Had it been anyone else who had dared to touch him with such genuine brotherly affection, anyone but Rupert Giles, Snape knew they would have found themselves hexed beyond recognition.

Although he was now a little taller than the older man, he recognised the familiar strength in his one-time mentor and friend’s arms and clung to him, knowing that if he let go, he would stumble again.

For his part, the watcher seemed aware of it and let the younger man clutch at him as if his life depended on it.

Snape pressed his burning eyes closed, as Giles clapped him on the back, reminded once again why he had been so close to the older wizard. "Rupert," he said, his voice a shaking breath. "I-I never imagined...how...how have you been?"

"Tolerable, Sev," He was held at arm’s length, Giles’ brilliantly green eyes scanning over his robe-decked form . "And how about you? I see you’ve really taken to the role of the evil arch-fiend."

Smiling genuinely for the first time in years, Severus Snape looked down at his black robes. "They are more imposing than those hideous ensembles that Dumbledore insists on wearing," he replied, touching the starched cuff of his right wrist with his left hand. "They allow me some measure of intimidation and authority."

"But that doesn’t tell me how you’ve been, Sev."

"Ah..."

"That bad?"

Severus looked uncomfortably down at his feet. "You...could say that," he replied awkwardly, like a recalcitrant child facing his father.

"Do you have time to sit and talk or...?"

"Of course!" Gesturing for the older man to follow him, Snape lead the way through to his office, which was connected to the classroom by a hidden doorway. It was small, orderly and dark.

With a desk against the left wall, piled high with scrolls and books, and shelf upon shelf of books and potions on the right wall, the wall directly in front of them was occupied by a fireplace, which had roared to life with - Giles’ raised an eyebrow in Snape’s direction - green flames the moment they stepped into the room.

One seat stood before the fire, large and imposing. It looked like it had been pulled directly out of a Gothic castle, spiked decorations covering every inch of it, except the seat and seat back.

Pulling a lower chair over from the desk, Severus motioned for his old friend to sit down in the larger of the two. "It’s not much," he said apologetically, settling himself on the lower seat.

"Sev, this is exactly what I would expect of you," Giles replied, smiling slightly as he took a seat. He glanced into the flames that were licking their way up the black walls of the grate, then back at his companion. "Dumbledore told me that you’ve been working here for nearly twenty years now."

"He...he mentioned me?"

Giles nodded slowly. "After he asked Buffy and I to come here and teach, he took me aside and told me that you had proven to be more than adept with Potions and that he had taken you onto the staff when you finished your schooling."

"I had hoped I would finally be given that damned Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts position," The Potions Master admitted, a tone of bitterness in his voice. "I have repeatedly offered myself for the post."

"Why on earth would you want to be the D.A.D.A.?" Rupert demanded. "You were always far better at potions than that subject."

Snape’s lips thinned, his eyes going to the flames in the fireplace. His hands had clenched together in his lap, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Giles. "I gained some... experience in the field, after you departed, Rupert."

"Surely you didn’t share my rotten luck and get drafted by the bloody watchers council," Giles started to laugh, but it trailed off at the expression on the younger man’s bowed, ashen face. "Sev?" he leaned forward. "Sev, what happened?"

"I..." His eyes hesitantly came up to Giles’. "I was a Death Eater, Rupert."

Giles visibly recoiled, shock on his features. "You...you were what?"

Black eyes went to the floor again, full of shame. "I joined them in sixth year," he replied quietly. "Of my own free will," There was a brief silence. "They were the only ones who would have me after you left."

"Bloody hell...Sev..."

"I didn’t intend to stay long..." he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "But when they have you, you aren’t permitted to leave. Not by your own volition. Not unless you leave in pieces..."

"You should have contacted me, Sev. You should have let me know..."

"How, Rupert?" Turning away from the man who was like an elder brother to him, Severus stared deep into the belly of the flames, blinking back tears of recrimination and self-loathing. "You were gone. Out of the wizarding world. With muggles. I...you had a new life to deal with. One where I would not have belonged."

A hand touched his shoulder. "Sev," Giles’ voice was calm and steady. "You and I, we were friends. Friends help one another, even if they belong to two very different worlds. I would have been here like a shot, you know that."

"You would willingly help a known dark wizard and agent of Voldemort?" There was a cynical chuckle from the dark-haired man. "Surely even you weren’t that wonderful, Rupert."

"No, Sev," the reply came after a hesitation. "But I was as bad as that." Snape turned to face the older man, confused. "You remember Rayne?" The Potions Master nodded in assent. "He and I were expelled from the wizarding world for using the dark arts to summon demons," Black eyes widened in shock. "We only avoided Azkaban because we were considered young and foolhardy."

"You...?"

"Me, Sev."

"But you..." Dark eyes mirrored the bewilderment that was rapidly building on Snape’s pale face. "You couldn’t have...you were always so clever...popular... you... you hated Malfoy and the Dark Arts..."

"My dearly beloved father also hated magic and the dark arts. I used it to give him the finger in a way he couldn’t ignore," Giles replied as an explanation, one hand rising to squeeze Snape’s shoulder. "Needless to say, he was mildly put out with me for being such an idiot."

"And we both appear to have redeemed ourselves to some extent."

"What do you mean?"

Snape’s lips rose in a bitter smile. "I was a spy for the Ministry of Magic for more than seventy-five percent of my time as a Death Eater and here you are, a Watcher and guardian of the Vampire Slayer who has lived the longest and is even seen to be qualified to teach in a wizard school, despite her distinct lack of wizarding blood."

"Do I detect a note of resentment to my Slayer?"

"Resentment? I have no idea what you mean..."

Giles almost smiled. "Let me see," he remarked. "She took the job you wanted, she embarrassed you and she didn’t even break a nail while doing so. If you are anything like me, she will try your patience in so many ways, you will find yourself longing to wring her neck. I know I felt that way for many months, before I finally saw her for what she truly is."

"And what is that?"

Giles smiled. "I shall leave you to find that out for yourself, Sev," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "After all, I’m looking forward to seeing you try to kill each other without Dumbledore noticing."

"You think she disapproves of me as much as I disapprove of her?"

"Sev, a knife against your throat the first time she meets you is a sign that she isn’t exactly a member of the Snape fanclub."

A rueful half-smile crossed the Potions Professor’s lips. "I suppose that is true," he remarked.

"I did mention you to her briefly," Giles added, his eyes twinkling a little. "But I... er... apparently forgot to mention that threats and derisiveness are your usual modes of welcoming a new arrival."

"Oh, I didn’t threaten her. Not much, at least..." the Potions Master said. A tired look crossed his face. "I...I simply wish it was someone else who had been given the post, since it could not be me. Someone who is at least qualified."

"I’m sure old Dumble considered you."

"No, Rupert, he has never and would never consider me," A weary hand ran through Snape’s dark hair. "He knows why I want that position and that is the very reason that I will never be assigned it."

"Absolution."

"Am I so transparent?"

Giles’ lips rose in a mirthless smile. "It’s the same reason that I became a Watcher. I saw the damage the demons could do and what I had done. I chose to try and earn exoneration through battling the very things I had raised and through that, found myself with Buffy and her friends, exiled from the Council I once believed in and now, I’m back at the school I was ripped out of with an old friend I never imagined I would see again."

"And taking half of my choice of profession."

There was a quiet chuckle. "Well, I suppose I did..." Giles said. "But think about it, Sev. It wasn’t exactly your strongest subject, was it? And would you honestly be able to tolerate that classroom? I mean, its full of...sunlight!"

"I’m a wizard, Rupert, not a bloody vampire!"

Giles’ eyes flicked to the heavy black robes and then Snape’s face. "You do a damn good impression of one, Sev," he chuckled at the mock scowl on the younger man’s face. "You actually do resemble a more healthy version of Dracula if I may say so."

"Dracula?"

"Surely you’ve heard of him?"

Snape shrugged. "Bram Stoker had a remarkable imagination."

"Not so much imagination, Sev," A grin spread across the watcher’s face. "It was an expert move in promotion by the vampire. He’s one of the few that anyone actually remembers now."

"Surely you’re not saying..."

"He’s real," Giles said. "Buffy fought him and won, as far as we can tell, although I was unfortunately...ah...distracted..."

"Your Slayer fought Dracula? The Dracula?"

"Without any wizarding blood," There was an obvious attempt to hide a grin. "She has been fighting demons since she was fifteen years of age, so she does have a good deal of experience, which is why - I believe - Dumbledore wanted her here. On top of that, he wanted someone strong enough to physically protect Dawn."

"I-I am still not certain of her teaching credentials..."

"Sev, try to remember back to the good old days when we were at this school," Giles said. "Do you remember how many people in our classes could actually understand what the Professors were talking about?"

"I understood everything."

"Yes, Sev, but we’re not counting random child prodigies like you," the older man said teasingly. "We’re talking about mere mortals, who felt incredibly stupid for not being able to differentiate between a grindylow and a frolax demon. In Buffy’s case, she might not be magically inclined, which is why I’m here, but she knows how to describe the dark creatures. She can make it interesting, entertaining and educational for the children."

"And a hormonal battle ground for the teenage boys."

"In that case, it will probably mean that less pupils will skip her classes."

Snape couldn’t help chuckling, shaking his head. "Well, well, Dumbledore really is much more cunning than I gave him credit for," he said. "He brings in a young female to keep the attention of the pupils and he brings you in, to stop me from poisoning her simply on principal."

"And did it work?" Giles raised his eyebrows.

"Bearing in mind that you are probably the only person in the school who can brew a wider variety of potions than me, I think its safe to say you probably know a few more poisons than I do, so I would rather not get on your bad side."

"Oh don’t mind me, Sev," the older man smirked. "Buffy is going to truly try your patience and I fully expect you to give as good as you get. I would be frightfully disappointed if you didn’t."

"You’re giving me leave to poison your charge?"

"I’m giving you leave to challenge her in whatever way you see fit, Sev," Giles corrected. "We are away from the Hellmouth for the first time in many years and she will need a vent for her energy. I believe that you - and possibly Spike - are the only things that could do so, without her having to resort to going into the Dark Forest."

"Why," Snape inquired. "Do I have the painful suspicion that this could prove to be deeply embarrassing for me?"

"Because you have met Willow Weasley?" Giles suggested with a smile. "I ought to warn you that she was the quietest, shyest member of this particular group of friends and Buffy was considered the Leader."

"Weasley is considered quiet and shy?"

"Painfully so."

"And I suppose you heard what she did during her first potions lesson?"

Giles snickered. "Oh, I heard about that all right. Yes, shy and quietest in the group, but frighteningly clever with both magic and muggle-work. If I recall correctly, she used to hack F.B.I. files when she got bored."

"And Summers was considered the leader?"

"Unashamedly so," There was a proud note in Giles voice. "She’s incredibly strong, resourceful, witty, stubborn, willing to break rules where necessary...oddly like you and I in our younger days." He paused. "Only female, blonde, muggle, American..."

"You do realise that when this year is out, I will have to kill you?"

"What on earth for?"

Snape’s lips thinned. "No doubt, you have already given your little hussy permission to use me as a sparring partner."

"At least I warned you about it, Sev. You have to admit that was a bonus," the older man said with a smile. "I told her there are boundaries: no more pinning you on the desk with a knife, but she is permitted to try you. And she will. At great length. And you will want to slip various poisons into her meals before the week is out."

"And why are you being such a sadist? What did I ever do to you?"

"Sev, I just want to see that you haven’t lost your touch," Giles answered with a genuine smile. "Dawn tells me that you’re a ‘wicked cool bad-ass’ and my Slayer has never had to deal with a human bad-ass before."

"I don’t care if you’re a watcher, you are an evil git."

"Oh, didn’t I tell you?" A wicked grin flashed across the older man’s face. "I got fired from the council. They didn’t like my style. So," he cocked a brow. "Are you going to take the challenge? I know for a fact that Buffy thinks you are a...I think it was a ‘big jerk’ she called you."

Snape’s eyes rose to the ceiling, a ponderous look crossing his face.

It had been a while since he had received a decent challenge that did not simply come down to someone who could brew a potion and if this little...tramp had been trained by Rupert Giles, then there was bound to be some element of wit and cunning in her nature.

Plus, he had to get revenge for her humiliation of him in her classroom.

Although it had not been witnessed by anyone, he still felt a burning rush of crimson rising up his neck at the very thought of it.

"Rupert," he said calmly, bringing his eyes back down to his old friend, a slow, lazy smirk spreading on his face. "You better warn your little brat that if she so much as lays a finger on me, it will be war."

Rupert Giles’ broad grin spoke measures. "I was hoping you would say that," he said happily, then chuckled. "The things I have to do for entertainment when I can’t watch those bloody awful American sitcoms..."


Chapter 35: Forces Rising

No one could explain quite what happened.

One moment, the door of the Leaky Cauldron had swung inwards, a silhouette of a striking woman standing in the doorframe, the pale wash of winter light obscuring her facial features.

Tall, with a slim form and slight curves, she looked like she was having trouble staying upright, hands braced on the frame. From her silhouette, it was clear she was wearing a very short, very tight dress.

Most thought she was a muggle.

Every face had turned in her direction, some bored, some curious. Many later wished that they had fled the moment the door opened rather than witness what happened in the next moment, as she lowered her hands from the doorframe.

One instant she was at the door.

Next instant...she was in the midst of them and had her fingers sunk to the knuckle in Mundungus Fletcher’s skull, screaming out in rapture, as Fletcher went limp in front of her.

All eyes were locked on her, sheer terror and confusion spreading through the twenty or so witches and wizards who were present, all of them looking from her to the fallen wizard at her feet.

How?

What?

The wiser of those present starting carefully edging towards the side door of the pub, some with the intention of going for help from the Ministry, others just wanting to save their own arses.

Straightening up, the woman tossed blonde curls back from her face and let her blue-green eyes roam the faces. Her scarlet lips - which matched her scarlet dress - lifted up in a smile that might have been pretty if it hadn’t looked so psychotic.

"God, that feels better," she purred, running her manicured hands through her hair, then down over her chest with a satisfied groan. "I gotta tell ya, it’s hell travelling with minions. They just don’t know where to find people for top ups."

Apparently, she didn’t quite grasp the significance of twenty sticks pointed at her by various nervous, wary-looking humans.

"What have you done to him?" a small, brown-wearing witch shrieked, kneeling over the unfortunate Mundungus Fletcher, who was looking around with a blank expression on his face, his grey eyes out of focus.

One of the woman’s brows lifted. "Duh, I needed a refill."

"Surrender!" a wizard snapped, walking towards her, wand raised. He sounded confident, looked fairly confident too, but his wand was shaking in his hand like a branch of a sapling in a force nine gale.

"What did you say?" the woman asked, cocking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. A wrinkle appeared in her smooth brow, which suggested that she wasn’t too pleased at being spoken to so rudely.

"I said surrender! You have attacked a wizard! You are under arrest!"

"Pfft!"

That wasn’t quite the reaction they expected.

"I needed a refill," she repeated boredly, as if the wizard approaching her was deeply stupid. "And now, you start pointing itty bitty sticks at me like you can try to hurt me with them? Puh-lease!" She took a lazy step towards him, stepping over Fletcher and the witch who was trying to make him focus on her. "But while you’re being so chatty, hon, maybe you can tell me where they hid my key."

"K-Key?"

The woman smiled that strange, manic smile again. "The Slayer stole it. I want it back." She took another step towards him, uncaring of the wand in his hand. The grin on her face suggested that if he even tried to breathe, she would do something very, VERY unpleasant to him. "Now, you can tell me where it is."

***

"Good morning, Buffy."

Rupert Giles had just entered through the door of the Great Hall that lead out onto the High table, where every other member of staff was already sitting, Buffy being the one closest to the door, the additional ‘muggle’ table and the Gryffindor table.

Dawn flashed a grin up at him over her goblet, clearly pleased that she had managed to get her sister up and to the Great Hall in time for the breakfast. After all, it was such a rare occurrence for Professor Summers, so Dawn had every right to be proud.

Seated near her, Spike and Anya compared notepads filled with scribbles, still plotting tactics and stratagems for the now-infamous poker tournament that was being set up between the Sunnydalians and the staff.

It had taken them nearly two weeks already to arrange a date, already. Giles had been dragged in as the final player for the Sunnydale side, while Professor Sprout and Flitwick had actually had a mini-duel for the chance to be the third Hogwarts player.

Unsurprisingly, Flitwick had won and Sprout was still plucking daisies out of her ears every morning, before breakfast.

Xander seething silently on the other side of the table, while Willow pensively made her egg do laps of the plate with no apparent intention of bringing the helpless food to her mouth.

She had been fine in the initial days since Buffy and her friends arrived, but Buffy had grown distracted by her classes and rivalry with Snape. Xander was trying to salvage his relationship with Anya, who had been spending more time in the company of Spike and Dumbledore than her lover.

Dawn had also made friends with some of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs from her Potions classes and often spent all of her free time with them, in a games room that Dumbledore had provided on her request.

The only person who Willow had been able to spend any time with was Hermione and that was only when she wasn’t taking her classes. It was something, but Willow was rapidly turning in on herself, still lost after Oz’s departure.

Glancing along the table, the watcher saw Hermione looking down at Willow with similar concern, her brown eyes dark with worry, mustard being poured onto her cereal. Giles made a note to talk to her afterwards.

Taking the final seat at the table, next to the Slayer, Giles gave her an exasperated look when she said nothing in response. "I said good morning, Buffy," he repeated, giving her a nudge.

Again, no response.

Looking a little more closely at her, Giles found her staring at him wildly out of the corner of her eyes, which flashed a furious look towards the opposite end of the table, where a familiar figure was casually slicing a grilled tomato.

Severus Snape looked up from his breakfast and smirked across at them both, eyes glittering. His chin dipped in a polite nod to Giles, then he returned his attention to the plate in front of him.

Giles was hard-pressed to smother a snort of laughter, despite Buffy’s predicament.

The petrification potion.

It had been the first potion that he and Severus had worked on together. It was a very complex substance to make, owing to the fact that all ingredients had to be added in a specific time order. Even a second on either side could ruin the potion.

It was a testament to Snape’s abilities that he could still brew one so well that it had his ‘victim’ of choice in a full body bind, with a goblet gripped in her hand at an odd angle, a puddle of pumpkin juice formed beneath her fist.

"I’m assuming that you would like me to get the antidote for this," Giles muttered to her, her eyes flashing in a silent, yet very emphatic yes.

Sliding out of his seat, Giles tried not to draw attention to himself - or the fact that the joint Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts was petrified - and rounded the High table to approach Snape.

"Sev," he murmured, giving Professor Hooch a polite nod, as she shifted aside to let him lean in to talk to the Potions teacher. "You do have an antidote for the draught you slipped into Buffy’s meal, I assume."

"I have no idea what you are referring to, Rupert," Snape replied calmly.

"Sev."

"All I am guilty of," he said, in what Giles supposed was a hurt tone of voice. "Is giving the house elves a particular variety of polish to use on the wonderful Slayer’s eating utensils." His black eyes rose to Giles’ in mock innocence.

Giles chuckled.

Trust Severus to arrange it so that only the slightest of evidence could connect him to the crime.

"And does anyone else chance to have this...polish on their cutlery, like...oh, I don’t know...perhaps me?"

"Rupert, I am shocked, appalled and thoroughly disgusted that you would even imagine such a thing," Snape replied with a small smirk. "And have no fear for your precious little girl’s well-being. It should wear off shortly."

"Shortly?"

"I ought to have enough time to walk back to the dungeon at a leisurely pace," the Potions Professor answered, laying his cutlery down on his plate and pushing his seat back from the table. "Inform Miss Summers that I did appreciate her kind gesture of sending a house elf and it’s gift this morning."

"House elf?"

Snape, though, had swept out of his chair and down the Great Hall.

Giles was impressed to notice that every table Snape passed seemed to duck over their food as soon as the potions Professor approached, falling strangely silent until he was out of hearing range.

Turning back to Buffy, he returned to his seat beside her and sat down. "You should be able to move again in a few minutes," he informed her under his breath. "And I would suggest that you don’t go running after him to beat his head in, as you no doubt intend to."

Her hazel eyes flickered angrily.

"I am aware that you are rather...agitated," he acknowledged dryly. "But I hold you to your promise not to cause any physical damage to him. After all, he is a friend of mine and I’d rather not see him a bloody pulp."

"Frz..."

"I can see that he froze you, Buffy," Giles replied. "But that does not make it fair to beat his head in with his own cauldron."

"Isfr..."

"You might well think it fair, but I certainly don’t."

The Slayer’s face moved slowly into a scowl, her eyes flaring angrily. It seemed to take her an eternity before her mouth was able to move properly, as the rest of her body was released from the thrall of the potion.

"Kick...ass..."

Giles shook his head. "Buffy, he didn’t physically harm you, so I’m afraid you can do no such thing," he said sternly. "And he did ask me to tell you something - thank you for the house elf and it’s gift?"

The scowl shifted into a slight smirk. "Dobby."

"Dear God, Buffy...what did you make the poor creature do?"

Buffy’s slight, slow smile widened into a strangely-evil looking grin, her hazel eyes gleaming with mirth. "Told him...that Snapey needed...a wake-up call...and he likes... male... strippers..."

"Oh dear Lord..."

Hazel eyes glimmered at him. "Got him back..."

"For what?"

"He replaced my conditioner with hair-growing potion two days ago," she replied, opening and shutting her mouth a few times to get some feeling back in her jaw. "I had to cut my hair six times before I could leave the room that day."

"You don’t think strippers were a bit...drastic?"

"Giles! It was my hair!"

The ex-Watcher couldn’t help chuckling, shaking his head. He knew it was going to prove interesting pitting his two favourite students against one another, but he had never imagined that they would sink to such levels of immaturity.

For the two weeks since they had arrived and since he had spoken to them both in turn, they had been baiting one another constantly, although Buffy had stood by her word and hadn’t physically laid a finger on the man.

Not yet, at least.

Something told him that it wouldn’t be very long until Buffy did resort to using her physical advantage of her Slayer strength and either slightly hurt or severely humiliate the Potions Professor.

"Bear in mind that you have classes all day today, Buffy..."

The Slayer exhaled a sigh. "I s’pose I can put off the ass-kicking until this evening... or until I get some feeling back in my legs," she said heavily, reaching for the slice of toast she had left on the plate.

"Well..." Whatever Giles was going to say was inadvertently cut off with a splutter of laughter, as Buffy’s eyes rolled up in her re-frozen face, her hand holding the knife once again. "I-I ought to have warned you...don’t touch the cutlery..."

Her eyes said, "Thank you VERY much."

***

"Oh, fabulous luminous one," Jinx bowed low as he eased around the door into the bedchamber of the illustrious Honeymoon Suite of the tavern known as the Leaky Cauldron, where the radiant Glorificus was reclining on the deep crimson silk sheets of the large bed. "Is it fitting for me to interrupt your worshipful nap?"

The room was entirely decorated in various shades of reds, garish pinks, peaches and colours that Glory adored. Even the plush rugs on the wooden floor and the candles in the elaborate gold candelabra in the corners of the room were red.

Drapes hung everywhere, making it look like a room from a Harem, or something equally exotic, silk pillows scattered everywhere. A fresh breeze rippled through the room, sweet and natural, with a slight hint of jasmine.

All in all, she liked the room and that was just the bedroom area. The bathroom...oh my God! It was beautiful! And the relaxation area was better than anything she could have found in Sunnydale. It was perfect.

Stretching as she lazily sat up, her arms extending over her head, her sheer white silk nightshirt leaving very little to a horny and bumpy demon minion’s imagination. One hand pushed her hair back from her face as she yawned.

Late afternoon sunlight was pouring in the window on the wall opposite the bed, but if her superb magnificence was troubled with the force of the evil known as jet-lag, Jinx was not going to be the one to suggest that she wait until night to sleep.

"What is it, Jinxy?" she asked. "Not another feeble human wanting to plead for mercy? You know that drives me crazy."

After her dramatic entrance to the Leaky Cauldron that morning, seven wizards and witches, who had not managed to escape the pub, were being held in the neighbouring rooms as a combination of supplies and hostages.

The Ministry had issued ultimatums to her, which she had ignored.

After all, she was a Hell-Goddess. No puny humans with magic sticks were going to tell her she couldn’t stay in the fab-u-lous Honeymoon Suite of the neat little pub for free. Oh, and there had been some mention of them not liking her sucking the brains of their... ‘kind’ as well.

Free room.

Brain suckage.

They couldn’t exactly stop her, either way, but it hadn’t prevented every one of the hostages in the next room from trying to get to her and beg for release.

Only, she had told them, when she had her key.

Jinx hovered carefully in the doorway. "Not entirely, your most stunning fabul..."

He was cut off when something hit him from behind and hard, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap of filthy robes and bumpy skin, scaled feet waving futilely in the air as the person demanding entry stepped into the room.

"How can you tolerate such a contemptible little worm?"

Sitting up a little, Glory blinked, surprised for first time since she had been so rudely kicked out of her dimension. Normally, no one would stalk into her rooms like that, or kick her minions about.

She liked the guy already.

"And just who are you, honey?" she demanded, easing towards the edge of the bed and sliding to her feet, her eyes staying on him.

Whoever he was, he looked like she felt all the time: like he knew he was above everything around them.

He was wearing clothes that were probably the Gucci, Calvin Klein and Prada of the wizard world, his robes cut to perfection and fitted to his form. Long, white-blond hair hung to his waist around an arrogant, pointed face, a casual smirk on his thin lips which did nothing to warm his cool grey eyes.

His left hand, clad in a black glove, rested on the head of black staff topped with an elaborate silver snake-head with emeralds for eyes. It looked so comfortable in his hand that it almost looked part of him.

"A friend, Miss...?"

"Glory," she replied, watching as his eyes casually slid down the sheer nightshirt she was wearing, then back up to her face, his lips rising in a suggestive smirk, clearly impressed with what he was seeing through the thin material.

Whoa!

She hadn’t been checked out like that since M’rgolahth from the Foi’tsha dimension had visited her.

"The name’s Malfoy," he said in a voice that resembled the low, dangerous growl of a lion at rest. Glory couldn’t hide a grin. A dangerous male, and a wizard at that. What a good day this was turning out to be. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius..." she repeated it. "Kinda nice name."

"Your radiant beauteousness...!" Jinx apparently had disentangled himself from the robes, which had bound themselves over his head. He clearly didn’t approve of the man who had just smacked him across the room with a stick.

"Shut up, Jinx," she murmured, still gazing up at this tall, light and very fascinating human creature. "So, Lucius, honey, wanna tell me why you came barging in on me in my boudoir when I could be all naked and bare for all to see? I mean, just because you see the clothing don’t mean its there, you know...you know, right?"

One of his brows lifted again, but he didn’t back away like the regular humans did when she started to babble.

Weird.

And kinda good too.

"Perhaps," he remarked. "You could use a top up. I heard what you did to Fletcher."

"Fletcher? Fletcher...right..." she nodded, hating the fact that her sanity always chose to depart at the worst possible moments. "Guy down the stairs with the big, big brain and the pulse with the boom boom boom...just like a drum with a beat of madness and the wild side."

"That would be Fletcher," Stamping his cane down on the floor once with a loud rap, the door opened again behind him, allowing two small creatures that looked like smoother version of her minions to bustle in, dragging a human. "A gift."

"Huh?"

Lucius Malfoy grabbed the collar of the figure, a sandy-haired young woman with terrified eyes, dragging her forward and thrusting her towards Glory. "A muggle to sate your appetite, perhaps," he replied.

Unable to think any straight, Glory reached up and stroked the girl’s hair back from her face. She saw Lucius Malfoy’s silver-grey eyes fixed on her and moaned as her fingers pushed into the girl’s mind.

The girl cried out, as they always did, light radiating from her skull as Glory felt the power of the girl’s sanity flood through her fingertips and into her own body, filling her with a ripe, delicious sense of pleasure.

"Whatta rush," she gasped, staggering. "Don’t always get ‘em that young..."

Malfoy’s lips lifted in a smile as he looked down at the mumbling human, who was now kneeling on the floor. "I must say that you do have a remarkable technique for draining them," he said. "Certainly a great deal more traumatising for them and their families than simply killing them, no doubt."

"Kinda hard habit to break and humans...so much fun to play with," she sighed, stretching again, her shoulders rolling back and arms flexing as she felt the new energy rippling through her, her half-closed eyes on his face. His expression was one of intrigue and fascination. "So, Lucius, baby, you got my attention. Now, whaddya really want with me?"

"I hear you are looking for a Key," he murmured, approaching her and raising a hand to brush her hair back over her shoulders. For the first time in...like, ever, she didn’t have the compulsion to push a man’s hand away for invading her own personal goddessly space.

"You got that right," Glory scowled. "Damn Slayer stole it."

Malfoy’s lips lifted further. "I have something of a...private vendetta against the Slayer myself," he said. "As I have had little to...occupy my time since my Master fell, I was wondering if I may be of some assistance to you, as you are unfamiliar with my world and I have connections in many places. And you do have that delightful way of destroying muggles and mudbloods..."

"I don’t care about them. Why should I? I want what’s mine."

Lucius Malfoy’s silvery eyes gleamed. "An admirable sentiment," he said softly, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing the strap of her nightshirt off her shoulder. "And such an attractive..." His gaze dipped down her body again, his lips quirking. "Nature, too," he finished.

Her own eyes on his hand that was touching, but not quite touching her shoulder, Glory felt a smile coming to her lips. This guy might be all right and if he wasn’t, hell! He’d be some fun for a while at least.

"You wanna help me get my key back, baby?" she asked, staring up at him. She was nearly as tall as he was. nearly, but not quite. Just enough height on him to have her looking up.

"If it proves an affront to the Slayer and a connection to your wondrous sanity-draining weapon, I would be delighted," he replied, taking another step closer to her, grey eyes holding blue-green. "I do so love to work in close proximity to those who think on the same lines as I do."

"Are you talking about hating the Slayer or screwing?" Glory inquired, grabbing the front of his robes and pulling him towards her. "Cause, baby, you keep talkin’ the way you are and I am so open for both."

One of Malfoy’s gloved hands came up, his fingertips raising her chin. "Whichever you prefer to consider, Glory," he replied with a predatory smile, before bringing his lips down on hers.

***

"C’mon, Willow!"

"I don’t want to."

Hermione, her hands on her hips, sighed in the direction of the arched ceiling. "Miss Willow Weasley, you better drag your pitiful backside out of that bed before I count to five, or else I’ll..."

"Else what?" Willow rolled onto her side from her belly to regard the brown-haired witch, her expression glum. She was wearing one of Oz’s old, baggy shirts over a pair of jeans and her hair was unbrushed, her face pale and wan.

There was a brief moment of silence as Hermione considered her reply, studying Willow. She and Giles had managed to discuss the young red head earlier in the day, both of them worried about her.

Now, clad in her most comfortable muggle shirt and jeans, she had come up with the perfect way to get Willow up and about again. "I suppose I would just join you there and sing at you, until you decide you have had enough and run away from me."

"Why would I run away?"

"You obviously haven’t heard me singing before," Hermione said with a smile that earned a small smile from Willow, who reluctantly sat up. "Come on, Willow, it’ll be funny! We have to go along!"

"It’s only a game of poker, Hermione."

The older witch shook her head, a wickedly dirty grin creeping onto her lips. "Its not just poker," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "It’s strip poker, but only McGonagall, Spike and I know."

"Dumbledore, Flitwick, Giles and McGonagall are playing strip poker?" A nauseous expression crossed Willow’s face.

"Willow, trust me, there is no way that we’ll have to see any of them undressed," the witch replied. She really did look very pleased with herself about something. "Only Spike and Anya will end up partially clothed or anywhere close to naked."

"And you know this how?"

"Snaffled their famous notepads while they were practising," Hermione replied with a dignified sniff.

"And relayed the information onto your side?"

"I’m a loyal Hogwarts Teacher," Hermione tried to maintain the dignified facade, but couldn’t help grinning broadly at the red-haired witch in front of her. "And I want a chance to see Spike sans clothing."

"Hermione!" Willow squeaked.

Hermione started laughing. "Honestly, Willow! How can I still shock you? We’ve been living together for nearly three months!"

"You were joking?"

"Initially yes," Hermione answered after a brief pause. "But now, just thinking about it, don’t you want to see what he’s hiding under all that black?" Brown eyes twinkled mischievously. "I mean, you look at him and think ‘Yum’. I want to know if the sweet is as promising as it’s wrapper."

"Hermione!" Willow tried to look scandalised.

"Admit it," the older witch laughed. "You’re curious too."

"Well..."

"HA!"

"Hey! I just said ‘well’!"

"And that’s close enough to be a yes in my book," Hermione said cheerfully, leaning over the bed and grabbing Willow’s arm, hauling the younger witch to her feet. "We better move if we want to see him go from fully clothed to naked."

"Eep!"

"You really do blush awfully, easily, don’t you, Will?"

Willow scowled. "I’ve been worse since I met you."

Hermione just laughed. "Nice to see I’ve had such a positive effect," she said, looping her arm through Willow’s as they made their way to the door and out onto the spiral staircase that lead down to the halls.

***

"Mmm."

"My sentiments entirely."

Leaning up to look down at the face of the man beside her, Glory’s lips quirked up in a smile. "I love the way you talk," she remarked, one hand spread on his chest. "It’s so absolutely cutey patootie!"

"Cutey patootie?" Lucius Malfoy repeated, one brow rising.

They were sprawled in the enormous bed in Glory’s suite in the Leaky Cauldron, the sheets and pillows in disarray around them. Half-draped over his body, her fingers were taking in the warm texture of his strange, smooth skin.

It was one of the most positive benefits of being in a female human form, she knew, to be able to interlock intimate parts with the male of the species and create some kind of pleasure from it.

"Yeah, sweetie," she smirked. "You’re a little old cutie patootie."

"Were you anyone else, I would kill you for calling me such an idiotic name," It was said with an amused gleam in his eyes.

"No can do, baby," she bent her head and claimed a kiss. "Can’t kill a goddess."

"A goddess?" The amused gleam was replaced with shrewd speculation. Smart guy, this one. Sneaky.

"You got me, baby," she purred as his hand rose and wove through her thick mass of curly blonde hair, drawing her lips to his again. "I’m a Goddess of Hell and madness with a little bit of the burning, burning...burning like a flickering dancing..."

Malfoy sat up, holding her at arm’s length. "Jinx," he bellowed in a way that she would have bellowed herself.

The minion scampered in, stopping short, eyes bugging, at the sight of his Mistress’ naked body, where she was kneeling on the bed next to an equally naked wizard, his mouth opening and shutting several times.

"Your lady needs replenished, Jinx," Lucius stated. "Get someone now."

"Wh-what?"

"Refill, you filthy little cretin," A thin stick of black wood appeared in the long-haired man’s hand, pointed straight at Jinx. It went without saying that the minion knew that arguing with a man with a magic stick wasn’t a good idea. "Now."

The scabby little minion scampered off and Lucius Malfoy continued to hold Glory at arm’s length, making certain to keep her hands as far from his skull as possible until Jinx returned, dragging one of the witches from the bar.

"Glory," Malfoy gave her a push in the direction of the human, who she grabbed. A strangled cry escaped her as she drew the sanity from the witch’s mind, the power making her stagger back when she withdrew her fingers.

"Oh God...powerful..."

"She was a witch," Malfoy drawled, leaning back on his elbows, as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "They do tend to have more power and brains than the average muggle possesses."

"You don’t like non-magics?" Glory sat down beside him, drawing a slow breath as she felt tingles of power moving through her. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked down at him.

For a human not to intervene when she drained the minds from other humans, in fact to encourage it...it was definitely rare and she definitely was amused by the thought of having a pet human to be her little helper.

His lip curled in a sneer. "What would be the point of a non-pureblood? It’s absurd and obscene. Breeding with them..." he shook his head in disgust. "If I had my way, the world would be purged of mud-bloods and half-bloods."

"Baby, you stick with me and it will be," Glory leaned over him and claimed his lips in another hard kiss.

***

The constant knocking on his portrait-door had been going on for nearly half an hour, but Snape had managed to ignore it.

At least, he had managed to ignore until that annoying, shrill female voice started to whine. "Snapey...c’mon, Snapey...you’re no fun..." THEN she had started to bloody well sing-song it. "Snape-y, Snape-y..."

Slamming his hands down on the desk, which stood against the wall of his room, he clenched his teeth together, making a mental note to find a powerful silencing spell, as he came to his feet.

He had never needed such a spell before now...

Before the Summers hussy had arrived.

Storming towards the door, he threw the painting open with such force he actually heard the occupant utter a girly shriek of surprise. Summers stood there, grinning up at him in a way that he had grown suspicious of.

She was still wearing her muggle clothes that she wore while teaching, suggesting that she had come straight from supper to find him. How she had found his room, he didn’t want to know.

He was still clad in his robes, as he always was. He never changed after classes, until he had finished marking the work and planned for the classes the next day and even then, it was only to go to bed.

"Snapey, I thought you were ignoring me."

"Do not call me by that name," he said quietly, one hand pressed in a fist against the back of the portrait. "And depart. I would prefer to have a single night where I am not distracted or interrupted by you."

"But I owe you, Snapey," she said, smirking at him in a way he was starting to grow quite unnerved by. "I owe you big."

"I...in what way?"

"In the way that you froze me twice at breakfast and left me sitting there looking like a dumb bimbo."

"I’m afraid you did that entirely by yourself, Summers."

There was an odd flicker in her eyes and before he could register what it meant, a shoulder had rammed into his stomach and he was swung off his feet, his upper body dangling down the Slayer’s back, her left arm locked around his legs.

Her right arm came rapidly across her back, her small, but frighteningly strong hand catching his wrists before he had even realised where, when, what and how he was, pinning his arms together.

"SUMMERS!"

He had never been more mortified!

He was slung over a tiny tart of a girl’s shoulder, his arse in the air and no way to break free.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded harshly, trying to jerk his hands free, but it only served to make her hold onto him tighter. He kicked out with his feet, only gaining the same effect from her other arm.

She didn’t answer right away, starting to walk away from his room. He could see the portrait on the door staring after them. The figure in the painting had a hand clapped to its mouth and it was laughing hysterically.

"Summers!"

"Snapey," she chastised cheerfully, as she jogged up a flight of stairs. "I want to get my revenge on you, but this one...well, let’s say its a punishment as well. I should have done this days ago."

"Done what?" he asked, his voice jolting as she bound up the stairs. How the devil could she run up all the stairs, with him on her shoulder and actually manage to talk without sounding even a little out of breath?

"You remember the first time we met, when I told you to wash your hair?" she said, as they reached the top of the stairs and she spun around. Snape watched the black and white floor whirling before his eyes, growing increasingly dizzy. Apparently deciding on a direction to go, she walked briskly onwards, with him still bouncing against her shoulder. "I told you to do that and you didn’t. Do you remember what I said I would have to do?"

The Potions master went rigid.

Surely she would never dare!

Her determined pace told him otherwise.

"Summers!" His violent struggles renewed in earnest this time, he hissed as her arm tightened around his legs when he tried to hurl himself sideways off her shoulder, her grip on his wrists increasing. "Dammit, Summers! Release me!"

She laughed!

The shameless little trollop laughed!

"Oh, I don’t think so, Snapey," she cooed with mock-sweetness. "Ah! Here we are!"

Severues Snape’s frenzied spout of proficient, explicit and colourful curses were quickly cut off as the Slayer carried him into the room she had chosen, the door closing on them.

***

"Hey! No fair!"

Duncan Cameron flashed a broad grin across the pool table at Dawn, who was glaring at him. "Just because ye cannae hit the ball," he teased. "Disnae mean the rest of us are crap at the game."

The two teenagers had snuck down to the games room after curfew, after Dawn had managed to steal Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak from Willow’s bedroom, Willow and Hermione both absent.

The games room was near the staircase that lead up from the Entrance Hall, one of the large, unused rooms which had once served as a classroom in times past. With high, arching ceilings, it was illuminated by torches on each of the four columns, which lined every one of the creamy-white stone walls.

Various muggle forms of entertainment were in the room: a full-size pool table; a foozball table; a set of magically-powered arcade games; a space-hockey table: all on Dawn’s request.

Only a few of the people that Dawn knew had been invited to her games room and most of them - especially the students from wizarding families - loved it, because they had never had a chance to visit a games arcade like it before.

However, it was centrally Dawn and Duncan who spent time there, between his classes and when he wasn’t doing homework, which she had sometimes been able to help him with, especially with D.A.D.A. and Potions.

"Just because you’re a show-off and probably have your own...oh!" she exclaimed, pointing at him accusingly. "I get it! You’re cheating! You’re using magic and you’re cheating so you’ll win!"

"Don’t be daft, Dawn," he laughed. "If I was doin’ magic, you’d be able to tell, because I’d have blown the table to pieces."

"You do kinda suck at charms, don’t you?"

"Hey!"

Dawn grinned. "Well, you do! You almost blew Professor Flitwick out the window with the wind charms."

"At least I made the wind charm work," Duncan tried to feign annoyance, leaning down and potting the last ball on the pool table. "Did ye see the look on Gilmerton’s face when he blasted himself out the door?"

Roger Gilmerton was a snooty, pure-blooded Ravenclaw who just happened to be in the same charms class as Duncan and, while he was very clever, it didn’t make up for his lack of wand control.

Dawn and Duncan had decided it was their sworn duty to bug the crap out of him.

"It was like ‘Aaaaaah! Mommy! Help!’," Dawn laughed, shaking her head. "That guy is such a jerk sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" her companion inquired, grinning.

"All right, all the time," she said as Duncan placed the cue on the empty table and looked around the room. Dawn followed his gaze towards the large grandfather’s clock, which proclaimed it to be close to midnight. "God! It got late real fast!"

"Or early," Duncan agreed. "Think we should go back?"

Dawn nodded, worrying her lower lip. "Buffy’s gonna kill me."

"Oh, don’t worry about her," Duncan grinned. "I bet she’s out settin’ up another trap for old Snape."

"I’ll bet."

The Snape-Summers enmity was already growing to legendary proportions even though they had only been enemies for a couple of weeks. Unknown to Buffy, who told her sister what ‘that jerk’ had done to her, Dawn relayed everything onto her friends, who relayed it onto their respective houses.

It went without saying that every pupil in the school knew that Professors Summers and Snape were locked in a one-up-man-ship contest, which was very entertaining to hear about and see if you were quick enough.

Retrieving the invisibility cloak, Duncan and Dawn headed towards the portrait that covered the doorway and pulled the cloak on, before stepping out into the moonlight-flooded halls of the school.

They had just crossed the landing of the staircase at the top of the Entrance Hall and were on the way down the corridor towards the common room, when a door opened in the middle of the dimly lit hall.

Grabbing at Duncan’s arm beneath the cloak, both of them backed into the nearest window box, which was flooded with clear moonlight, warily watching for whoever or whatever was moving inside the room.

Whatever it was, they could hear wet fabric slapping against the doors in the dark, suggesting that it was probably soaked. The hall was so dark that they could barely see anything, including the door, leaning around the edge of the window box in time to see the occupants of the room.

A tall figure staggered out, making strangely moist squishy noises with every step it took, a second smaller figure striding out of the room after it, a gasp from Dawn suggesting that she recognised who the two figures were.

"If I wasn’t so sure you would break my arms, I would strangle you, Summers," a male voice snarled. Snape.

A laugh escaped the other figure. "Sure you would, Snapey," the voice said and Dawn mentally moaned. What had Buffy been doing in the Prefect showers with Snape of all people? "And remember, you try and get it back to normal, I will do the same again. Repeatedly if I have to."

Snape said something so rude to her sister that Dawn went scarlet under the cloak, her mouth opening in shock. Yeah, Snape had been a bad guy in his time, but where had he learned language like that?

Buffy just laughed again, as Snape spun and stormed off. It would have been an impressive storm if his shoes hadn’t kept making those funny, little squishing sounds with every pace down the hall, leaving a trail of gleaming puddles on the stone.

Dawn risked a glance at Duncan under the cloak. Even by the moonlight, he was as white as a sheet, unable to believe what he had just seen and heard, involving his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and Potions Professor.

"Can he call her that?" he asked Dawn shakily.

"Looks like it," Dawn whispered back, as Buffy, also squishing as she walked off in the opposite direction, disappeared. "C’mon, we gotta get back to the common room and I’ll sleep in there tonight."

They started down the hall a little more cautiously.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the night for seeing things they rather wouldn’t.

"Have to catch me first!" a voice yelled as they were passing the opening onto one of the spiral staircases that lead up to one of the tower rooms. Dawn blanched. It was only the tower room where the...

"Aw, shite!" Duncan hissed, yanking her back, behind a suit of armour. "The Poker game was tonight!"

Hermione raced out of the opening onto the stairs, dragging the laughing and scarlet in the face Willow after her, by the hand. Her other arm was occupied by a pile of clothes that looked distinctly black and red...

"Hermione!" a male voice yelled. "Bring my sodding clothes back! Now!"

"Oh no!" Dawn squeaked, clapping her hands over her eyes. "Don’t look, Duncan!"

Duncan’s reaction time seemed to have slowed due to the shock of hearing Snape calling Summers Senior some of the rudest things he had ever heard. Whatever caused it, he didn’t look away from the opening in time.

A tall, lean and very naked Spike ran out, pausing and looking left and right.

Duncan’s eyes bugged and he hastily averted his eyes. "Oh my gawd..."

"Told you," Dawn moaned. "Is he gone?"

"I’m not checking!"

"Good thing too, pet," Spike’s voice spoke from nearby, making them both squeal and grab at each other. "Niblet," Spike added, chuckling. "I’d get back to your dorm, if I were you, before big sis finds you’re gone or Red and the Prof find out you’ve filched their cloak."

"I’ll say," Dawn mumbled, her eyes still pressed closed. "But can you just take your big, nudey nakedness away?"

"Why’d’you think I’m about to go up to the tower and wrestle those two feisty birds to get my togs back?" Spike chuckled, patting on top of her cloaked head, after missing twice and jabbing Duncan in the eye. "Can’t be corrupting your innocent eyes until you’re legal, pet."

"Spike!" Dawn wailed.

"And this, luv, is why you don’t go sneaking about after hours," the vampire said with an amused chuckle. "You never know what you might see or hear."

"Yeah, lesson learned, no more sneaking out! Will you just go away already?"

Silence.

Opening her eyes, Dawn looked around Duncan cautiously.

"SPIKE! Eeeeew!"

The vampire just laughed at her horrified shriek, then ran off, his bare feet slapping against the stone of the floor.

"We are so not doing this again," Dawn mumbled. "I have naked-Spike burned into my head now...ew...its like seeing a brother naked...so didn’t need to see any of it..."

"Ditto," Duncan said, his voice a little faint. "Can...can we go back to the tower?"

"Hopefully without seeing or hearing anything again. Ever."

"Uh huh..."

Supporting one another, in silence, they staggered through the corridors, trying to scrape the image of naked Spike from their minds, while trying to forget the litany of unpleasant things that Snape had called Buffy.

Definitely no more sneaking out.

 

 

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