The Eighth Weasley

By Fyre

Chapter 36: Control

The door behind the staff table opened on the crowded Great Hall opened, hardly noticed by the students, who were chattering over breakfast, a single figure easing into the hall clearly trying to avoid being noticed.

Unfortunately, when a person tries to be ignored, it usually has the opposite affect.

Sure enough, one by one, a face at a time, every head turned towards the Potions Professor who had slid silently into his seat at the table, his expression blacker and more frightening than anyone could ever recall seeing it.

The whole hall rapidly fell into a deathly silence.

A pin could have been dropped and heard.

Black eyes directed an equally dark look in the direction of the petite, blonde Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, who was smiling amiably and munching on a slice of toast.

Suddenly, what they were seeing made sense.

At the middle of the Gryffindor table, a brown-haired, blue-eyed Scottish boy by the name of Duncan Cameron released a loud snort of laughter that rang off the walls of the Great Hall.

It was like a pebble dropped in a pool, the ripples of mirth spreading.

Snape's face twisted bitterly, his nostrils flaring, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with malevolence. All in all, he would have looked as terrifying as he always did, if not more so than usual.

Except for one thing.

Clean and beautifully groomed hair hung around his face.

Professor Summers looked exceptionally proud of herself, raising a hairbrush - which seemed like a natural thing for a glamorous young Professor such as herself to carry - in salute to the Potions Master, which got a roar of laughter from the pupils.

Professor Snape glared at her.

"Oh, don't worry, Snapey," Summers called across the table to him, where he was infuriated to notice Minverva McGonagall chuckling behind a hand and Dumbledore shooting twinkling looks at him. "Once they get used to it, you'll be fine!"

All eyes went from the blonde to the clearly fuming Potions professor.

The dark glare he was giving the likeable little blonde woman seemed to be building in a centre of loathing and dislike, which was surrounding him in an almost palpable black aura.

Had Summers been absent, every pupils knew without a doubt, that they would have been cowering silently on their benches, had Snape looked so deadly.

Even just seeing Snape that angry from a distance was bad enough and a few of the classes who knew they were having him later in the day visibly started shaking as his glare flashed to them.

"Oh, come on, Snapey! Its not that bad!"

Black eyes turned back to her and every person in the Hall saw Snape's hand locked around the handle of the sharpest implement he had available on the table: a serrated bread knife.

"Summers," he said, his voice almost deathly quiet, his expression not openly-hostile, but coldly raging. "Your mouth is open. Sounds are coming out of it. Neither of these actions is productive. Desist."

Summers smirked at him and returned to munching on her toast.

Giles looked like he was having trouble smothering his laughter, one hand resting against his mouth, as subtly as it could without him looking like he had clapped his hands over his mouth.

Leaning slightly forward to study Snape, Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow at him, then at the hair. Shaking her head, she returned to her breakfast, although there was a glint in her eye that hadn't been there before.

Dumbledore's muffled giggles were clearly grating on Snape, who looked like he was thinking very seriously about rescinding the oath of loyalty he had given the old man and belatedly offering Voldemort the wizard's head on a platter.

However, it was the younger Summers woman that had actually caused the worst possible reaction, when she stuck two fingers of each hand in her mouth and released a piercing wolf-whistle.

Scarlet patches flared on Professor Snape's sallow cheeks and Dumbledore's merry, full-force belly laugh rang up to the rafters, instigating further bouts of giggles among the pupils.

***

"Omigod..."

"Seconded." Outside the Great Hall, after breakfast, Dawn and Duncan were leaning against one another, gasping for breath, tears of mirth streaming down their faces at what they had just seen.

"I didn't think she would..."

"I dinnae think he thought it either," Duncan agreed, shaking his head.

They both started laughing again, recalling what they had seen the previous night, on their way back to Gryffindor tower, and comparing it with what they had seen in the Hall that morning.

Snape.

With clean hair.

"What on earth are you two laughing about?" another voice interrupted.

"You mean you kinda missed out on seeing Professor Snape with washed and brushed and non-greasified hair, at the high table?" Dawn snickered, her blue eyes glinting with amusement as she turned to the girl.

Like the other pupils around her, Dawn had started wearing a Gryffindor uniform, which was very becoming on her, even though she only sat in on most classes because of her lack in magical abilities.

Except Potions.

Much to everyone's surprise, including her sister - who claimed she couldn't mix any given substances to save her life - she had proved to have a natural aptitude for the subject and Snape had let her join in the potion brewing, although he complained loudly about it.

She knew for a fact, though, that he actually appreciated someone who could brew a decent potion, unlike most of her classmates, who were to busy being utterly terrified of the Potions master.

As far as she could tell, she was the only person in her whole class - even among the Slytherins - who was not afraid of the sinister teacher. He just reminded her far too much of Spike in his attitude to her, for her to really be afraid of him.

"I thought it was funny like everyone else in the Hall did, but you don't remember, do you?" Nicola Ledger, another of the Gryffindor fourth years moaned, looking very pale in the face, almost washed with grey under her curly black hair. "Haven't you forgotten what we have first thing?"

Dawn and Duncan exchanged looks, then looked at Nicola.

"Potions," Nicola whispered. "Twenty minutes..."

"Oh," Dawn said. "Oh!"

Duncan's face had gone a funny shade of green. "I...I think," he said, in a shakier voice than usual. "Now would probably be a good time to tell Dumbledore I want tae leave the school..."

***

"And today, we're going to be talking to you about...Giles?"

Standing behind the desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Giles motioned to the covered tank in front of him. "Grindylows," he answered, pulling the cover off, revealing a small, slimy-looking demon pressing against the glass of a tank that looked like it should have goldfish in it.

"Ewww!"

Several third year pupils giggled at their Professor's exclamation.

Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had certainly become very interesting since the blonde and her older companion had taken the helm, with Professor Summers blunt and to the point descriptions of what they were facing and Mr. Giles' lessons in magical defences.

They seemed an odd counter-point for one another. On occasion, they would fire snippy comments back and forth at one another, but every pupil could tell there was a deep-rooted affection behind it.

"As you can see," Professor Summers said, turning back to her class, a twisted look on her face. "We're going to be discussing the slimy gross thing in the tank, that Mr. Giles was so kind to bring in."

"I thought you would appreciate it," he chuckled.

There were a few more laughs from the class when Professor Summers made a face at him, then turned back to the class.

"Now," she looked around at them. "Can anyone tell me what a Grindylow does and why it is considered a dark creature?" Half a dozen hands shot up, a sign that at least a few of them had done the assigned reading. "Sharn?"

Behind her, Buffy Summers didn't notice the proud expression on Rupert Giles' face, as she took answers, comparing them to the notes he knew she had made on the subject and started to teach the group of teenagers, who hung on her every word.

Like Summers, Giles had been somewhat dubious about her teaching credentials, but after a chat with Professor Dumbledore on the day she had arrived, her confidence had rapidly built.

Every day, when she wasn't thinking up new ways to humiliate Professor Snape, she was poring over Defence Against the Dark Arts books, making pages of notes about the creatures she was teaching on.

It had been a source of great amusement in the staff room, when the staff body had first walked in on her, bogged down with even more books than Hermione usually carried and exclaiming about how exciting the 'Mnumfar Report on Dark Creatures and their origins' was.

While she had never been the most studious of people, she was fascinated by the whole new range of dark creatures that she had never faced before. She had taken to appearing at his room in the middle of the night with excited exclamations about some kind of new beastie that she had found in some book or other.

She was taking her job seriously, determined to teach the children as much as she possibly could, while being unable to teach them any actual spells and magic and she was getting very good at it.

Somehow, she knew how to lecture about dark creatures without being dull, holding the attention of the attention-deficient teenagers, steering them back to focus when it became clear that their minds were wandering.

Perhaps, Giles mused, it was because she had the experience.

After all, she had had to deal with him lecturing her in ways that he could now see were incredibly boring for a teenager to sit through. She had taken the minor flaws in his old Watcher style and developed it into a new style.

Using anecdotes about her own confrontations with similar creatures, she had caught their interest.

Walking around the classroom as she taught, instead of being a read-from-the-notes lecturer, and actually listening to what the pupils had to say, chatting with them, willing to give them her free time, she had won their affections.

Giles had never been prouder of any Slayer, but he had also never been prouder of the girl, who was like a daughter to him.

She had flourished from a dizzy, rebellious and awkward with her position in the world teenager into a young woman, who had wisdom and strength beyond her years and was now, for the first time, able to share it.

It was truly a privilege to see her at work.

And in conflict with Snape too, his mental voice added with amusement.

Giles couldn't help snickering at the thought. What had he done in pushing the two oppositions together? Would they kill each other before the year was out? Judging by the look on Snape's face at breakfast...

Even Angel hadn't been as different from Buffy as Snape was.

The biggest difference was that Angel had been a vampire. That wasn't a factor in the Buffy-Snape conflict, but everything else...

They were just complete contradictions of one another: blonde versus dark; female versus male; American versus British; cynical versus optimistic; happy versus grim; cheerful versus gloomy; physically strong versus mentally strong.

And Giles had taught them both to some extent.

It really was going to be interesting to see who emerged the victor in the battle of wits and power that he had instigated.

He smirked.

Very interesting.

***

"So you're coping are you, Mister...er...The Bloody?"

Lounging in the shadowy alcove that looked out over the bustling Entrance Hall, watching pupils milling about, Spike raised his light blue eyes to the Professor of Muggle Studies.

"Well, I finally got my boxers back, if that's what you mean," he answered. Out of sunlight, the blond-haired vampire had taken to sitting in the deep niche, which had a cushioned ledge, where he could watch the comings and goings of the student body and usually avoid detection. He liked it that way, being able to just watch, instead of being goggled at all the time. "Top of the North tower... very amusing."

After the strip poker game and after Hermione had absconded with Spike's clothing, a battle had ensued in the girls' tower room, involving a pouncing and very naked vampire trying to retrieve all his clothing.

Sadly, Spike had ended up having to run around the grounds to find everything, while Minerva McGonagall had leaned out one of the tower windows and made biting remarks in a magically magnified voice about him and his card-playing abilities.

The vampire and former vengeance demon had lost the game hands down, thanks to Hermione sneaking their tactic notebooks to Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall, leaving Xander trying to his embarrassment as his girlfriend strolled around, quite comfortable in her underwear.

Spike, though, had been the only one unfortunate enough to have his clothing filched by a seemingly respectable and professional Professor and her esteemed and equally intelligent red-haired roommate.

The clothing which had ended up strewn all over the school and grounds.

Spike had been mildly amused by it all, but had covered it with bitter growls and proficient cursing.

"Don't blame me," Hermione grinned at the vampire, sitting down on the lip of the ledge he was occupying. The pair got on strangely well, although, Hermione was one of the few members of staff that actually knew what Spike was. "Willow tried to banish them, but she still hadn't quite got the knack with that wand of hers yet."

"So I noticed," he replied dryly, leaning against the side wall of the deep ledge that was cut into the thick wall. He stared at the wall opposite him for several moments, then looked at Hermione. "How is she?"

"Genuine interest or fishing for possible ammunition?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Spike gave her an offended look. "Luv, I like Red as much as the next person," he said, giving her a measured look. "Although obviously not quite as much as someone hereabouts, am I right?"

"Willow's a friend of mine, Spike. I don't want you hurting her," the witch said, her voice low and quiet, but laced with threat.

"As much as it would thrill me, I'm afraid I'll have to say I'm not up for breaking the broken hearted," the vampire answered, looking away from her and studying the grey stone in front of him. "I've seen how much the wolf leaving damaged her. She was good to me, little Red."

"She doesn't cry in the night anymore, which is a start," Hermione volunteered the information in a low voice. "Quite a few nights, she's just needed someone to hug her and keep her company. Like a comfort blanket or something."

There was a melancholy note in the young woman's voice that made Spike shift his eyes to her again.

"And you, luv?" he asked, studying her intently. What do you need?"

Brown eyes avoided him for a moment. "Not a horny vampire, of that I'm more than certain," she smiled faintly at him. "It doesn't matter what I need. Willow...she's unhappy needs someone to lean on at the moment. Nothing more."

"Maybe she needs someone to make her happy again," Spike suggested, his voice neutral, his eyes returning to the wall in front of him, swinging his toes from side to side against the stone and watching them move. "Like she did last time..."

Hermione, who had risen to her feet after the first statement, looked back down at him in surprise. "What do you mean 'like the last time'?" she asked a little sharply, a glow in her cheeks.

Blue eyes met brown. "She found a friend a lot like you, Granger," he said in a low voice. "Not as confident or gobby, that's true," Hermione glared, making him grin at her. "But someone who wanted to make her happy again."

"O-oh."

Spike smiled.

It wasn't a smirk that she was used to seeing, the smirk that reminded her an awful lot of Draco Malfoy, but it was a genuine smile that made his blue eyes twinkle in a way similar to Dumbledore's.

"Ask her about Tara, when you have time," he suggested.

"Tara?" Hermione blinked. "A girl? That was her...her..."

The smirk returned. "And when I said friend, I don't mean the 'lets sit together and make daisy-chains kind of friend', Granger," he said dryly. "She didn't think anyone knew about it, but..." he tapped the side of his nose. "A man can tell."

"A vampire can tell, you mean."

Spike nodded. "That too."

Standing over him, the Professor of Muggle Studies gazed down, a suspicious, hard expression creeping onto her face. "And is there any reason you're making these revelations to me, Spike?"

"Like I said, luv, I like Red. She was better to me than any of the rest of that rag tag band and if you're the one to make her smile again..." The genuine smile returned, making his eyes seem so much warmer. "Well, I won't hold it against you."

"You really like her?"

"After what I put the little bint through, I'm amazed she didn't stake me right off. I almost bumped her off at least three times and she still treated me well. Snuck me cookies and extra blood when no one was looking," A reminiscent look crossed his face. "If I didn't have this chip, she would have been my undead Princess."

Hermione was blinking down at him. "You...you would have turned her?"

"Wouldn't you, luv?" He gave her a wicked little grin. "You have to admit there's something about a dainty little thing like her that's intoxicating. The red hair, the pale skin, the shyness and yet...the power."

"Er..."

"I'll take that as a yes," Swinging his legs out of his cubbyhole, Spike straightened up and looked down at the woman in front of him. "Trust me on this, Prof, Red needs to be loved. It's her big weakness." Hermione opened her mouth to pose a question, but a cool fingertip touched her lips. "This isn't anything books or spells can help you solve. Red has to be loved and to be loving someone or else she just goes utterly to pieces. Believe me, I know from the past experience...an engagement to the Slayer isn't something I want to repeat."

"Eh?"

"Trust me when I say you're safer not knowing," he said, his expression serious.

"And you're doing this why?"

The half-smirk lifted the vampire's pale lips up. "Can you imagine the look on old Minnie's face?" he replied, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I mean, she's always been dubious about...well...everything but this..."

"Old Minnie?" Spike clearly realised he'd made a slip. "Spike, why on earth do you call her Minnie? And how do you know she's always been dubious about..." A deep blush suffused Hermione's cheeks, but she pressed on. "How do you know?"

The vampire cleared his throat. "Ah...well...y'see, its a kind of funny story...we met fifty years back, got pissed, chatted about everything...kind of lost touch...met up here and got to reminiscing..." He cleared his throat again. "And anyway, bollocks to that! This is about you and Red! You get your arse in gear and comfort her!"

"I can't believe you're encouraging this..."

Spike chuckled. "Well, you've been moping around with a face like a wet weekend, because you're worrying about her. It kills two birds with one...er...well," A dirty grin crossed his lips. "I don't think you'll use a stone, but you get the idea..."

"Spike!"

The vampire just grinned.

***

"Enter!"

"Still a little testy, I see."

The Potions Master turned from the cauldron he was bent over to the door, where Giles was standing with a suggestion of a grin on his face. Black eyes flickered with anger. "How the devil do you tolerate that...that...little hussy?" he burst out.

"Several years of practise, Sev," Rupert Giles closed the door of the classroom behind him with a small smile. "Am I right in assuming that she is responsible for your...ah...new coif?" Black eyes narrowed. "Ah..."

"Do you know what that...that..."

"Woman?" Giles offered, smiling.

"Dammit, man!" Snape exploded angrily. "She is no woman! She has to be a demon of some kind! Sent to torment me!"

Giles' hand came quickly to his mouth, smothering a chuckle. "Judging by your obvious affection for the girl," Severus actually growled at him at those words, making the watcher chuckle even more. "I'm lead to assume that you were an unwilling participant in this makeover."

"You did not deign to inform me of how strong she is," Snape muttered.

"I did warn you that she was strong," Giles answered, still grinning. "Sev, she can kick a demon double her size across a graveyard. Surely you didn't think I meant she was just strong enough to remove a stubborn lid from a jar..."

"I didn't imagine she would have the nerve to carry me," the Potions Professor's voice was so low, Giles could barely hear it. "The bloody trollop carried me around like a sack of potatoes..."

Giles couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He really laughed.

The image of Snape, who was taller than him, clad entirely in black and slung over the shoulder of the tiny, blonde and immaculately dressed Buffy Summers was just far too funny to contemplate.

"I don't find this at all amusing," Severus' cool voice cut in.

"You might not," Giles choked out, shaking his head. "But I do!"


Chapter 37: Girls Night In

"Where would she have gone?"

"Who can say?" There was a weary sigh. "All we are aware of is that she was in the Leaky Cauldron, demanding the whereabouts of her ‘key’. She left half a dozen of our kind drained of sanity and vanished as suddenly as she appeared."

"Have you informed Buffy?"

Dumbledore raised his eyes to the man on the other side of his desk. "I will be informing her shortly," he answered quietly. "I am afraid that it appears that one of our own kind may be assisting this demon."

"One of..." The man’s expression hardened. There was only one kind of wizard, dark or otherwise, who would assist a creature that thrived on destruction and death. "A Death Eater is involved?"

"It is possible."

Rupert Giles rubbed his face, shaking his head. "It was bad enough when it was just Glory, but to have a wizard stand against us as well...do we know of any Death Eaters who managed to avoid Azkaban?"

"There are several," Dumbledore said evasively.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that there are several," he answered.

"Also meaning that since you’re not telling me, you’re pretty certain you know who it must be and there’s a reason you wouldn’t want me to know about it," Giles said, his hands resting on his thighs.

Dumbledore raised his brows. "You have become very perceptive, Rupert."

"I’ve become something of an expert at interpreting the cryptic, due to working with teenagers and the Watchers Council, Albus," Giles replied coolly. "Don’t think you have the wool pulled over my eyes."

The Head Master inclined his head in a suggestion of a polite bow. "I simply would prefer that you act rationally," he said. "Instead of taking a chance to attain vengeance and finding nothing but death waiting for you."

Giles’ expression tightened. "He’s the one who got to Sev, isn’t he?" Dumbledore said nothing. "If it is..." Blue eyes gazed evenly across the desk at him. "I will remain utterly calm and collected until I’m close enough to beat the living crap out of him."

"Would you prefer to be the one to inform Miss Summers?" Dumbledore finally asked, after several minutes of silence. "After all, you are the one she respects and are the best judge of her nature."

Giles nodded slowly. "Yes," he answered. "Yes, I think that might be best."

***

"Can I watch?"

"Miss Summers..."

Blue eyes turned up to Snape, Dawn’s lip jutting out in a pout. "But I wanna see how to make the hard potions," she whined, in a voice that she knew particularly irritated him. "I wanna do it!"

Snape looked down at the little American, trying to smother a smirk.

He really rather liked the annoying little creature, despite his best efforts not to.

She had nerve, character, attitude, things so often lacking in the milksops he had to deal with on a daily basis. She also came and lurked in the dungeons when she really had no need to be there and very few people did that.

Like she had on this occasion: her sister had been called up to see the Head Master along with Rupert and the younger sister had taken the chance to escape from the room, which she was meant to stay in until her sister returned.

It was oddly touching that she came to him when she could.

No doubt, because it would annoy her sister as well, which he appreciated.

When she had first arrived at the class and managed to get past the initial fear of him, she had proved more than a match for his sarcasm and attitude, speaking back to him when all her other classmates were cowering.

Speaking of classmates, one of them was lurking at the door, apparently waiting for the Summers girl, looking suitably terrified every time Snape flashed a dark look in his direction.

"Miss Summers," he began again, sneering down at her. "I’m afraid that the class you wish to attend is called Advanced Potions for a reason and you have yet to attain the maturity, knowledge and at least one brain cell required."

"Do so have one brain cell! I’m talking to you, so I have ta have something!"

"Miss Summers," He could practically hear Summers’ friend whimpering in terror at the door, as he loomed over the girl. "There is a world of difference between coherent conversation and what you so eloquently deem as ‘talking’."

"Well, then, I don’t need to say anything during the class, do I? I can just stand and watch you do stuff and make with the not-speaking," she challenged, giving him that irrepressible grin.

"Pardon me, but I do believe you just volunteered to remain silent in one of my classes," Snape saw her grin widen. She liked to banter with him in a way no other student could. He could be as biting and sarcastic as he liked and she would still give as good as she got, without crossing the boundary into blatant rudeness. "Are you under the imperius curse?"

She actually laughed at that and Cameron, the boy at the door, looked like he was about to faint from terror. "You wish, Professor," she replied. "I couldn’t be this annoying if I was under the Imperius curse."

"Oh, I’m sure you could manage somehow, Miss Summers."

"So can I?"

"Can you what?"

She scowled darkly up at him and he damn near laughed at it. The scowl was him personified. Many people had tried to impersonate his scowl, but only this irritating yet tolerable little American had managed it.

"You know what, Professor," she glowered at him, arms folded over her chest to match his posture. "I wanna come to the Advanced Potions class and watch. I can’t unless you tell Professor Dumbledore that I can. I really wanna come! Please?"

"Be still, my bleeding heart."

Dawn took a step towards him, her arms still crossed over her chest, her brows knitting as she glared up at him. "If you don’t let me come," she said slowly and very deliberately. "I’ll sic Spike on you."

"A defanged vampire? Oh, Miss Summers, I quiver with terror."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "You should," she replied quietly, her eyes glittering with mischief. "If I ask him to sing nine-hundred and ninety-nine million, nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall to you, he would do it."

Snape was immediately hurled into a very odd visual place, wherein the blond vampire was doing just that. Why the vampire was suddenly in the costume of a 19th century dandy and armed with a lute, he didn’t know.

Shaking his head, he blinked and looked down at Summers. "Miss Summers, I don’t know what you aim to achieve by filling my head with absurd images, but I have said you are too young for the class."

"Aww, please! I won’t touch anything! I won’t say anything! You won’t even know I’m there!" She struck a pose, hands folded in front of her. "See! Not moving! Not speaking! Just watching!"

"Considering your record for being unable to keep your flapping trap shut for even one potions class, I may yet have to see if this miracle might be true," he murmured, reaching into his robes and withdrawing a scroll of parchment. "This is the form of consent allowing you to join the class."

"You big jerk!" Dawn squealed, as soon as she had it in her hands. "You had it all this time and you made me ask nicely!"

Snape smirked at her. "You expected it any other way, Summers? A cauldron and some essential ingredients will be delivered to your chambers this evening, so you are adequately prepared to make a fool of yourself."

Unrolling the scroll, Dawn looked at the elaborate script on the paper, then gave a delighted squeal, as it affirmed that she was, indeed, allowed to sit in on the sixth and seventh years potions classes.

Then she did something that Professor Snape and Cameron looked equally stunned and mortified by.

She threw her arms around Snape, with an excited squeal, then darted off towards the door, leaving the off-balance Potions Master staring at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

"Ye hugged him," Snape heard Cameron gasp at her.

"He’s letting me watch Potions!"

"Aye, but..." Cameron’s blue eyes flicked into the room and he immediately backed out of Snape’s line of sight, although his voice still reached the Potions Professor, echoing in the hall. "Ye hugged him!"

Dawn looked back into the room and grinned at Snape, who scowled darkly. "I know," she answered, as they disappeared into the Hallway, her voice ringing back to him. "I thought it would scare him."

Snape shook his head, a wry smile reaching his lips.

She really was an annoyingly likeable little creature.

Now, if only the sister would follow her lead, as opposed to being sheerly annoying.

***

"So you planted one on her yet?"

With a shriek of surprise, Hermione spun, wand in hand, looking for the owner of the voice that had hailed her. Scrolls she had been carrying bounced across the floor and she heard a chuckle.

"Clumsy, luv, very clumsy."

It was nearly a week and a half since she had last had a run in with the owner of that particular voice and she had been hoping to avoid it a little longer, while she tried to work out what she was going to do.

Unfortunately, it looked like she didn’t have much of a choice now.

Scowling, as she knelt to gather the scrolls up, she shot a glare at the vampire. "How many time do I have to tell you not to do that?"

Spike merged out of the shadows that licked the walls, smirking down at her. "You think telling me off is going to stop me, Prof? Nah. That would be too much like good behaviour for my tastes."

The last of the scrolls back in her hands, Hermione straightened up. "So what did you decide to jump out on me for?"

"You heard, luv," Much to her surprise, the vampire took all the scrolls from her and loaded them into a satchel he hand on his shoulder. "And the day you work out that bags aren’t evil, there’s going to be a bloody party."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don’t need a bag for carrying a handful of scrolls, Spike, and why do you care if I’ve...er...planted one on Willow?"

Spike grinned. "Got to get my yayas somehow, don’t I?" He offered her an arm, which she took, albeit reluctantly. "So I’m right when I guess you haven’t gotten any further with little Red?"

"Um..."

"Really, Prof, anyone would think you didn’t fancy the knickers off her."

"I don’t!" An eyebrow arched. "All right, all right, maybe I do like her..." They were walking down a hall that was near the transfiguration classrooms and Hermione was wondering just where the vampire was taking her. "Er...Spike?"

"Whatcha going to do about her?"

Distracted by the question, Hermione turned to look up at him. "Pardon?"

"Do I have to throw you and her into a room together to see the two of you get some action?" he asked, as he turned into a room, taking her with him. She didn’t even look round to see where they were, glaring at him and his implication.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Hermione sniffed.

Blue eyes gave her a speculative look. His arm shot past her and she felt the bump of a door banging lightly against her elbow. "Well, we’ll see about that," he said with a wink and giving her a casual shove backwards.

Tripping over something, Hermione uttered a yell of dismay that was echoed by another yell, as she fell into what looked like a cupboard and the door closed to the sound of Spike’s laughter.

"Ow..." the witch winced, her left shoulder holding her painfully upright against the back of the cupboard, her legs askew around something soft and warm on the floor of the wooden structure.

"Pretty much ditto," another voice mumbled from somewhere near Hermione’s legs.

"Willow?"

There was a rustling and someone squirmed up onto her feet, her body brushing against Hermione’s, making Hermione bite her lower lip. "Hermione?" They were practically crushed chest to chest and Hermione shifted her feet.

"Let me guess," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Spike got you in here?"

"Yeah," she could hear the pout in Willow’s voice. "I’ve been in here for a real long time already. I was starting to think he was gonna leave me in here. I’m so staking him when we get out! I’m gonna poof him good."

"Why didn’t you get your wand?"

"Why haven’t you got yours?" Willow challenged. Hermione’s hand slid between their bodies, ignoring Willow’s slim form and soft curves, and into her robes, but her wand was gone. "Spike is good at stealing from you when you least expect it."

"That rotten swine!"

Willow giggled. "He is a jerk," she agreed, shifting again.

Hermione’s teeth caught her lip again, as one of Willow’s knees brushed between her own. She could feel the warmth of the red head’s breath on her face. Sweet and light, like white musk. A gasp escaped her and she tried to think outside the cupboard they were locked in.

Apparently Willow heard the gasp, one hand coming out to touch Hermione’s arm gently. "Are you okay, Hermione? You’re not claustrophobic, are you, cos if you are, I’ll so stake Spike!"

"Uh...no...not claustrophobic..."

Willow exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh good! Thought you were gonna go all freaky-deaky on me and I don’t have my wand to get us out." Hermione jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, then slid over to rest on the wood, bracing Willow’s body close to hers. "Y’know, I’m kinda glad its you that Spike threw in. Woulda been kinda awkward if it was anyone else."

"Uh-huh..." Hermione closed her eyes.

The bastard.

The sneaky, evil, wicked, bloody marvellous bastard.

When she got out, after Willow staked him, she was going to kiss him so hard he would spontaneously combust.

The sneaky, evil, wretched, wicked, devious, cunning, tricky, wonderful, absolutely bloody marvellous bastard.

"D’you know why he chucked you in?"

Willow’s hair rustled and Hermione assumed she was shaking her head. "Something about getting people started."

"Oh..."

"You know?"

"Um...Willow, do you trust me?"

"Sure! You’re my best buddy of non-Scooby origin!"

"All right. Don’t kill me."

Before Willow could ask anything more, Hermione leaned in and - assessing from the position of the other witch’s face and the puffs of her breath - covered Willow’s lips with her own in a light kiss. Willow gasped against her lips.

It was barely a brush of contact and she pulled back right away, but it was electric.

Hermione could feel the heat rising in her face. She had never kissed another girl before, let alone another witch, but something had drawn her to Willow Weasley from the first moment she had seen her.

At least now, she could at least say that she had tried.

"Wh-what was that for?" Willow’s voice was shaking.

Closing her eyes and praying that she wouldn’t be hated by her friend, Hermione forced a confident tone into her voice. "Spike told me to."

"Spike told you to kiss me?" there was a wondering tone in the youngest Weasley’s voice which the other witch didn’t recognise. "You? He told you to kiss me? In here?"

"Well, not in here, but since I..."

A hand wove through Hermione’s hair and her mouth was pulled down hard against an unseen pair of hot, moist lips, a little gasp of pleasure escaping her as Willow’s other hand slid over her hip and around to rest on her back.

Oh God...

Oh GOD!

Willow was kissing her.

Willow Weasley was kissing HER, Hermione Granger, former Head Girl and the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts and oh!

It was good.

It was really, really good.

Her hands coming up to frame Willow’s face, she felt a shudder of pleasure when a tongue brushed against her parted lips, the kiss rapidly deepening, the cupboard filling with a dizzying, delicious heat.

Willow tasted of strawberries, she decided. Sweet, ripe summer strawberries.

And she couldn’t get enough of it.

Somehow, she ended up pinning Willow between her own body and the side of the cupboard, one hand spread on the wood behind the red-haired witch, the other around Willow’s waist.

Her mind was too dizzy to work out why.

Although, the dizziness rapidly receded when there was a rush of cold air and light into the cupboard, the door wide open. The two witches broke apart, panting, at a loud and very shocked exclamation.

"What on earth are you doing in my cupboard?" Minerva McGonagall shrieked in surprise, whipping around to glare at Spike, who was leaning against the doorframe of the classroom, grinning from ear-to-ear. "BILLY!"

"Didn’t make ‘em do anything, Minnie," he drawled, blue eyes dancing. "Just gave ‘em directions and locked the door."

Hermione, blushing furiously, flashed a nervous look at the equally-red Willow, who looked as bashful, then darted away, pausing only to grab her scrolls and wand from the satchel on Spike’s shoulder.

"You’re a git," she hissed at him.

"You’re looking utterly snogged," he retorted, grinning. She glared at him once more, before fleeing the scene, hoping she could get her blushes under control before she got back to her own classroom.

***

"Whaddya call that thing?"

"Blast-ended skrewt," Hagrid replied happily. "Lovely things, they are."

The muggle boy gave the skrewt a deeply sceptical look. "Lovely thing. Right..." he remarked cynically. "You do know that those are the kinda things that come outta the Hellmouth when it opens, right?"

The Grounds keeper almost dropped the bar for sealing the skrewts’ pen on his foot, beetle-black eyes widening. "Ye’ve seen the Hellmouth open?"

Hagrid had just been forcing one of the blast-ended skrewts back into it’s large enclosure, when one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’s friends had approached, actually seeming interested.

Wearing numerous T-shirts and shirts, all under a thick set of robes that looked like they had been borrowed from Dumbledore, no doubt unused to the chill of impending winter that hung in the grey afternoon, the youth couldn’t have looked more like a muggle if he tried.

He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and wore a genial half-smile at all times, even when he was sounding a little...distant and maybe even a little depressed as he did at this very moment.

"Only a couple of times, before everyone closed it, but yeah. Things like that are all over the place."

The half-giant looked down at the muggle boy. He knew that the group lived on the Hellmouth on the Western seaboard and had heard that they had all fought the Dark Side in some way or other.

Even this normal-looking muggle.

Hellmouths sounded fascinating. Dangerous, but fascinating and he hadn’t had the nerve to ask the tiny and very pretty blonde Professor about it.

He heard that if one of the many Hellmouths ever successfully opened fully, there was more chance of the world going to pot than there ever had been when...You-Know-Who was in power and it was really terrifying to think about.

Summers and her friends had apparently stopped it a few times and he was really very curious how and why and what they could do to make sure it didn’t happen any time in the near future.

"Would...er...would yer be interested in tellin’ me a bit about yer Hellmouth thing?"

The boy smiled as if it was the best thing that had happened to him, since his arrival at the school. "That’d be kinda neat," he answered, looking over his shoulder, back up to the school. "Don’t have anyone to really talk to up there."

"Feelin’ left out cos of magic an’ all?"

The boy smiled faintly. "I guess so."

"I’m not allowed ter do magic either," Hagrid confided, dusting his hands down on his shirt. "Have ter do everything the muggle way." He nodded towards his house. "Want ter come in fer a cup o’ tea? It’s a bit nippy out."

The boy smiled broadly. "That would be great," he replied, following the giant towards the house. "You’re Hagrid, right?"

"S’right," Hagrid beamed down at him. There was something about the muggle boy that reminded him a lot of Ron Weasley in nature, with a bit of Harry Potter thrown in for good measure. "An’ you are?"

"Xander. Xander Harris," the boy replied immediately, looking up at Hagrid with undisguised interest. "And you’re really half-giant?"

Hagrid chuckled, a deep booming sound. "S’right, an’ all."

"This place is crazy," Xander said shaking his head.

"Crazier than a Hellmouth?"

Brown eyes twinkled with amusement. "I don’t know about that...you have met Professor Summers, right?"

Hagrid just laughed. Yes, he could see himself liking this youth, who was so very like Ron and Harry.

***

"Something tells me that it was your fault," Professor McGonagall was scowling at the blond-haired vampire across the table of the staff-room, where a pile of colourful plastic chips and cards were scattered between them.

Spike’s eyebrows rose. "Just because a couple of horny witches decide to get off in your cupboard, which just happened to be locked from the outside, doesn’t mean it had anything to do with me."

The pair were seated at one of the smaller tables in the furthest corner of the large staff room, ignoring the lurking, brooding figure of Snape, who was seated in front of the fire, supposedly reading.

However, at Spike’s words, both of the pair snickered as they heard paper tear.

Minerva flashed a look at the back of Snape’s chair, a smirk on her lips. "You are awful, Billy," she said, as she arranged the cards in her hands. "I mean, had I arrived even five minutes later, whose to say they would have even been clothed."

There was a muffled sound from the chair and Spike looked like he was having trouble keeping a straight face.

"How was I to know that the Prof was so keen to get under Red’s robes?" he demanded in a mock-innocent tone. "I mean, did you see where her hand was off to when we opened that door?"

Another incoherent little sound came from Snape’s direction.

The witch was shaking with barely controlled mirth, gripping her cards so tight that her knuckles were white. "At least we know," she managed to grit out beneath an undertone of giggles. "That we have seen more of your naked form than theirs, so they still have their pride."

"Hey now! It was cold out!" Spike protested indignantly.

There was a thump of a heavy book being slammed closed and Snape was on his feet, sweeping out of the room, McGonagall bursting out laughing almost instantly, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

"My Lord, Professor Summers really has him on edge," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Normally, a conversation like that wouldn’t even make him move, but we had him leave the room!"

Spike’s smirk was purely filthy. "Bet he’s gone to toss off with the image of my naked glory in mind."

Minerva closed her eyes. "Would rather not have received that image," she said, her face creasing in a nauseous expression. "You and nudity I can tolerate, but Severus spanking the monkey..."

Spike threw his head back and roared with laughter. "There’s more chance of him and Buffy shagging than him ever getting his rocks off on seeing my arse," he laughed merrily. "That bloke is a straight as a ruler and ten times as stiff."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, he has an affinity for wearing black frocks, but he’s as straight as Flitwick is bent as a hairpin."

McGonagall, who had been taking a drink of her tea, immediately sprayed it all over the table. "Billy!"

"Call it as I see it, Minnie," Spike grinned. "And I see you as a horny old bat, who should have played their card half an hour ago, instead of speculating over two little witches getting off in your cupboard. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were..."

"Mr. T. Bloody, that is enough!" Clearing her throat, McGonagall looked down at the cards on display.

Blue eyes glittered. "Minnie, Herm and Willow," he started to sing-song. "Sitting on a bag, having such a good time, with a threeway..."

"BILLY!"

The vampire laughed. "Well, make your move, then luv. Move faster than a tortoise and I’ll stop singing."

Green eyes narrowed, the vampire leaning forward and watching closely as she took the top one from her little pile. Turning it face up, she slapped it down on the top of the pile in the middle of the table and yelled triumphantly, "SNAP!"

***

Easing into the bedroom, Hermione felt a rush of blood to her cheeks when she saw Willow sitting in the window seat, gazing out at the grounds. They had been avoiding one another since...

The kiss.

That had been just past lunchtime and now, it was almost nine o’clock at night. It was the longest they had ever been apart, since Willow had arrived at Hogwarts and Hermione sincerely hoped it wouldn’t stay that way.

"Er..."

Willow turned and looked over at her. "Hey," she said softly. Hermione could see her cheeks were scarlet as well, which made her feel a tiny bit better. "We...we aren’t gonna be all awkward and stuff now, are we? I mean, cos of what happened?"

"I would rather not be awkward, although it is a little, well...awkward."

Both girls grinned a little at her choice of words, as Willow slid onto her feet and straightened up. "You got a lot of work to do tonight?" she asked, looking at the heap of scrolls in Hermione’s arms.

"Uh...not really."

There was another silence, then Hermione was struck by a thought.

"I never showed you the bathroom!"

Willow looked a little bemused, her expression on of bewilderment. "Bathroom? You get this from me asking about homework?"

"You know me," Hermione laughed, hurrying across to her bed and ditching all the marked scrolls - which she had spent the last four hours in the library marking - onto her bed and reached for the fresh towels that the house elves had placed out. "You want to see one of the best bathrooms in the world?"

"You mean that we go running around the castle, see a neat bathtub in a neat bathroom, come back and do nothing?"

"No, doofus," Hermione laughed, using the nickname that had become so familiar, thanks to the little army of Americans. "We go to the bathroom, fill it, take a bath and then come back and do nothing."

"Take a bath together?"

"When you see the size of this thing, it’ll make sense."

Willow worried her lower lip.

"Oh, come on, Willow! We’re friends! And the incident in the cupboard," she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Entirely Spike’s fault. We’ll stake him for it later... so, are you going to come with me or not?"

Looking down at her own neatly folded towels, Willow deliberated for a moment, then nodded. "I’m in," she replied. "But we have to have lots of bubbles and you’re not allowed to peek!"

"Nothing I haven’t seen before, Weasley."

"Hey!"

Hermione grinned. "What? Like you were always shy and hiding it, little Miss I-wander-around-the-bedroom-in-my-knickers-and-bra-when-I-think-the-innocent-Miss-Granger-is-asleep!" Willow made an anguished squeaking noise in her throat, her face flaming. "Oh, don’t worry," Hermione added airily. "From what I’ve seen, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Hermione!"

The brown-haired witch chuckled. "Prude."

***

"What on earth are you doing?"

Dawn looked up from the small cauldron that was balanced just on the inside of the toilet bowl. "Like, duh," she said, rolling her eyes expressively at the boy standing over her. "Since there’s a cauldron in my toilet and its bubbling and stuff, I’m obviously peeing."

"Dawnie..."

"What are you doing in a girls toilet?"

In fact, it wasn’t just any girls’ toilet. It was the toilet that was made famous by the fact that it lead down into the Chamber of Secrets and apparently, it was still as unused by pupils nearly ten years on.

There was a dank smell that seemed to hang around most public toilets, although there was less of the bitter acidic smell of muggle cleaning agents. No doubt, Filch used something else.

Even so, there was still a damp and cold atmosphere around the toilets, which the Scottish boy didn’t particularly like. He was an extremely superstitious person and this place was giving him an unnerving feeling.

He stood over his friend, who was wearing muggle clothes under her thick robes, an invisibility cloak spilling on the floor behind her.

"Well, Scot-boy? You, girls toilet, after I told you not to follow me?"

Duncan Cameron went beetroot. "I saw ye sneakin’ out and figured ye might get intae trouble, so I came tae make sure ye dinnae get caught or anythin’. I had tae see what you were doin’."

"That’s so sweet," Dawn grinned at him, then turned her attention back to the potion that was bubbling in the cauldron. "Anyway, I won’t get in trouble. Hermione knows I’m down here. She gave me the water-proof fire."

"Professor Granger?"

Dawn nodded, carefully stirring the thick, dark, murky concoction once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise with a long, thin ladle. "She knows I’m not allowed to practise potions in the tower or away from the potions class or anywhere that people’ll see, so she said I should come here."

"Does yer sister know yer here?"

Dawn shook her head, raising a test tube of grey fluid, expertly measured. "She went off into the Dark Forest to get back into shape for Dark Arty stuff with Giles," she answered, adding the fluid to her potion. "So she’s not gonna be back until way late, so I’m working here. I woulda done it in the room, but ew! Potions make the room stinky and she would be pissed if she knew."

"Because yer not meant to play with potions outside of class!"

Dawn gave him a look. "And you don’t do charms outside of class?" she said.

"Does Snape know?"

"That I’m practising? Probably, but even if he didn’t, I’m gonna do it anyway. He gave me the cauldron and ingredients. What am I meant to do with them? Wait until class every week? Nah!"

"You could get in big trouble, Dawnie..."

Dawn smirked. "I’m not the one with a ghost behind me," she replied cheerfully, leaning sideways to look beyond him. "Hey Myrtle!"

"Why are you so happy?" Cameron whipped around at the gloomy voice, to find a sulky-looking girl with a pudgy face and thick glasses staring owlishly at him. "And why have you brought a boy," The way she said the word made him wonder if being a boy was a bad thing. "With you?"

"Oh, he followed me," Dawn replied, grinning up at Duncan, who had gone very pale. He was very nervous around ghosts, because of all the legends in his family, which had spooked him since childhood. "You can bug him if you wanna. He thinks ghosts are hotties."

"Dawnie..."

Myrtle’s pearly eyes lit up. "Oooh! You like ghosts?" Sidling up to him, she batted transparent eyelashes. "So, do you like my toilet?"

Dawn snickered over her potion as Duncan tried to babble his way out of the conversation, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, "I told you not to follow me if I went sneaking out."

***

"This is so neat!"

Swimming to the edge of the bath, Hermione shook her hair back out of her eyes and looked across the bath to Willow, who was hanging into one of the gold taps and capturing the bubbles pouring out of it in her hand, then blowing them into the air.

"You are such a child sometimes, Weasley," she chuckled.

Willow pulled a face, then moved onto the next tap, from which a jet of rainbow-coloured water sprayed, making her squeal. "Oh God! Cold!" she squeaked wildly trying to turn the tap off.

Hermione couldn’t help laughing.

The red-haired witch was infatuated with the huge bathroom and Hermione didn’t blame her in the least. It was perfect and beautiful.

It looked like the whole room had been plucked out of Ancient Rome and placed in the school, the bath sunk in the middle of the floor, four steps leading down from the main floor and to the bath.

The bath was the size of an average muggle swimming pool, deep and made of pure white marble. Along three of the four sides, there were dozens of golden taps, each of which issued different bubbles or colours of water or bath mists.

The fourth wall had one flight of marble steps to get in and out of the bath at one side, while - along the end, there were smooth dips in the stone that could serve as a place to sit and enjoy the bath, if one didn’t feel like swimming about.

Columns lined the walls of the room, towering and white, trimmed with gold leaf and soft, white light seemed to glow softly through half a dozen white alabaster disks in the ceiling that was painted in the colour of a summer sky.

It had taken a little more convincing to get Willow into the bathroom, once they reached the door of the room, but as soon as she saw the room, she was more than willing to plunge straight into the tub.

Splashing her way up to the end of the bath with the grooves in the wall, Willow slid into the seat of smoothed marble with a sigh, leaning back against the water-warmed wall, crisp white foam covering her modesty.

Hermione lazily swam back towards her and slid into the seat next to her, pushing her hair back from her face with one hand.

"Nice, isn’t it?"

"Mmm," Willow replied, her eyes closed.

Hermione nibbled on her lower lip, then carefully asked. "Willow, can I ask you something rather...personal?"

"Sure."

"You don’t need to answer."

Willow half-opened her eyes. "I won’t if I don’t wanna," she replied. "Ask whatever you like."

"Who was Tara?" Green eyes flicked to her. "Spike mentioned her," Hermione said apologetically. "I was a little curious."

Willow’s eyes closed again. "She was my girlfriend for a while, when Oz was in Tibet the first time," she replied quietly. "My first and only girlfriend. Then Oz came back and I...I had to choose between them...Oz...he was hurt by scientist guys...I loved him too much to see him hurt...I chose him."

"What happened to Tara?"

Willow sighed. "She...she said we could stay friends, but we kinda lost touch with me coming here and school and everything..." She sighed again. "And before you ask, I did love her, but Oz...I loved him that little bit more."

"Is she the first girl you...you were romantically interested in?"

"Mmm."

"Why?"

Willow raised her shoulders a little. "I don’t know, but there was something in her that I felt close to. Like there was in Oz," she replied, opening her eyes and staring up at the ceiling. "It didn’t matter whether they were male or female, just as long as we did have that...closeness. That connection. That kind of love."

"Sounds wonderful," Hermione murmured, gazing at the red head’s profile.

"It is," Willow whispered softly, barely audible over the soft lapping of the water around them, her eyes closing again. "To be able to love someone so completely, to trust them with everything and anything, to know what they feel from a touch, from a look. I had it twice and now..."

"You’re alone again?" Hermione put in as Willow trailed off, the red-haired witch nodding silently. "Willow, I’ve only had two boyfriends and only one of them was ever one of my two lovers. I’ve never...been loved to extent that you have."

"Not even with Ron?"

A bittersweet smile crossed the older witch’s face. "That was a close one, but there were too many differences. I loved him more than anything. I thought we could get over or break through the barriers that separated us, but it was too much. They forced us apart a little at a time. We try to stay friends, but there’s too much between us for it to ever be like it once was."

"And there were others?"

"Viktor Krum, a famous Quidditch player," Hermione laughed hollowly at the memory. "We saw each other briefly, but we split on rather bad terms, which was when Ron and I started seeing each other. I had a lover from the Ministry, briefly, but we only ever saw one another over the summers after I finished school. It wasn’t love, nowhere near close to it. It was scratching an itch."

"Bet you never had a demon computer after you, though," Willow flashed her a half-smile. "Or a vampire version of yourself licking your neck and asking if you wanted to snuggle with yourself."

Hermione blinked. "Um...no...can’t say I ever had that happen."

"Gotta say that it definitely wasn’t of the fun," Sitting up a little in the sloping seat, Willow winced, one hand coming to her neck. "Ow..."

Before she could move to crick her neck, another body had slid over the low arm of her ‘seat’ and behind her body. Warm thighs framed hers in a ‘v’ and gentle hands coming up to her neck.

"Hermione!"

"I did a course on massage therapy," Hermione explained, rubbing her thumbs up the back of Willow’s neck. "Don’t be so worried that I’m going to tackle you and do indecent things to you."

Willow made a little squeaking noise, then cleared her throat. "Y-you did kiss me in the cupboard earlier."

"And, if I remember right, you kissed me back," Hermione murmured, massaging the nape of Willow’s neck, the red-haired witch relaxing gradually against her. "I’m not the forceful type."

"Do...do you like girls that...that way?" there was an odd tone in Willow’s voice, an almost nervous sound.

"I honestly don’t know, Willow," she replied with a sigh. "I mean, I’ve only had two blokes as lovers, but there have been a few women I’ve seen that just make me stop and stare. Not many men do that for me."

"Know the feeling," Willow sighed, leaning back a little. "You’re real good at that, you know."

"Mmm."

Drawing back to lean against the marble, Hermione smiled indulgently as Willow moved back to stay in contact with her, her hands kneading their way down to the youngest Weasley’s creamy shoulders.

They were silent for a long time, just sitting where they were, Willow’s soft sounds of contentment and the murmur of the water against the sides of the tub the only noises in the peaceful room.

The water stayed hot and the bubbles were starting to dissipate when Hermione’s hands finally stilled on Willow’s shoulders. Willow was surprised to notice that they were shaking and tilted her head.

"Hermione?"

The reply came in a pleading whisper. "Can I kiss you again?"

Green eyes met brown, damp locks of hair plastered to rosy faces. Unable to refuse, her back pressing back against Hermione’s chest, Willow nodded, her eyes closing in pleasure as Hermione’s lips met hers again.

One of Hermione’s hands slid up Willow’s slim throat to cradle her flushed cheek, the other sliding down and around Willow’s body to draw her securely back against her own body.

Beneath the water, Willow’s hands skittered about for something to hold, grasping at the other witch’s thigh, which made Hermione squeak in surprise.

Breaking apart, they stared at each other, then laughed.

"Cute sound effect," the red head noted, averting her eyes and going a furious shade of crimson, when she realised just where Hermione’s right hand was resting, right under one of her breasts.

The older witch brushed strands of damp red hair back from Willow’s cheek.

"I’ve made better," she replied, the impish twinkle that Willow had come to know so well glinting in her brown eyes. "Unless..." A flicker of nervousness crossed her face. "Unless you want to just go back to the room and get some sleep."

This time, it was Willow who initiated the kiss, their lips brushing lightly together as the red-haired witch shifted in the brown-haired woman’s arms, her dripping hands rising to weave through Hermione’s hair.

Despite the steamy haze hovering on the surface of the hot water, the whole room seemed to get several degrees hotter as they pressed back against the edge of the tub, soft sounds of pleasure slipping from Hermione’s throat.

"Call me mad," she gasped, when they broke apart again, her brown eyes shining with emotion. "But I do think I’ve gone and done the crazy and fallen in love with you, Willow Weasley."

"Call me even weirder," Willow replied breathlessly, half-sitting, half-kneeling, her legs tangled around Hermione’s. "But I think I might be on the way to feeling the same. You...you and me...we..." she trailed off into another brief kiss. "Tingles! Cos I only ever got smoochies that gave me the tingles with Oz and Tara..."

"Tingles?" Hermione grinned at her. "I gave you tingles?"

Willow’s green eyes hooded. "Mmm," she replied huskily, one hand spreading on the other witch’s collarbone. "Big time." They shared another kiss, parting with a light sigh. "You?"

"Would it be considered a compliment if I said that you’re the first woman that I’ve ever wanted to make love to?" Willow bit on her lower lip and she buried her face in Hermione’s neck. "Was...is that bad?"

Willow shook her head. "No...not at all. It sounds...perfect," she whispered, then giggled, her head resting on Hermione’s shoulder. "I...I just had a thought, though. You know whose gonna really freak out if...if we start dating..."

"If? You believe there’s an ‘if’ involved? Unless you don’t want..."

"Oh, I want!" Another steamy kiss assured the older witch of this. "But Ron...Ron is going to freak."

Hermione started to laugh. "Oh God...I never thought of that...oh no!" Willow was laughing as well, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Poor Ron! Jilted for his baby sister..."

"Well, we better get with making him have a reason for being embarrassed," Willow said, when she finally got control of her mirth, her expression sobering a little. She gazed at Hermione. "You really...like me?"

"No, Will, I don’t," she said seriously. "I love you. Have done for months."

"S-since when?"

Hermione’s lips lifted a little, brushing loose tendrils of damp-curled hair back from Willow’s brow. "Back at the Burrow, when you and I were working together. When you could be so focussed, so intense, about something you were interested in or cared about. I...I wondered what it would be like to have it directed at me."

"And the red hair?"

A lop-sided grin crossed the Professor’s face. "Well, I do have a weakness for it, yes, but you..." Her fingertips trailed down Willow’s cheek in a light caress. "You brought so much wisdom, so much simple knowledge with you. You had a pure goodness and openness that I’ve seen in no one before."

"Openness?" Willow echoed, as Hermione’s hand beneath the water started to move.

"Mmm," Hermione murmured into another kiss.

As the kiss moved down her cheek and jaw, lips brushing her neck, Willow could absently recall asking, "Are we allowed to do this in a bathroom?" and by the time she worded it, it no longer seemed to matter if it was allowed or not.


Chapter 38: Fair Darkness

"Hey, cupcake. You must be Luce’s little boy."

Draco Malfoy stared mutely at the gorgeous blond sprawled on the couch in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. She was stunning, in a red dress that looked like she had been poured into it. "And who might you be?"

He had entered the room to find blue-green eyes studying him with amusement, the woman lazing in a patch of cold wintery moonlight that spilled in through one of the tall windows in the wall.

He had never seen her before in his life, but suspected that she was about to become a significant feature.

"Friend of the family, baby," the woman smiled.

The brilliant smile reminded Draco strongly of his father. It was viewed as a genuine and almost friendly smile, but it had the underlying threat and controlled danger of a calculating and calm psychopath.

"And does this friend of the family have a name?" he asked, an air of disdain in his voice to hide the curiosity.

This wasn’t just one of father’s fancy girls.

He could tell that much by looking at her.

There was the same air about her that his father held. She looked casual, beautiful and warm, but the minute he met her eyes, he knew there was something beyond it, a pure, untamed animal rattling inside a cage, awaiting release.

"Call me Glory, baby," she replied, cocking her head coquettishly at him, her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders.

Draco slowly nodded, allowing his lips to lift in a smirk. "Glory," he murmured. "I believe you mentioned my father’s name. You are a...friend of his?"

"Percepto-boy, huh?" the woman laughed. It was, on the surface, a pleasant sound, but there was a chilling darkness in it that made the younger Malfoy shudder. It was a laugh like his father’s when he had just killed. "Yeah, I’m a friend of your daddy’s."

"And mother?"

Glory smirked at him. "Hey, I’m all up for a threeway if your momma is half as good-lookin’ as your daddy," her eyes skimmed over him speculatively and Draco felt like he had been stripped naked and dipped in honey or something equally lickable from the way she was leering at him, colour instantly blotching his cheeks. "And if daddy doesn’t mind goin’ halfs with his cutie-patootie little boy..."

"Embarrassing my son already?" Lucius Malfoy’s broke the awkward silence that had sprung up in the wake of her lewd suggestion and Draco and Glory both looked towards the door.

"Hey, sugar," Glory grinned broadly, as Lucius crossed the floor and rounded the couch to sit at the opposite end from her. "You didn’t tell me the boy had your looks."

"All with good reason, Glory," Lucius replied, a genuinely amused smirk on his lips as he surveyed his son. Draco shifted uncomfortably, pulling his robes in front of his body. "And my son apparently...appreciates the sentiment."

Draco scowled at his father. "Father, does mother know...?"

"Of course she does, my boy. There has never been a woman in this house whom Narcissa was not aware of," Lucius waved his hand imperiously. "Now, leave. Glory and I have a great deal to discuss."

Draco, teeth gritted together, nodded and turned to walk out. As he closed the doors of the room behind him, he saw his father pulling the gorgeous blonde towards him, their lips meeting in a savage kiss.

Just once, he mused, he had hoped father would respect mother.

Obviously, it was hoping for too much.

***

"Well done. That was a great improvement."

Buffy lowered the quarterstaff, pressing the tip against the ground and leaning on it, a dubious look on her face. "I dunno, Giles," she said, raising a hand to push her hair back from her face. "I...I’m losing my edge."

"Nonsense," her watcher said briskly. "You are a little out of practise, but you have had quite a few other considerations to take up your time, being such a good teacher for one thing. You simply need to re-establish a rhythm and get back into training."

The pair of them were in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, after hours, so Buffy could practise her Slayer skills and Giles had cleared the floor of desks with a wave of his wand.

They had sparred with quarterstaffs, fought with some of the selection of swords that Giles had been able to find around the school, used some of the furniture as a kind of obstacle course, but the Slayer still wasn’t satisfied.

"Maybe I should let you do the teaching thing, so I can get back into things," she said distractedly, batting away a knife that Giles had hurled at her head, still leaning on the staff. "Or maybe I can cut back on hours," Another knife was swatted aside.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Buffy," Giles answered, hurling the last knife.

Buffy caught it an inch from her head, by the blade. "You’re saying I could go one-on-one with Glory?" she asked, then seemed to realise that she had managed to avoid all the knives. "Uh, Giles, when did you get with the throwing?"

"Some time between the moment when you were complaining about your lack of skill and wallowing in self-pity," her watcher replied with an amused chuckle. "You deflected four and caught one, without even being aware of it. I would say your skills are only growing, despite your misgivings."

Tossing the knife in her hand, she grinned wryly. "I guess I’m just feeling kinda outta the loop since I don’t have to slay every night," she admitted, whirling as the door opened and launching the knife, a blush rising in her cheeks as the Head Master looked from the blade which was shivering in the wood, six inches from his head, then back to the Slayer. "Um..."

"Most impressive, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I’m sure you sent that as a warning."

"Actually," she replied, aware of the teasing twinkle in his eyes. "I missed."

He smiled slightly, looking around the classroom. "I had Argus report to me that there was some kind of disturbance in this room," he remarked conversationally. "I thought I ought to come down and make certain that no damage was being done."

"Don’t you trust us, Head Master?" Buffy feigned shock.

"Are Minerva and William in negotiations to take over the world?"

Hazel and green eyes blinked at the Head Master, who chuckled to himself and toyed with the end of his beard.

"Spike and McGonagall joining forces to take over the world..." Giles muttered to himself, shaking his head violently to dislodge the very disturbing mental image he had apparently been granted. "Dear God..."

Dumbledore hummed to himself cheerfully, as Buffy straightened up and handed her quarter staff back to Giles. "I do believe that William requested permission to keep London and Canada. Very odd young man..."

"Spike as very odd. There’s an understatement if I ever heard one," Buffy muttered with a shake of her head. Returning her attention to the Head Master, she asked. "Is there any word on Glory?"

"I am afraid not, Professor Summers, but I did hope I would find you here for a reason, you see," Hazel eyes met blue in question. "From what I witnessed, you feel you are unprepared for what lies ahead, do you not?"

"I guess, a little."

"Ahem?" Giles coughed.

"Okay, a lot. I don’t feel like I’m up to it anymore."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "That is a rather unfortunate position to be in, especially considering your duty," he agreed, a mild tone in his voice. "So I would like to propose a solution for you."

Shooting a glance at Giles, Buffy nodded. "Go on."

"The other members of staff and I will be able to provide you with a challenging training ground, so you may rebuild your confidence in your abilities. It will provide you with illusions of the creatures you battle and an element of the real that hand-to-hand training with a human would not provide. It may take a few days to arrange the charms and spells, but if you would like, we will provide it."

"You...you can do that?"

He sniffed primly. "Professor Summers, I am the Head Master," he answered. "I can do anything I like."

Buffy looked at her Watcher, jerking her thumb in Dumbledore’s direction. "And this guy is the guy you look up to as the safest and most responsible guy in the world, Giles? What are you? Crazy?"

Dumbledore and Giles just laughed.

***

Leaning forward on the edge of the table, Spike watched carefully as Professor Hermione Granger and Willow Weasley entered the Great Hall, both young women laughing as they made their way down towards the tables for breakfast.

They weren’t even touching one another, but there was a visible glow around them, their smiles as bright as the morning sunlight slanting in through the high windows and playing across the clear blue sky of the ceiling.

The corner of his lips lifted as they reached the Sunnydale table, their fingertips brushing briefly before Hermione hurried up to the staff table, Willow’s eyes hanging on the other witch as she slid into the seat opposite the vampire.

"Sooooooo..."

Jerking her attention from Hermione, Willow blushed as she looked across at the only other occupant of the table, the vampire smirking at her. "So what?" she asked, snatching some toast from the plate that had just appeared in front of her.

His elbow propped on the table, his chin cupped in his hand, Spike gave her a slow, lazy grin. "So, did you have a good night then, Red?"

Willow went red from her toes to the tips of her ears, her vain attempt to smother a smile in vain and she hastily ducked her head over her toast, keeping her eyes down as Xander and Anya approached.

"Hey, Will...and you," Xander sat down beside the red head, while Anya hurried around the table and dropped down next to Spike with a broad smile. It really did look like they were...up to something.

"How goes, Wanker?"

The muggle scowled at the vampire. "Don’t make me want to stake you anymore than you have to, Fangless," he replied. "And, just so you know, it goes good. Hagrid says he’s gonna take me to see his giant spider buddy."

"Ah, the thrilling lives we all lead," Spike heaved a sigh, then turned his attention back to Willow, eyes glinting with mischief. "So, Red, what did you get up to last night? Or down to? Or dare I say...into?"

"Spike!"

Anya stared at the witch. "Omigod! Willow has a new orgasm friend!"

Every first year at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables turned to stare, Anya’s voice ringing out as loudly as ever. The whispers rapidly spread up the tables like wildfire and Willow moaned miserably, burying her face in her arms. "Anya!"

"Willow?" Xander stared at her as well. "You..."

Willow groaned. "Does everyone have to know already?"

"Who is it?" her friend asked.

Green eyes rose. "Not telling yet," she mumbled. "We did kinda want it to be a bit of a secret until we were ready." Xander nodded in acceptance, giving her a smile that she knew meant he was relieved and happy for her.

On the other side of the vampire gave the former Vengeance demon a broad grin, which she returned with a scowl. "Told you so, demon-girl," he said, opening a hand, palm-up, in front of her. "Now, cough up."

"Wait a second!" Willow squeaked. "You were making bets on me getting together with someone?"

Spike turned innocent blue eyes to her. "Now, luv, why on earth would you think that?" he said, looking completely helpless. "Just because I locked the pair of you in a cupboard doesn’t mean I was trying to win anything."

A handful of galleons were slapped into his palm. "You cheated," Anya grumbled.

Pocketing his winnings, Spike snickered at the looks on both the witch and the ex-demon’s faces. "And you’re surprised and horrified by this?" he said. "What do I have to do to remind you that I’m evil?"

"Real evil," Xander smirked at him. "A real evil-matchmaker."

Much to the surprise of the other three at the table, Spike leaned back, grinning at them. "And I’m bloody good at it as well," he said, before swinging out onto his feet and leaving the hall.

***

Sprawled in Lucius Malfoy’s enormous bed, Glory lazily surveyed the human beside her, her eyes wandering over his body with undisguised interest, as he gazed at her through half-closed lids.

Not exactly old, he was in middle-age, and he had obviously worked hard to keep himself in good shape, his body lean, although not exactly muscular, his skin a whiter shade of pale than any human’s she had seen before.

Something told her that he wouldn’t tan, but she kinda liked it that way.

His lean, pointed face was just as pale, his eyes silver-grey like a pale storm cloud, just as a storm is about to break, although she had seem them darken to the deep hue of a thunderhead with building emotions.

His long, blond hair was his greatest luxury, she could tell, spreading around him like strands of silk.

Kneeling up on the bed, she let her eyes drift over his limbs, memorising each of them, a crease wrinkling her brow as she spotted a potential flaw in the human who had become her consort.

A mark on his left forearm.

A dark smudge against the pale skin.

Reaching for his arm, she leaned close to look at it, his right hand behind his head, as he watched her with lazy amusement.

"Luce, baby, what’s this?" she asked, gazing at the snake protruding from the mouth of a skull.

"The mark of my previous Master," he replied without a hint of embarrassment. She didn’t touch it yet, because sometimes, dark marks did have a tendency of biting the toucher on the ass. "You like?"

Glory wasn’t certain.

She could feel the unnatural prickle when her hand nearly touched the mark and was kind of curious.

"Looks kinda wigsome," she replied.

"It’s harmless," Lucius said, leaning back against the pillows. "The one who marked me is long gone now and that’s all that is left of him."

Glory looked at the mark again.

In that case, maybe it wouldn’t matter if she touched it...

***

Run and catch, run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch...

Buffy eased out of her four-poster bed, startled to realise that she must have slept in her clothes, her body clad in a creased cream shirt and dark blue trousers. Rubbing her eyes, she looked towards her sister’s bed, which was empty.

"Dawnie?"

"You better go," a voice said from the wall and she turned to the mirror, staring at her reflection. "Always counting down from seven-three-oh. Almost time for the door to be opened, big sister."

The Slayer blinked as her reflection swam into that of her sister Slayer. "F-Faith?"

"No rest for the wicked, B," Faith’s hand rose and spread on the inside of the glass and Buffy raised her own hand to touch it. She could feel the heat of Faith’s palm through the glass and gasped as their fingers interlocked. Faith gave her a sad smile through the mirror. "Gotta fight the good fight while you can. Wish I could be there to help, big sister. You know I’d be there running if I could be."

Staring at their joined fingers, Buffy lifted her face to the mirror to find her own reflection staring back at her. Her fingers were spread on the glass again and she shivered, withdrawing her hand.

"Buffy," Looking at the reflection of the room, she saw Dawn standing in the image of the doorway. "It’s coming."

Turning, the Slayer squinted in the sunlight, her sister no longer in sight. "Dawnie, where are you?" she called, hurrying towards the door. The hall was flooded with light, but it felt like she was bogged down in time as she tried to run.

The bright, warm light dimmed and waned, until the hall was flooded with pale, bluish moonlight and she finally reached the corridor, which opened out onto the Entrance Hall of the school.

Run and catch...

Descending the staircase, Buffy felt a shiver of unease, convinced that someone was moving around near her, but she could see no one. The Hall was dark and deserted, lit only by the light of the moon.

"Hey, baby," a voice purred from directly behind her and she spun around as soon as her feet touched the floor of the hall. Glory stood behind her, wearing a deep blue tracksuit, leaning against the marble banister, smiling.

Run and catch...

Buffy looked around. "What’s going on?"

"Tick tock, tick tock, Slayer," the Goddess replied. "Strike on seven three oh and the world falls down."

Buffy raised her eyes ceilingwards. "Always with the cryptic," she berated her subconscious. "Why can’t you ever just give me a book of evil plans and a post-it that says ‘This is what’s happening. Deal with it’?"

"Got to choose what to do, Slayer," another voice replied and she turned to find a young man, whom she vaguely recognised, standing where Glory had been, wearing the same clothing, gazing at her. "Got to know who to trust and who to fear."

Who was he?

Brown hair, nice eyes, nice smile...

"Ben?" The orderly from the hospital in Sunnydale was showing up in her freaky dreams? Oh, this was definitely not of the good. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as everyone, Slayer," he replied. "Remember where to place your trust." He nodded beyond her and she turned to see groups of people milling into the hall, some face familiar, others not.

"So you’re my guide?"

"Never said that, Slayer," Ben replied.

"And can I trust anything you say?"

There was a lop-sided grin on the man’s face. "Never said that either. Looks like you’re catching on to the game."

Moving out into the hall, Buffy’s eyes wandered the faces and she noticed a long, silver line of moonlight seemed to be bisecting the hall into two quadrants, the people moving and facing each other across the line.

The lamb...

A tall blond man caught her attention and he was opposite...Snapey?

She approached them both, watching as - in sync - they both undid the cuffs of their left sleeves and started to peel back the sleeves from their arms. She found herself shivering with unease as the fabric was rolled back.

"You gotta know, sweetie," Glory’s voice returned. "Gotta know who to trust."

Is caught...

Both men extended their left arms into the moonlight and Buffy gasped in horror at the sight of matching dark symbols burned into the pale skin of the arms of both of the men in front of her.

In the blackberry patch...

Her heart slammed against her chest.

"But he..."

"Gotta know, baby."

"Face it, Slayer," Spike’s voice reached her from further down the line. "You can never tell who you are, until you’re tested."

Shaking, Buffy stared at the vampire. He was several people down from Snapey and the people between them, she knew she should recognise. A tall, black-haired man with blue eyes, a slighter, more fragile-looking man with pale eyes, an aged man with nearly white eyes.

"Your words, Spike?"

The vampire’s lips lifted. "Borrowed words, luv, but the meaning is the same."

"All a matter of trust," the pale-eyed man murmured, gazing straight at her. "Have to find out where trust lies and where it can be placed. Do you trust the ones who come out of the dark enough?"

"Who are you?"

Lips arched up in a smile. "One of dark in the moonlight," the reply came. "Do you know, Summers?"

"Know what?"

"Where to trust, doofus," Dawn’s voice spoke from beside her, the brunette teenager grinning when Buffy turned to her. She was standing next to Snapey, practically holding his arm. "What? Like you were listening to anything anyone said."

"Dawnie, get away from him."

"You don’t get it, do you?" Dawn sighed.

"People change, Slayer," Spike agreed.

"From dark to light, singing and dancing in the moonlight," a shadowy figure, facing Spike, breathed in a hushed tone. "Like the man of books, bearing a mark that can’t be washed off with soap nor sugar candy."

"Giles," Buffy looked from one face to the other, then back at Snape. "You’re saying that he..."

"Gotta know, Slayer," Glory repeated. She was standing by the blond-haired man, a smile on her lips. Her hand was hovering over the dark tattoo on his arm. Buffy could feel a throbbing pain in the scar on her neck. "Gotta work it out."

Run and catch, run and catch...

She reached out to stop the Goddess touching the brand.

The lamb is caught...

Glory’s hand sealed over the mark on the blond man’s arm and Buffy heard the screams begin, whipping around to see Snapey on his knees on the floor, as the whole world around her rapidly faded to black.

In the blackberry patch.

***

Marking fifth year scrolls in the privacy of his chambers, Severus Snape was studiously avoiding the Great Hall, breakfast or anything that vaguely involved seeing Summers in any way, shape or form.

Pausing, he rubbed at his left arm again.

The fleshy part of his forearm. The sign of his greatest mistake remained there, never to disappear, a constant reminder of his folly and impetuous nature as a youth.

It had been twinging all morning, a little distracting and disconcerting.

And the most absurd thing was that he was actually convinced that, at any moment, he would be summoned to his Dark Master. The Dark Master who had been defeated three years earlier.

It was impossible.

Returning his attention to his scrolls, he rose from the desk to get a fresh bottle of ink from the shelves to his left.

And that was when the pain hit, smashing him to the stone floor like a massive fist.

***

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Everyone looked around in surprise at the shout of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, as she sprinted down the length of the Great Hall, her hair unbrushed and her clothing creased.

Rising, Dumbledore’s face revealed nothing, but those closest to him could see the concern in his eyes.

"Professor Summers?"

Panting as she skidded to a halt at the High Table, she clutched her chest, drawing huge gulps of breath. "I-I need to get the password to Snapey’s room," she gasped, her face flushed, looking as if she had just run laps of the castle to reach them.

"Severus’ room?"

Nodding, she swallowed down more air. "I had a dream..." Giles was on his feet at the end of the table, immediately hurrying closer and she lowered her voice. "A whole lot of people were in it...Snapey...Glory was in it...touched a mark on some guy’s arm and I heard screaming...Snapey was on the ground..."

"A mark?" Giles’ hand convulsively jerked to his right elbow.

"Super-wiggy mark right here," Buffy confirmed breathlessly, pointing to her left forearm. "Looked like a black snakey kinda thing with a skull on it."

Dumbledore’s blue eyes widened and he motioned for both of them to follow him, hurrying towards the side door of the Great Hall, Buffy ignoring bemused stares from her friends as she followed them.

"What else happened in this dream?"

Buffy, flanking one side of the Head Master, immediately filled in the details of the dream and the repeated questioning of whom to trust. "I wanna know something," she said carefully. "Snapey is a good guy, right?"

"Absolutely," Giles nodded in affirmation.

"He may have had flaws in the past, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said quietly, as they hurried down the long halls and darkening staircases of the castle, towards the dungeons. "But like your Giles, he has fought long and hard to overcome them."

They reached the painting that lead into the Potions Professor’s chamber and the Head Master knocked on the frame. "Severus?" he called, his voice louder and more powerful than Buffy had heard it before.

No response came from within the room.

Laying his hand on the painting, Dumbledore muttered rapidly under his breath, his eyes closed and brow writ with concern.

"The doorway has sealed itself tight. I will have to trigger the release mechanism that Severus left with me from my office," he said, pulling away from the painting and looking at them both. "Giles, I do believe that Buffy is right about Severus, so I would suggest you go to Poppy and have her ready the infirmary," Nodding, Giles hurried away. "Buffy, remain here. When the painting opens, see what you can do. If he is unconscious, get him to the medical wing immediately."

Nodding, Buffy shivered as soon as the Head Master was out of sight, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn’t even taken the time to grab a sweater and the halls and dungeons weren’t exactly known for being warm.

Pacing back and forth, she waited anxiously for the trigger to work. It seemed like an eternity before the painting made a soft clicking around and swung open.

The lights of the dim little room were cast across the figure of the usually tall and imposing potions Master, shivering in a ball on the floor, his body shuddering with violent convulsions.

"Snapey," Buffy was on her knees by his side in a heartbeat, gently shifting him into a semi-sitting position. "Can you hear me?"

"In pain...not deaf...woman..." he gritted out, his teeth clattering together.

"And there’s the moody prick that we all know so well," she replied, her arm behind his shoulders, holding him up.

His face was whiter than usual, his whole body utterly rigid. His eyes were streaming with tears, although the Slayer got the feeling that he wasn’t crying. They were just tears and they signified how much pain he was in.

"Want me to take you to the medical wing?"

His teeth grit together, he jerkily shook his head. "Not now...need..." She followed his line of sight to the numerous bottles that neatly lined the shelves on the wall. "The pale blue... red label..."

Laying him down, Buffy nodded, scrambling up to find the bottle and returning to his side. "Now what?"

Even in spite of the pain, he gave her a condescending look. "Open it," he replied hoarsely. His body was still shaking violently, his right hand convulsively squeezing on his shuddering left forearm.

"Ew! It stinks!"

There was a peculiar glint in his eyes. "You’re not...drinking it..." he replied, raising a hand to take the bottle, but his rigid fingers made it impossible to grip. A look of angry humiliation crossed his face. "Dammit..."

"No biggie," Buffy steadied his shoulders again. "How much do you need?"

"All of it," he replied, his jaw clenched.

"So open up and I’ll help you."

"Help...me?"

Buffy had to smile. "Would you stop being stubborn and let me give you your weird-ass medicine already?" Snape scowled at her, but reluctantly let her trickle the pale fluid into his mouth. "Now, do I gotta burp you?"

"Summers," he growled.

"See," she grinned at him. "You’re feeling better already. Now, I have to take you to Madam Pomfrey, or else Giles’ll have run all the way across the school for no reason and he would be cranky."

Snape looked like he was about to protest, but she gave him a look and hooked her arms under his body, lifting him up as easily as she might lift a toddler.

"This looks absurd," he muttered darkly, hoping in vain that no one would see him in this most undignified position. Even if they did, he wouldn’t have been able to move his body to hex them.

"Well, at least you don’t have your ass in the air this time," Buffy reminded him cheerfully, starting briskly out of the portrait hole and in the direction of the infirmary wing, her grip on him secure as he continued to shiver violently.

"Yes," he had to admit under his breath. "That is a small blessing."

***

"You okay, baby?"

Practically buried into the wall of his bedroom, which he had slammed up against the moment his Dark Mark had been activated by her touch, Lucius Malfoy raised pain-filled eyes to Glory, who was looking rather bemused and amused.

"Actually," he hissed, in a voice laced with blinding agony, his cheeks flushed. "I feel like I have had fifty hot pokers rammed into a rather painful orifice of my anatomy, but thank you for asking."

Glory shrugged with a smile. "Sucks to be you."

"It’s your fault, you blasted woman! You didn’t inform me that you were connected to the dark magics!"

She actually laughed aloud and mockingly at that. "What part of ‘Supreme Goddess of several Hell Dimensions’ didn’t spell out in big letters than I am pure, one hundred percent bad-girl, Goldielocks?"

"Ah."

Glory snickered. "You’re so dumb."

"I resent that."

"And?" she smirked at him. "I’m way more powerful than you and you can’t do anything but piss and moan at me, until I wipe out all the mudbloods that you make such a big deal about."

Lucius scowled. "You could do...something...about the pain."

"No can do, baby, I give pain, I don’t take away...unless you want for me to distract you," As an implication of her intentions, she dropped her bathrobe. "I’m real good at posing a distraction."

Lucius looked torn between whimpering in pain or sarcastically contradicting her.

Fortunately for him, her tongue in his mouth did prove something of a distraction.

***

"Is he gonna be all right?"

Barely an hour had passed since Professor Severus Snape had been liberated from his own chambers and carried all the way to the medical wing, by the diminutive blonde, for treatment for some kind of...reaction.

Snape was puzzled, although he tried to conceal it.

His Dark Mark, the scar he would eternally bear for his folly as a youth, had only ever been triggered by Lord Voldemort. It had been placed by him and could, as far as Snape had known, only be activated by his touch.

Something had activated it, though.

Something with more malevolent power than the Dark Lord had ever had.

Something that had convinced him his body was going to split itself apart. It was far worse then cruciatus had ever been and he only hoped that there hadn’t been any lasting damage.

Lying on the bed, his head throbbing where it lay on the pillows, he couldn’t even manage to lift a hand, though not for the want of trying. Tilting his head a fraction, a groan escaping him, he caught the sound of voices.

"He should live," Poppy replied. "Its lucky you went to check up on him, Professor Summers."

Madam Pomfrey was talking to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor in a low voice near his curtained-off area and Severus Snape couldn’t help listening in on the conversation in confusion.

Summers had been the one to know to seek him out, out of concern?

Fan-bloody-tastic.

"I had no idea you had the sight."

Oh dear Lord...

As if being a female, a Vampire Slayer, a muggle, an American, a blonde, a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, a general irritation and the splinter imbedded under his skin, she was a bloody Seer as well.

Wonderful.

"Sometimes I just get bad feelings about things," Summers demurred politely. "No big deal really."

Well, well, that was different.

Someone who ‘saw’, but didn’t brag about it.

"But if you hadn’t known to go and check on him, Professor Summers," Pomfrey continued doggedly. "I do quite honestly believe that his heart would have given up on him. This...attack was far worse than anything I’ve seen him suffer before."

Snape blinked in surprise.

Yes, it had been painful, but that much worse?

Good grief...

A mental groan escaped him as he realised what that meant.

Bloody wonderful.

He owed Summers, SUMMERS of all people, his life.

As if that bloody debt to James Potter hadn’t been enough, so many years ago, now he had another enemy who had stuck their nose in and saved his life when he hadn’t asked them too.

Why, he wondered, didn’t I just have Voldemort Avada Kedavra me when I still had the chance?

There was a muffled discussion that he couldn’t quite hear, then the drapes around his bed part, to allow the person he wanted to see least entry, an odd expression on her face.

"Hey Snapey, you big faker," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed he was still unable to walk off, making it impossible for him to escape her. His body, while it was shivering less violently, was still convulsing, aching and annoyingly weak.

"Summers." He closed his eyes momentarily, then spoke again, his throat raw with pain. "I suppose I ought to be grateful to you."

Tilting her head, she studied him pensively. "I guess you heard what the little nursey witch said, huh?" He dipped his chin slightly in a nod. "How’d’you think I felt when you jumped in on my dream?"

A brow rose. "You...have dreams of me, Summers?" he smirked slightly, although it was still painful to even breathe. "I see... you simply annoy me...to get closer..."

"No! You pervert!" His lips quirked in a smug smirk. "You really are a big jerk," she looked like she wanted to hit him, shaking her head. "And you better get your ass up and about again soon. I don’t have anyone to annoy."

"Pity."

"Don’t sound so disappointed," she scowled down at him. "I was gonna stay and annoy you here, I’m not real good at being a visitor in hospital places so I can’t stay here very long."

"Oh?" He tried desperately not to tell her to depart immediately, trying to remain even a little civil. "And why is that?" A pained look crossed her face and she actually looked serious for a moment, much to his astonishment. "Summers?

"My mom had a cancer scare a few months ago," she replied quietly, her eyes on her hands that were folded in her lap. "Brain tumour," She laughed, a tight, restrained sound that suggested the memory had her close to tears. "Kinda a shock for the girl who slays all bad things to not be able to do anything to help."

The Potions Professor stared at her. He had never considered that before. That, while she had super-hero abilities, her family, her mother...they were just mortal. Normal humans. And for her to reveal this to him...

"Summers..."

She raised her eyes that looked strangely exhausted for one so young, missing Snape’s shocked look and smiled, although it was strained. "Hey! She’s okay now but I’m still wigged by hospitals. Plus, there was a whole Kinderstod thing... way wiggy... with the creepy, stalky eyes and everything..."

Severus blinked at her. She had the concentration span of a flea, when it came to conversation and he had no idea how she could jump topic so easily. "What the devil are you babbling about?"

"Long story," she replied. "Could tell you, but since you’d sneer and roll your eyes, so I don’t think I’ll bother." Standing up, she ran a hand through her tangled and unbrushed hair. "And ick. Looks like I’m trying to copy your hair-style."

"How flattering," Snape muttered.

"I try," she grinned, before walking back to the drapes. "You get better, kay? I have so many things to bug you with."

"I’m alive with anticipation," he returned dryly, receiving a chuckle from her. She paused halfway out of the drapes, then turned to him, her brow wrinkling pensively as she studied him and, more significantly, his covered arm. "Is there something else?"

"The mark thing on your arm," All right, that was unexpected. From what he heard, Death Eaters had never reached America, so how did she know of his mark. "Did a lot of people have them?"

"What does it matter?"

The Slayer’s face was wrought with concentration. "If there were only a few of you, maybe you would know the guy who Glory touched to make it...well, to do whatever it was that made you hurt..." she said, returning to sit on the edge of the bed. "He’s the guy who has to be helping her."

The Potions master tried to deal with the flurry of facts that she had thrown at him.

It was impossible that she knew everything that she appeared to.

Giles and Dumbledore would never have told her of his past without his direct consent, but here she was, presenting him with a list of reasons for him being in pain, which made considerable sense.

She knew about the Dark Mark, which was an impossibility in itself. Even Giles and Dumbledore assumed that it was gone, so this slip of an annoying little girl knowing about it was...odd to say the least.

It was Glory who had triggered the mark. That made a lot of sense, considering what he had heard about the Hell Goddess.

Summers had realised that Glory touching the mark had been the thing to trigger it, causing the pain which had lead her to finding him. She really was quite bright, in spite of what he had initially thought.

There was an in-betweener for the wizarding world and the Hell-Goddess, who was a Death Eater. That also made a frightening amount of sense, especially is she had contact with the Dark Mark.

Struggling to sit up, Severus arched a brow when Summers eased an arm under his ribs and hefted him up to rest against the pillows behind his back. While not exactly gentle, it helped. "How did you know of my mark?"

"Slayer dreams," she replied nonchalantly, as if prophetic dreams were normal, run-of-the-mill things. "It’s where I saw the guy. He’s kinda tall, maybe a bit taller than you. He had long hair, white or grey...light-coloured, expensive-looking clothes and he looked really sleazy."

Resting his head against the end of the bed, Snape exhaled a breath. "Malfoy," he said softly. He should have known. Without Voldemort, Lucius would be wanting to jump on the coat tails of the most powerful person around.

"Nuh-uh," Summers shook her head. "I’ve met Malfoy-guy in diagonally place. This guy was older."

"How old was the Malfoy you encountered?"

She shrugged. "Same age as me, I guess."

"His son."

A pained look crossed her face. "Shoulda known he’d want to get back at me for what I did to Junior."

Black eyes studied her. "Oh?"

"Um...kinda kicked his skanky ass when he put the imperial whammy on me."

"The imperius curse?" Severus felt his brows knitting together, when she nodded. If Malfoy had been within strangling distance, he would have grabbed the boy and throttled him for daring to even look at Summers the wrong way.

After all, he hastily added, using the imperius curse is bad, very, very bad. It wasn’t because it was on Summers in particular. He would have throttled Malfoy for using the curse on anyone.

And no, he mused, that was in no way denial of any kind.

"You...okay, Snapey? You look like someone just shoved that stick even further up your ass."

Ah, that was why he despised her.

"Summers, you know who your assailant is," he said, his eyes closed wearily. "I would suggest that you go and talk him to death and leave me. I have suffered your company for long enough today."

"You really have to work on the subtle thing you got going there," Summers said, her tone very different to the one she usually used. "You rest up cos I don’t wanna have to find a new enemy in the school, since you’re so good at it."

"Such a compliment," he murmured heavily.

He heard the swish of the drapes being pushed through and exhaled a sigh, as her high-heeled boots clicked away into the distance.

Slayer or not, Summers was a puzzle and an irritation all in one form. Despite being saviour of the world a dozen times over at least, she was still nothing more than a dizzy little blonde woman.

They were the one thing Snape knew he could never and would never understand, no matter how much he tried to comprehend them.

They, on the whole, were safer to be avoided.

Summers in particular.

***

"So Glory is...here?"

Buffy, sitting on the end of Willow’s bed, squeezed her hands between her knees. "I think she’s on her way," she admitted, looking around at their group. The Scoobies were reunited in the tower room, discussing Buffy’s dream.

Hermione had been utterly fascinated by the idea of the prophesy dreams of the Slayer, although Buffy had quickly convinced her that they weren’t a fun gift to have, especially involving blood, vampires and death.

"You said something about seven-three-oh...do you think that’s important?"

The Slayer’s brow wrinkled. "I-I think it could be," she said. "I remember when I was unconscious, just before Graduation, I had a dream and Faith was in it...she said something about counting down from seven-three-oh there."

Sitting on the thick carpet on the floor at Buffy’s feet, with Willow beside her, Hermione made notes, the red head occasionally leaning over her shoulder to point something out on the page.

Xander ran a hand through his hair. He was leaning against the end of Hermione‘s bed, his knees upraised, one hand resting on his right knee. "So we’ve got some good guys who have been in bad places coming to help. Any idea who they are?"

Buffy considered for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. "Spike was there and you guys, I think," she replied thoughtfully. "There was an older guy with black hair and blue eyes. He looked real sad..."

"Sirius!" Willow gasped. "Of course!"

Dawn’s eyes went wide. "Sirius Black?"

"Of course!" Hermione added her exclamation to Willow’s, squeezing the red-haired witch’s knee. "He’ll be willing to fight and he’ll probably bring Harry and all your brothers along too."

"An army of Reds," Spike smirked. "If that doesn’t scare them, nothing will."

"I still owe you a staking, Mister!" Willow pointed threateningly at the vampire, who leered back at her, making sure that she noticed his eyes wandering over both her and her lover. "Or...I could poof ya!"

Hermione slapped Willow lightly on the knee, laughing. "You’re terrible."

"What I miss?" Xander demanded, looking bemused.

"In Willow’s very first potions lesson, she made a bottle of something for Snape that would alter his sexuality," Hermione informed them. Buffy choked, Xander gagged, Dawn burst out laughing and Spike’s grin widened.

"I knew there was a reason he liked you, Red," the vampire said. "Bet he slipped a little something into Dumbledore’s tea to get revenge for all those annoying little things the old bloke has done to him."

"And who would Dumbledore go after if he was...uh...that way?"

"You haven’t noticed Flitwick’s mad passionate crush on old Dumble, then?" Spike roared with laughter at the expression and fraught sounds of disgust and horror from around the room. "Kidding!"

Dawn’s face was twisted in a nauseous expression. "Ew...just...ew. Scary visual place... and did I mention the ew-ness?"

"Guys, come on," Anya was actually the one to call attention back to the matter at hand. "Evil Hell Goddess is on her way here and I don’t want to die yet. Can we come up with a plan that doesn’t involve us all being killed and maimed? Or at least a plan that won’t get me killed or maimed?"

Buffy sighed. "No one is gonna get killed or maimed, Anya," she said calmly. "Not as long as I can help it. We know that the Lucius-guy is the one helping Glory and he’s kinda hard to miss. Glory won’t be able to come straight to Hogwarts because of protection spells and everything. They’d have to come into the castle and that’s where we’re stronger than them."

"That’s right," Hermione noted, looking up from her notebook. "That would give us plenty of advanced warning as well."

"So what’s the plan? Do we sleep with stakes and knives under the pillow?"

"If that bakes your cookies, Xan, you do that," the Slayer smiled. "For now, I think we’re safe. Professor Dumbledore is working on more powerful protection spells and Anya," The ex-demon looked apprehensive. "He says you can probably help him with ancient protection rites and you guys," she looked down at Willow and Hermione, who squeezed each other’s hands. "You’re doing the brainy thing to work out what the dream deal is. Especially Ben. I don’t know where he came from."

"What can I do?" Dawn asked eagerly.

Buffy gave her a direct look. "You can do the school work mom sent for you and stay out of trouble," she said.

Dawn scowled. "Being a teenager sucks."

***

"You didn’t inform me that your little tramp was a seer."

Rupert Giles almost shot out of the seat in fright at Severus’ calm voice. Clutching his chest, he gave the younger man a dark look. "At least be kind enough to let me know you’re conscious, you pillock."

Still half-seated, half-lying on the bed in the medical wing, Snape looked like he should have been unconscious, his eyes barely slitted open, his face whiter than the sheet that Madam Pomfrey had tucked over him.

Had he the energy or physical strength, he would have immediately departed to return to his chambers. He hated being confined to the medical wing, viewing it as a sign of uselessness.

Unfortunately, he didn’t even have the strength to lift a hand and - as Giles had believed - he looked half-dead.

Snape’s lips curved in a smirk. "That would reduce the entertainment factor," he replied, shifting slightly to look at Giles, his breath wheezing in his lungs. "I trust you know what left me in this pitiful condition?"

"Glory, Lucius Malfoy and a dark mark connection," Giles nodded grimly. "How are you feeling?"

"Painful," Snape replied, his black eyes half-closed, then fixed Giles with a steady look. "Your Slayer knew."

The Watcher nodded. "I should have mentioned it when we arrived," he admitted it, sighing. "All Slayers are cursed with the sight, but only usually in dreams or waking dreams. It has been a cause of great emotional disturbance for Buffy in the past. She has a deep connection with her dreams now, so when you appeared..."

"She knew of the Mark. Where it was. No seer..."

"Her dreams show her everything, Sev, albeit cryptically," Giles said. "Whoever it is that sends her the dreams doesn’t care that she’s not meant to know about the mark, only that she needs to know it’s important."

"So she knows what I was?"

Green eyes met black. "She suspected anyway, Sev."

"Which is why she dislikes me so."

"Don’t be absurd," Giles shook his head. "She dislikes you for being an arrogant imperialist who looks better in black than she does and who can resist her makeover efforts. She wouldn’t dislike you for irrational choices made in your youth. Her own friends have made serious errors in judgement and she stands by them. Demon possession, notwithstanding." He looked down, then smiled slightly. "She even fell in love with a vampire."

Snape made an odd clicking sound in his throat, which Giles interpreted as shock and an inability to vocalise that shock with undoing all Madam Pomfrey’s work.

"Yes, a vampire, Sev, and don’t look so stunned. It was only Angelus."

"Angelus?!?"

"Souled."

Struggling to keep his eyes on Giles’ face, his vision blurring a little, Snape blinked at his friend. "You’re telling me..." he said carefully. "That your little...hussy was in love with the souled Angelus?"

"They were in love with one another," Giles answered quietly. "It could have been one of the most tragic love-stories ever composed. To comprehend Buffy, you must be able to comprehend what she has lived through."

He then proceeded to detail the tale of how the soul had been lost and Angelus had been evil once more, leaving Buffy with the responsibility of sending the man she loved to hell, when his soul had been returned in the middle of their final battle.

When he finally fell silent, he was gazing at a rumple in his trousers, as Snape stared straight up at the ceiling in shock.

"How old was she?"

"She fell in love with him when she was barely more than a child," Giles replied in a low voice. "She was sixteen. He was in his second century. There was something of an age gap, but they were truly in love. I think it almost killed her when she had to be the one to destroy him. She was seventeen when he turned bad, seventeen and a half when she finally defeated him."

Snape’s expression tightened, a line appearing between his brows. "She...she has suffered a great deal for one so young," he said it as a simple statement.

"Far too much, if the truth can be told," Giles admitted quietly. "Which is one of the reasons that I’m so glad that she could be brought here. Five years as the guardian of the gates of Hell is enough for any one little girl."

"And you fob her off onto me."

The watcher smiled. "You’re the only one, including Dumbledore, who might be able to provide the mental challenge she needs to keep herself from going insane, Sev, and vice versa for you. Neither of you have had a real challenge from another human in many moons."

Severus actually chuckled softly. "It is growing harder to catch her off-guard," he freely admitted. "She suspects everything now."

Giles nodded. "I’m sure you’ll manage something," he said. "Can’t disappoint her now, can we?"

"You will regret pitting us against one another, Rupert, I promise you."

A Ripperish grin was flashed down at the younger man. "I can’t wait," Giles said, green eyes glittering. "It’s going to be spectacular."


Chapter 39: Lessons & Logic

Poring over the creased sheet of parchment she had...borrowed from her lover’s pad, Willow Weasley’s attention was focused on solving the riddle provided by Buffy’s dream the day before.

Unfortunately, she was in a class.

She was in a class and unaware that everyone was looking at her, as the teacher gave her an exasperated look, one of his hands on his hip, the other tapping his wand against his knee.

"Miss Weasley."

"Hold on a second," Willow replied without looking up, marking some notations down on the page.

"Miss Weasley."

Holding up a hand, she started to scribble down a new thought, splitting seven, three and oh into columns, wondering briefly if there were any pillars in the school with the three numbers on them.

An elbow jabbed her sharply in the ribs and she yelped, flashing a hurt look at Leon Mzimba, who was jerking his head to the front of the class, where Professor Flitwick was looking down at her from his stack of books.

It was the first time she had ever seen the Charms teacher look serious and perhaps even a little bit angry.

"May I ask what you find so interesting, Miss Weasley?"

"Um..."

White eyebrows rose. "A secret, perhaps?"

"I’m not allowed to say it out loud," she mumbled, blushing beetroot, wondering what her classmates would say if she announced that she and her friends were trying to find a way to save the world.

Again.

"If that is the case, Miss Weasley, perhaps you would be kind enough to keep it for outside the class," Flitwick said calmly. "After all, it is known that charms is your weakest subject."

Willow went scarlet, her ears burning and gripped her quill tightly.

"Accio this and see if you think it’s important," she mumbled, scribbling down just what she was working on, on the page and folding it, before holding the sheet in the direction of the teacher.

Flitwick summoned the sheet with a flick of his wand and unfolded it, his eyes scanning down the words. Much to his credit, he managed to contain his shock, only uttering a little squeak of surprise.

Folding the page again, he gave her a look.

"While this is a valid subject for study," he said, his voice even squeakier than usual, his eyes holding hers. "I would prefer if you kept it outside the class, lest it fall into innocent hands. Retrieve your page, if you will."

Willow nodded, withdrawing her wand to summon the page back.

Unlike the rest of the first years she usually studied with, Willow had been given some additional and more advanced charms to learn, although she was still having trouble with her wand control.

Flitwick landed squarely in her lap.

Everyone else in the combined first year class burst out laughing at the surprised look on the teacher’s face and the one of absolute mortification on Willow’s.

"Um...hi, Professor," she said sheepishly.

Leon, who was sitting beside her, was giggling as much as Flitwick was. "At least you managed to summon it properly, Willow," he pointed out, grinning from ear-to-ear. "And the Professor didn’t combust."

"Yeah, that’s progress," Willow admitted, her face redder than her hair as she lifted Flitwick back down onto the floor and let him hurry back to his little stand where he taught from.

"And now," Flitwick announced, as he climbed back onto the stand. "Since Miss Weasley has finally decided to pay attention and has mastered the basic summoning charm, perhaps we can move on to the lesson."

Tucking her page away, Willow blushed again and promised herself that she would pay full attention to every class from then in.

***

"It appears that we are going to have some guests soon."

Pausing over the cup of coffee she was drinking, Professor McGonagall looked at the Head Master, along with most of the other members of staff. "Are these guests of the good or bad variety, Albus?"

Pacing across the floor, Dumbledore looked seriously around at them. "As you all know, trouble has been brewing since the Hell Goddess has been seeking her key. It is because of her Severus was incapacitated and I’m afraid that he is not the only one to have been affected by Glory."

"So what’s the what?" Professor Summers asked. She was sitting around one of the tables with Professor Granger and Professor Flitwick who, after seeing the riddle they were struggling with, had decided to provide his aid where possible. "Who is it?"

"Harry Potter."

Several gasps sounds around the room and Granger’s eyes closed.

"His scar," she whispered. "I should have known. Is..." she looked up at Dumbledore in consternation. "Is he all right, Head Master?"

"He is currently in St Mungo’s, Hermione," Dumbledore answered gravely. "While Severus’ pain centred from his arm and affected the rest of his body by degrees, Mr. Potter’s radiated through his skull first. He regained consciousness this afternoon."

"Harry? Will’s brother-in-law?" Granger nodded. "Okay, I am so kicking some Hell-Goddess ass!"

"Do not react rashly, Buffy," Dumbledore suggested, making a calming gesture with one hand. "Harry will be fine, but he is being brought here tomorrow, for the same sanctuary that was provided for your sister."

"Willow’ll freak," Buffy murmured. "She hates it when anyone she knows gets hurt, especially family."

Granger glanced at the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Where is she anyway?" she asked casually. "I don’t remember seeing her since she went to charms this morning."

"She said that she knew of someone who might be able to solve the puzzle of this dream," Flitwick put in brightly. "She said something about him being a ‘master of the sneaky and cryptic like he was in the books.’"

Hermione Granger’s eyes went wide. "Of course!" she exclaimed, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense. "How on earth could we have forgotten that he was the one who developed the logic puzzle protecting the stone?"

"Huh?" Summers looked blankly at them.

"Snape," Hermione replied, smiling broadly. "If anyone can solve cryptic puzzles, it would be Snape."

"Snapey?"

Professor Flitwick beamed across the table at her. "Severus, your closest friend," he said cheerfully, giggling when she flashed a dark look at him. "Everyone forgets that the dear fellow is really very clever."

"A smart ass, you mean," Summers muttered.

Flitwick gave her a thoroughly naughty look. "Oh and he has one of them too."

Summers and Granger stared at him, very proud of themselves when they managed to actually blink.

***

The pain had finally receded so that he could breathe clearly once more, the wheezing rattle cleared from his lungs. The ache in his bones still lingered, but it was bearable, under the influence of various numbing potions.

Seated in the dungeons, Severus Snape had never been more relieved to leave the infirmary wing than he had that morning.

It had taken some convincing on his part to persuade Madam Pomfrey that he was well enough to be left on his own. To prove his point, he had stood up and scowled at her, until she had relented and told him he could go.

Of course, he had passed out on the bed as soon as the little medi-witch disappeared through the drapes, but that didn’t matter now. He was out of the wing and back in the security of his favoured surroundings.

Since he had returned, the younger Summers had already invaded, bringing with her a small cauldron full of a near-perfect draught of Angel’s Kiss, an obscure potion for pain relief, which she claimed to have found just ‘kinda lying around...in places’.

Lying around.

The answer only a teenager could come up with.

He smiled slightly, delighted that the girl had actually used her initiative and decided to try to brew some potions without his direct order. She had a genuine gift with the subject and he was pleased to see her testing herself.

That she had managed to brew Angel’s Kiss with only the most basic of ingredients was impressive.

It has worked remarkably well too, which had truly surprised him.

He would have to keep a closer eye on her, lest she try something too advanced and bold, in case anyone was caught in the flow by accident or design.

A quiet but firm tap on the door caused him to raise his eyes.

"Enter."

The door creaked open, a sylph-like figure easing into the room, her loose red hair around her pale face - still vivid in spite of the shadows of the class - making her instantly recognisable to him.

"Miss Weasley," he murmured. "This is a surprise."

It had been weeks since she had been in the class.

After the success of her first class and many discussions among other members of the staff, it was decided that - for the rest of Autumn term - Weasley would focus on eradicating her weaknesses, so she could join the senior classes in the new year.

This had meant that her sessions in the potions classes - where she was already up to the standard of the seniors - were replaced with additional charms, transfiguration and arithmancy classes, which were her greatest weakness.

Walking briskly forward, the red head gave him a smile as she drew nearer the desk he was sitting at. "I figured that I’ve been letting Buffy do all the annoying, so it’s my turn now," she said.

"Indeed," A brow lifted. "You seem very sure that you can irritate me."

"I made you laugh once. I can annoy you."

There was a lazy chuckle. "That was before your charming friend with the everso natural blonde hair became involved in the scenario, Miss Weasley. You are the gnat of annoying, while Summers is the great white shark."

She pulled a face at him. "Says you."

"Obviously," he smirked, his eyes hooded. "And you are here for what purpose, other than to attempt to outdo your...associate’s skill at being painful?"

A sheet of paper was slapped down on the desk in front of him. "Actually, I’m here for an important reason," Weasley replied, her expression turning serious. "I know you’re a real smart guy..."

"Your perception astounds me, Weasley, but I would hardly consider it a subject of great import."

A huff of annoyance escaped her nostrils. "Will you let me finish?" He made a graceful gesture for her to continue with one hand, a smirk on his lips.

Weasley was so much easier to agitate than Summers. She had a giddy nervousness that flared up from time-to-time when she was both annoyed and afraid, which he found very amusing. Summers, on the other hand, tended to react in similar ways to all situations: by biting back when bitten.

"Buffy had a wiggy dream and we’re trying to work out what it means and since you’re uber-cryptic lurking guy and did that potions puzzle thing when Harry and everyone were going after the Philosopher’s stone..."

"That was mere logic," he interrupted in a level tone. "There was no...uber-cryptic, as you so eloquently phrase it, involved, Weasley, so if you would be kind enough to elaborate on your presence and why it continues to infect my atmosphere."

"You’re doing the interrupty thing again!" She pointed a finger at him. "This is way important and if you would stop with the interruptions, I would get to the explaining and everything!"

Snape chuckled softly. "Explain then, Miss Weasley. Why are you here?"

"Uh..." She looked a little stunned that he had asked the question directly.

"How very eloquent you are, for an American."

"Hey!"

"And so patriotic," he added with a smirk. "I am still awaiting an answer, Miss Weasley. What is contained in the document you are beating against my desk and is it of significance pertaining to your presence here?"

"Huh?" she stared at him, then looked down at the page beneath her hand, which was looking rather...rumpled. "Oh! Yeah! Paper-thing - its the stuff Buffy remembers from her dream and we’re still trying to work out what it means, so I kinda brought it to you, to see if you could stop being Mister Cranky Ass for once and do something helpful with it."

"Mister Cranky Ass," Snape echoed dryly, the words sounding absurd with his very proper English intonation. "You really are doing very little to champion your case by insulting me, Miss Weasley."

She glared at him and his smirk widened. "No wonder Buffy thinks you’re an annoying jerk," she mumbled.

"And I am less than interested in the wonderful Miss Summers’ opinion in me," he replied lazily. A pale-skinned hand unfurled. "If I may...?"

Shoving the folded sheet into his hands, Weasley crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but it had a less than intimidating effect. Honestly, she was about as terrifying as a kitten.

Smoothing out the page, he looked down at the scribbled words. "Is the dream written down in sequence?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do try and say ‘yes’, Weasley," he sighed, not looking up from the sheet before him. "Even your limited American lexis should be sufficient to allow a simple, three-letter, one-syllable sound of concurrence."

"Would you stop being all picky about the way I speak?"

"But you make it so easy, Miss Weasley," he replied, his glinting eyes rising to her, his lips curving.

She looked angry, but that still did nothing to make him quiver in his boots. Her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance and her cheeks were flushed almost as dark red as her hair.

"I’m gonna tell Buffy you were being a cranky jerk," she said.

"My God, I am positively shaking with fear," he replied dryly, his eyes back on the page. "Tell me, Weasley, when was this graduation incident, when Summers had the first dream that mentioned seven-three-oh?"

"It was a year and a half ago, in the summer in 1999," Weasley answered, sounding a little confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Picking up his quill, Snape dipped it into the ink well, then started to write in the margin of the page. "Summers stated that this...Faith girl claimed she was ‘counting down from seven-three-oh’, correct?"

"Yeah...yes."

Snape’s eyes rose to the red head and he almost smiled as she corrected herself and tilted her chin defiantly. "If you are counting down, that does suggest that you are leading to a certain time, does it not?"

"I-I guess so."

"Then," he continued slowly, writing steadily in the margin as he did so. "You must consider what you are counting down from. Since this number has been mentioned again, recently, and is once again pertaining to a countdown, it would suggest that it was not counting down in seconds, minutes or hours, but in days or weeks. I would believe it to be days, which would mean seven-three-oh would be seven hundred and thirty days."

"Oh!"

"And, when seven hundred and thirty days are halved, you are left with two sets of three hundred and sixty-five."

"And there are three hundred and sixty five days in a year!"

Snape nodded, smothering a smile. "How very astute you are, Miss Weasley. Thank you for finally bothering to catch up. Now, if my assumptions are correct, it means that whatever is coming will happen two years after the first dream, which will be some time in the next six months."

"That is SO obvious!"

"And yet, you were not aware of it until I pointed it out to you, Weasley," he said, flexing his aching hand slowly. "Obviously, your powers of observation are inherited from your father, who did not notice that your mother was pregnant until she handed him the child."

"Don’t you insult my parents!"

"You have obviously never heard the tale of your eldest brother’s birth, have you, Weasley?" Snape said, an odd, amused twinkle in his black eyes. "But now, back to this dream. Am I correct in assuming that the bisection of the hall is symbolic of the two sides who will be involved?"

The witch studied him, then looked at the paper. "Buffy thinks so," she replied, pointing to the sketch that the Slayer had done of the positions. "There are more people on our side, which is good, but she said there were a lot on theirs as well. The blond guy is the main one."

"And this ‘Ben’ character. What role does he play?"

"He was an orderly at the hospital when Buffy’s mom was ill, but we don’t know why he was there. He looked like a totally normal kinda guy...at least normal in the Hellmouthy way, with no horns, fangs or tail or anything."

Snape rubbed the hollow of his cheek with his thumb pensively. "Interesting. Do trivial elements of Summers’ life often feature in her dreams?"

"Not unless they’re real important."

There was a long silence, as the Professor looked over the drawing again, his brows creasing in thought.

"She stated that Glory was behind her, here," he said, pointing to the staircase in the small sketch. "Then, when she turned away briefly and turned back, Ben was standing in the same place exactly."

"So Ben could be connected to Glory somehow?" Weasley looked rather dubious at the thought of it. "But he...he seemed so nice!"

"So, I hear, did Angelus."

The girl gave him an anguished look, then nodded. "So we find out where Ben is, if we can," she decided firmly. "Then find out what he knows about Glory and what we can do to stop her."

"And we ignore the fact that we are clearly having delusions of grandeur about our abilities," he finished, arching a brow at her when she scowled.

"Look, Mister Cranky Ass, just because you don’t believe we can do this and stop Glory and save the world, again," she snapped shortly. "Doesn’t mean that you have to go all bitchy britches on us every time we suggest something! At least we’re trying, which is more that we can say for you!"

"And what have I just done by solving your little riddle for you, Weasley?"

Weasley glared at him. "You just like being a lurky, broody, crank-meister way too much," He raised a brow, as if to ask her why she was stating the obvious. "Would it be so hard for you to smile or play nice once in a while?"

"Weasley, playing nice is for people with time, patience and sugar flowing in their blood-stream. I am not nice, I never have been nice and I don’t intend to become nice because some red-haired witch with too much lip thinks I should be happy."

"Well, can you maybe...I dunno...cut down on the PMS-ing?"

Snape laughed. Then covered with a cough. "PMS, Weasley?" he tried to growl, but he was almost smiling at the thought. He had heard his temper being called many things but never had it been attributed to PMS. "This is the way I am."

"I don’t get it."

"That not everyone exudes sunshine and light? Welcome to the world, Weasley."

"No, Cranky Ass," she retorted. "You. You got a good job, you’ve got people who care about you," he snorted and she glared at him. "Like Dumbledore and Giles, you get to spend all day every day doing what you like most and still, you sulk and bitch in the dark and scare kids just cos you can. Don’t you even try to be kinda happy?"

"Miss Weasley," he started to stand, then thought the better of it, his body screaming in protest. "Have you ever considered the fact that I may already be quite content with my lot? Simply because I do not show it, does not mean I am any less satisfied."

"But don’t you wanna...you know...find someone special? Settle down?"

Snape gazed at her, suddenly understanding. "Ah, Weasley, I see. In the rapture of your own little...union, you have decided that it is unfair for anyone else in the world to be single, whether they prefer it that way or not."

"Little union?" Her cheeks went scarlet. "No! No union! Haven’t been doing anything of the kinky and naughty unionising kind!"

His lips curled. "Mmm-hmm?" Snatching the sheet of parchment, she fled to the door, her face flaming. "Oh, and Miss Weasley," he called after her, as she stepped out into the hall. "Give Miss Granger my regards."

Her whimper carried back to him as she slammed the door shut, leaving the Potions Professor chuckling to himself in the dungeon.

***

"And who do we have here, baby?"

Lazing on the couch, Glory raised her eyes to the next candidate. There had been so many disappointments in the last few hours, she was beginning to doubt that there was anyone who would be able to perform the task she had in mind.

Lucius motioned the dark-haired young woman forward. "Someone willing to help you find what you’re looking for, my dear."

On the other side of the room, Draco snorted over the book he was reading. His father flashed a warning glare at him, which he ignored. It was clear that the younger of the men despised Glory for the place she had assumed in his father’s affections, usurping the position of his mother.

"Is that so, cupcake?"

The woman before her swayed on the spot, blue-grey eyes fluttering, her alabaster skin deathly white in the soft light of the candles. "There’s such a knocking coming from the door," she whispered. "Mmm…soon, it must be opened or everything will fall down! Like a ring, a ring of rosies…"

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Rubbing her hands down her body, the woman murmured a purr of low approval. "I can feel it tingling around like worms in my belly," she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she stared down at Glory. "But the naughty girl with sunshine in her hair…she has your key and the door shall not open without a key!"

Glory sat upright, studying the brunette. "Well, well, baby, looks like we got us a winner here," she smiled.

"You and the secret one who hides away deep inside of you will know me," the dark woman sang softly. "Even though, he who slips and slides inside does not know of all your true faces."

A curious look crossed Glory’s face. "You know, sweetie," she said, sliding onto her feet and holding out a hand, which the dark woman took without hesitation. "I think we’re gonna get on real well."

***

"Omigod! Harry!"

Called from her dormitory to the infirmary by the Head Master, Willow Weasley stopped short at the sight of her brother-in-law and sister, one hand coming to her mouth in shock.

"Don’t…shout…" Lying in the bed, Harry Potter looked like he had faced death, yet again, and come close to losing the battle, his face greyish, his eyes blood-shot as he squinted at Willow.

"What happened?" Willow asked, looking from him to Ginny, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding one of Harry’s hands between hers. "Ginny?"

"It is the same situation that affected Professor Snape, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore was the one to answer the question. "Glory’s touch caused a reaction similar to that which Voldemort’s presence had on Mr. Potter."

"In this case," Harry muttered. "Bloody headache…at worst possible moment…just ask the missus..."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Don’t be dirty, Harry," she said, her voice cracking. Willow rounded the bed and wrapped her arms around her sister immediately, Ginny leaning back against her gratefully. "He was on his broom...Quidditch game...fell off from fifty feet up..."

"Landed on my head...so no permanent damage, eh?" he quipped, squeezing Ginny’s fingers gently.

"You could have been killed!"

Harry winced. "Gin...not loud...please..."

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she touched his brow. "I just...you just fell...I-I’ve never been so scared..."

"He’s gonna be all right now," Willow assured her twin, hugging Ginny tightly. "I bet Professor Dumbledore is working on all kinds of neat charms to protect the school and everything in it."

The Head Master nodded seriously. "Miss Emerson, Mr. T. Bloody," Willow and Ginny both giggled a little at the name. "And Minerva are devising ways to utilise some of the old magics to protect the school and grounds."

"Are you sure its safe to let those three work together, Professor?" Willow asked dubiously. "I mean, Spike and Anya are bad enough..."

"I do believe it’s a good deal safer to let them work together," Dumbledore said with a suggestion of a smile. "Confined to one room, than to have them spread throughout the castle, causing mayhem."

"Speaking of mayhem, where’s Buffy?"

There was a blatant twinkle in Dumbledore’s blue eyes as he surveyed the young witch. "I do believe that she has gone to the Great Hall to meet our guests, along with some of the staff body."

"Why do I suddenly feel very suspicious?"

Harry chuckled. "Because you’ve started to understand old Dumbledore’s way of thinking," he replied in a tired whisper. "Best go and see for yourself, before too much damage is done, Will."

"Reassuring much?" she retorted, giving her twin’s shoulder a squeeze. "You gonna be okay here, Ginny?" Ginny nodded, smiling faintly up at her. "Okay, mister," she turned an accusing finger to Dumbledore. "If anything of the bad, icky, or cursey variety has happened, you are so gonna regret it!"

"Respectful as always, aren’t you, Miss Weasley?" the old wizard chuckled.

Willow just stuck her tongue out, before striding out of the wing.

***

"Always a pleasure to see you again, Black," Professor Flitwick piped up, bouncing on his toes beside the tall wizard, who smiled broadly down at him. "Do you intend to remain long?"

"Long enough, sir," he replied cheerfully, scanning around the Hall for anyone who might be the famed Vampire Slayer or one of her merry minions, whom he had heard so much about.

He, along with the older Weasley sons, had been sent scouting out on Dumbledore’s request, almost a month earlier, for anyone who would be willing to take a stand against the most serious threat their world had ever faced.

However, Harry’s near-fatal fall, at the Quidditch world cup trials, had forced him to rush back to make sure that his Godson was safe and was going to live.

Then, of course, Dumbledore had managed to contact him again, offering a safer haven for Harry than anything he knew he could possibly provide, with the protection of the Slayer to boot.

Bill and Charlie were chatting amiably to Professor Granger, who seemed to be in a sunny mood. Edging closer, his nostrils flared a little, his animagi senses kicking in and he grinned a little.

Well, well, well, Hermione...that was certainly a turn up for the books.

Now, who was the lucky bugger...?

"Look, you cranky jerk," a female voice cried in the entrance hall outside, catching his attention and distracting him from the scent that was all over the brown-haired witch. "I know you’re in pain, so if you would stop being so damn stiff-upper-lippy and noble and let me help you move a bit faster, maybe we could get into the hall sometime before Glory actually gets here and tries to kick our asses!"

"Summers," Black mentally winced at Severus Snape’s voice. "I have no need of an irritating blonde crutch. Now, cease in this ridiculous behaviour!"

"No way, Crankenstein," the voice retorted. "I’m helping you drag your sorry achy butt into that hall whether you want me to or not."

"Summers," Snape’s voice sounded even more irritable than usual. "I would be most gratified if you would leave my posterior out of this conversation, release my limbs and allow me to move under my own volition."

"Too late, Mood-meister," she answered back. "We’re here already."

The sight was truly an amusing one to behold and - had Sirius been less stunned by what he was seeing - he knew that there was every chance that he would be on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Snape was practically being carried by a stubborn-looking blonde with a determined look in her eye. One of his arms was around her shoulders, although it didn’t look like he had placed it there by choice, and the other was pinned by his side.

It took an expert observer to notice that Snape’s feet weren’t even touching the ground beneath the robes that were trailing along the stone floor.

Deposited back on the floor, Snape’s well-known death glare was directed at the stubborn-looking blonde, who smirked at him and straightened her black trousers and red pullover.

The blonde looked around, then spotted Sirius, hazel eyes widening in recognition and she was moving towards him far too rapidly for him to turn and flee in panic.

"Hey!" A hand was stuck out to him and he was sure he felt his knuckles crackling when she gripped his fingers and squeezed. "You’re Sirius, right? The guy who can turn into the freaky big black dog? I’m Buffy Summers."

This was the Slayer?

This tiny, fragile-looking little blonde creature was the Slayer?

"You do speak, don’t you?" she inquired, studying him intently. "I mean, you’re not some kinda big hairy wildman who just grunts and stuff?"

"I-I speak."

"Two syllables, Black," Snape sneered. "A true record."

"Kiss my arse, Snape," Sirius snarled, a small hand on his chest stopping him from pushing past the Slayer to go and land one on the Potions Professor’s smug bastard face. "It’ll be the only action you’ll get this century."

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," another female voice interrupted. "Especially if you don’t know where his ass has been!"

"Anya, sweetie, please..."

"Well, it is accurate, Xander..."

Sirius was at a bit of a loss.

Normally, his tirades of abuse directed at Snape weren’t interrupted by a pair of blonde girls, one physically restraining him and the other commenting on his...was it his personal hygiene, sexual preference, a combination of the two or worse?

"Snapey," the blonde in front of him glanced over her shoulder. "You gonna behave or do I gotta carry you back to your room and make you?"

So she wasn’t afraid of him then.

Definitely the ultimate Slayer.

Any other Slayer would no doubt be cowering in their boots when the Death-glare was directed at them, but Sirius almost grinned maliciously to see Snape scowl and skulk back into the shadows in silence.

"And don’t you get all smug, Mister," Buffy turned back to face him and tapped his chest. "You were making Snapey even more bad moody than usual and he’s had a bad week, so leave him be, kay?"

"Um...yes..."

What else could he say?

NO! I’ll turn into a big black dog and attack him if I like!

Something told him that if he even tried that, the tiny blonde in front of him would beat him senseless to teach him a lesson. She smiled at him in a way that only served to reaffirm that suspicion.

"Now, if the boys are gonna play nicely," the Slayer looked from one to the other, smiling broadly as if oblivious to the fact that they were both baring their teeth in her general direction. "We’re all gonna sit down and discuss the problem of a psychotic Hell-Goddess bent on destroying the world."

"WAIT!"

"Oh, hey, Will," Buffy smiled as Willow hurtled in, looking as if she expected to see blood, guts and gore splattered all over the hall. Stopping short, she blinked around, looking a little bemused. "What’s up?"

"I thought there was some kinda trouble with...Sirius!" A red-haired whirlwind slammed squarely into Sirius’ arms and hugged him, the wizard caught off-balance and staggering a little.

Then he caught a whiff of her scent, his eyes widening.

"Holy shit!"

"I didn’t realise that your hugs were that good, baby sister," Bill chuckled at the shell-shocked look on Sirius’ face. "Looks like you grabbed onto something he wasn’t expecting there."

"BILL!"

"Ahem?"

"Charlie?"

Both the red-haired men were caught in tight headlocks that their youngest sister classified as a ‘hug’. "What are you guys doing here?" she demanded, slapping their chests. "You didn’t tell me you were gonna visit!"

"A spoil the surprise, sis? Not a chance," Charlie mussed her hair with a rough hand and she grinned back at him, swatting his hand away. "So what did you do to old man Sirius to get him the howl like that?"

"Nothing!"

Bill snickered. "Right, Will, he just yells for no reason."

"What can I say?" Sirius gave Willow a look, his mouth lifting at one side as she blushed crimson. "She smells good. Very good," his blue eyes twinkled at her, then at Hermione, who went equally red. "Very unique perfume you wear, Willow."

"Sirius!"

He just gave them a knowing smirk, then turned back to the Slayer with a dashing smile. "So, Professor Summers, you were saying something about a Hell-Goddess?"


Chapter 40: Power Gathering

"Willow?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Nope."

Hermione smiled, toying with her lover’s hair. "Didn’t think so," she murmured.

Morning light was flooding into the room that the two witches shared, the drapes around the bed that they now shared open, as the rays crept across the lush carpet and warmly caressed the two young women.

"We should get up."

"Nuh-uh," came Willow’s drowsy reply, snuggling comfortably against Hermione with a yawn, her head resting on the older witch’s shoulder. "Isn’t morning yet. Don’t have to get up."

"And what do you call the odd light coming in the window?"

Green eyes fluttered open and the red-haired girl looked towards the window. Her nose wrinkled. "Magic?" she suggested, raising her eyes to her lover. She shifted and leaned up on her elbow to look down at Hermione. "You gotta go to class?"

"I am the teacher, Will." Hermione raised a hand to brush errant strands of hair back from the Willow’s face. Willow had a rosy patch on her right cheek where it had been resting against Hermione’s body.

"What about giving me some private classes?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Hermione pursed her lips and tried in vain look frustrated, failing in a spectacular fashion. "Will..." she began, only for her girlfriend’s lips to smother the lecture that was impending.

Moving to kneel over her girlfriend, Willow moaned against Hermione’s lips as Hermione’s hands moved up her back, one tangling into her hair, the other palpating the skin lazily as she deepened the kiss.

Somewhere along the line, although neither of the couple could be sure where, their pyjamas somehow ended up on the other side of the room, which seemed to be getting a lot warmer.

The heavy gold and red blanket was pushed off the bed, the white sheet melding to the bodies of the two young women.

"I love you, Willow," Hermione breathed, brown eyes meeting green as they broke out of the kiss.

Willow’s lips curved up in a happy grin. "This has to be the best way to wake up in the morning," she replied, before nuzzling her way down Hermione’s throat. "Love you too, by the way."

"Mmm," Hermione sank back against the pillows, as there was the sound of rapping on the door.

"Hermione!"

Brown eyes popped open. "Ron?"

Willow jerked bolt upright. "Oh crap!" she squeaked.

There was another knock on the door and the brass knob started turning. Shooting a frantic look at Willow, Hermione hastily gave her very naked lover a push, sending the red head tumbling off the bed.

Unfortunately, Willow’s legs were wound in the sheet, so she fell, taking the sheet and remainder of Hermione’s modesty with her, leaving the older witch sitting in the middle of the bed, very aware of the winter chill.

And in direct line of sight of the door as Ron stepped into the room his sister and best friend shared.

He immediately stopped short.

There was a snort of laughter from behind the bed, which Hermione tried to cover with a quick cough.

Ron gaped at her.

"Er..."

Despite the situation, Hermione couldn’t do anything but laugh at the stunned look on her ex-lover’s face. Sitting up and pulling her legs up to shield herself a little, she smiled at him. "Morning, Ron."

"I...er...uh...you...naked?"

She glanced down at herself. "Oh no! You noticed!" she exclaimed, trying to pull a mortified face and failing miserably when she started laughing again. "Its not like you haven’t seen me naked before, Ron."

A soft sound of indignation came from behind the bed.

"Yeah, but we...we were...you know...seeing each other then."

"Well," she replied reasonably, trying to ignore the muffled giggles of her lover coming from behind the bed. "You are the one that barged into my bedroom without waiting for permission."

Blinking, Ron backed towards the door. "I...er...I was looking for Will...and you, so I thought I would come and see if you were nake... here! I thought I’d come and see if you were here!"

Tilting her head, Hermione gave him a smile. "Would you prefer it if we met you in the Great Hall?"

"We?"

"Willow and...oh! Willow went for a bath, I think, and we’ll be down shortly."

"Okay," Ron nodded, wetting his lips. "Um...I’ll go now...right now. See you later."

The door slammed shut and Hermione fell back against the pillows, laughing, as she heard his footsteps thundering down the stone staircase of the tower. He was actually running down the stairs!

Willow’s head popped over the edge of the bed.

"Good thing I was the one that ended up on the floor, huh?" she said, climbing back onto the bed. A sheet was wrapped around her body. She swept it over Hermione’s body, lying down beside her.

"Seeing your ex naked is bad enough first thing in the morning," Hermione agreed, one arm sliding around Willow’s shoulders. "Seeing your sister naked would be so much worse."

"And he ruined the mood," the red head sighed.

"And almost caught us."

Willow drew back a little, sitting up. "Caught?" Her voice was laced with unease and hurt. "Are...are you saying that us being...you know...out as a hand-holding pair of witchy lovers is a bad thing?"

"No! Not at all!" Hermione sat up. Framing Willow’s face in her hands, she forced the younger witch to meet her eyes. "Willow, listen to me, I love you. I just want to have a little time for just you and I. If everyone else knew now, we...it wouldn’t let us settle into what we have without people pointing and whispering."

"But they won’t..."

"They will, Willow, and you know they will. We might not be as much a rarity as we might have been any more, but we are still very...different from the wizarding ideal couple," Gathering Willow in her arms, Hermione kissed her forehead. "I don’t want this to be ruined because people have to point and stare."

Green eyes expressed understanding but Willow still looked down sadly. "I want to tell people, Hermione," she said softly. "I...I have all this happiness inside me and I can’t tell anyone!"

"Not yet," Hermione agreed, exhaling a sigh. Willow nestled against her, her head resting against Hermione’s shoulder. "But we will. And we have to have a camera to get the photographs of the reactions."

Willow smiled faintly. "Especially Ron’s."

Hermione grinned, stroking her hair. "If it outdoes the look on his face this morning, I’ll be very impressed."

"Well, you prepare to be impressed by my brother’s face, Granger!" Lifting her own face to her lover, Willow’s smile broadened. "He’s gonna be totally shocked! I bet he’ll swear in front of mom and then..."

As one, they exclaimed:

"Mouthwash!"

***

"Get off me!"

The fragile-looking raven-haired woman made a strange mewling noise in her throat, jutting out her lower lip like a chastised child. Or at least it would have been child-like, if she hadn’t been sprawled over his body, as naked as he was.

Ben groaned.

For the millionth time, he hated Glory.

He hated being her vessel. He hated the fact that she could use his body as her own private transport. He hated feeling like a host with a Hell-Goddess as a parasite lodged within his body, knowing she might take over at any moment.

Almost his entire life had been devoted to concealing the fact that his body was the home of Glorificus. He was her mask. When things got too hard for her to deal with, she would conceal herself within his body.

It had led to numerous arrests and incidents, in various places the world over. He had lost track of the number of times he had woken in a strange place with strange people and no recollection of how he had come to be there.

Like now.

Taking in his surroundings warily, he quickly realised that he was in a large, four-poster double bed with very expensive linens. The wood of the bedposts and the walls of the room around the bed were some kind of dark wood.

The semi-transparent curtains of the room were deep forest green and the light - was it morning sunlight? - filtering through them made the whole room look like it was submerged underwater.

A few candles were positioned here and there around the bare, dark walls of the room, which could have fitted at least four more double beds in it, the warm flickers damp and chilled by the coldness of the washed out light through the drapes.

Okay.

Some expensive hotel probably, but why was he in bed with a girl?

Glory had never shown any interest in females before, although there had been the random male from time to time, so why was this strange woman all over him like he was going out of fashion?

And how long had it been since she had taken control?

The last thing he could remember, he was in Sunnydale, California, but the wintery chill in the air told him that he definitely wasn’t in the sunshine state any longer.

Rolling towards the side of the bed, he swung his legs out from under the crisp white sheets and heavy blankets - green again - the wooden floor cold against the bare soles of his feet.

Pushing the sheets and blankets aside, he looked around.

"Hey," he said, turning to the dark-haired woman, who was kneeling beside him, swaying from side-to-side. "Yeah, you, did she leave any clothes for me this time, or do I have to stay naked?"

He had never managed to decide if the humiliation of wearing Glory’s personal choice of clothing was worse than going stark naked.

The woman’s scarlet lips, the only part of her body with any colour, spread in a smile that was about as friendly as a man-eating tiger’s.

"The shining one thinks that you must let your little snake wiggle free," she purred, tracing patterns in the air with her fingertips. "Swing from side-to-side, then oh!" Jumping up on her knees, she clapped her hands together. "Jump to attention!"

Ben looked at the wall, very tempted to walk over and smack his head against it.

Not only was he in a strange room, he was in a strange room with a very strange naked lunatic.

As if things could get any worse.

"Meaning?" he asked, wondering how he could have believed he had the patience to consider a career in the medical profession. The woman shook her head, still smiling at him. Crooking a finger in front of her face, she beckoned him. "What?"

"One mustn’t speak such naughty things out loud," she confided in a stage-whisper, her eerie, blue-grey eyes wide. "God and his angels are always snooping into such matters and it is unseemly for a lady!"

Sighing, he crossed to the bedside, stopping face-to-face with her. "So what did you mean, then?" he asked again.

The wordless answer came in the form of a very cold hand on a very sensitive spot of his anatomy. He tried to jerk back, but her other hand locked against the back of his neck and she hissed in his ear.

"We are to play, the shining one said. Such fun and games! I can’t eat you all up, like the big bad wolf, but mummy says that the little Princess can play with your little snake and make it behave until she has to go back to school and teach them all manner of delicious lessons."

As she spoke, her body seemed to take on a mind of it’s own, writhing against his in an all too provocative fashion, her voice lilting and haunted.

Her face drew back from his throat.

Ben stared at her. "You...you mean Glory brought you here for me to screw?"

The woman stared back, licking her canines. "Brought? No, no, silly boy. I came to the shining one and saw you hiding inside so cuddly and warm." Thin fingers rose and brushed the brown curls back from his tanned forehead. "You would be so sweet and young, my pretty little one," she panted.

Breaking free of her grip, Ben backed across the room. "Look, lady, I don’t know what Glory told you, but I-I’m not interested in getting laid..."

"Your little snake wants to play hide and seek in the tunnels," the woman answered in a dreamy whisper. her half-closed eyes drifted down his body and she smirked. "It is standing on it’s own two feet. You lie, you naughty boy."

Grabbing one of the dresses strewn over the chairs, Ben felt the blood rising in his face as he shielded his groin. "Get outta here," he snapped, hastily tying the skimpy dress around his waist.

"You have made a little tent," the woman noted with clear amusement, rolling onto her back, her head rocking back over the edge of the mattress, her dark hair hanging down towards the floor.

Ben scowled, stalking over towards the window. "Shut the hell up."

"Such a naughty mouth, little boy," she called after him and he heard the rustling of fabric moving beneath her. A startled cry escaped him when slender arms slid around his waist, her skin ice-cold against his. "Mummy might have to smack your bottom."

"I’m not interested," Ben pushed her arms away, raising his hands to jerk wide the green curtains, daylight flooding into the room.

A screech of anguish from the woman behind him was drowned out by a crackling sound, almost like something burning and he turned. She was cowering on the other side of the room, in the shadows, her bone-thin hands covering her face.

"What? You don’t like sunlight?"

Her hands were lowered from her face and Ben slammed back against the glass of the massive windows, almost shattering the pane with the impact.

"No, you silly boy," she hissed through elongated fangs, her eyes burning a sulphuric gold in the dark shadows on the far side of the room. "The shining one said you were young and pretty, but she did not say you were an empty-headed fool!"

"You...you’re a vampire!"

"Vampire I am and may be still!" Curving her arms out behind her, she craned her long neck forwards, rolling her head. "The shining one promised me a toy to play with, little fool! I would munch you like a cupcake, had she not given orders that you were only a toy!"

"A toy? Glory thinks I’m some kinda object she can hand out to her favourite..." Ben gestured at her angrily. "Her pets?"

The vampire grinned greedily at him. "Yeah," she replied, shaking her head, sending dark waves of hair cascading around her frighteningly thin shoulders. "And you’re all locked up in a cage like a little mouse."

"Locked...up?"

"Yeah...the shining one made her pet promise to keep you safe and tight here...and she said her little Princess," She made a little curtsey that was shockingly lewd. "Is allowed to play with the one who bears her."

Ben shot a look over his shoulder. It was barely past sun rise, which gave him all day. "Sorry," he said. "Not interested, so you can just go."

"You think the licks of the fiery ball can keep me away from you, my precious?" she cooed, shaking her head at him as if he were the stupidest creature in the world. "I’m sorry, my pet, but the fiery ball will sleep soon and you can not hope to fight."

"I could stake you," he threatened idly, knowing that she was probably far faster than he was, despite the fact she was almost skeletally thin. Her golden eyes seemed two times too large for her elfin face and she was staring at him intensely.

"You could try, kitten, and I could break you up like a little bundle of twigs," She clapped her hands rhythmically. "Snap! Snap! Snap! I’m not allowed to drink you all up, but the shining one says I am permitted to break you if you are bad." A dreamy look crossed her face and she drew the back of her left hand down her left cheek. "I haven’t broken anyone for such a long time."

Leaning against the glass, Ben looked out at the grounds of whatever building he was in and exhaled a sigh of defeat. "I don’t have any choice in this, do I?" he said, turning back to face her.

The vampire smiled at him and he shuddered at the sight of her fangs. "Not if you want to keep your little spitting snake where it is," she advised sagely. That thought made him shudder more than the fangs had.

"Okay," he pulled the curtain closed. "Get it over with."

***

"Ron!"

"Willow!" Ron managed to get to his feet from the Gryffindor table, where he was sitting in time to catch his sister in a hug, which knocked him back a step. Landing firmly on his rear, he looked down at the grinning girl in his arms. "You’re in a good mood today."

Willow swatted at him playfully. "Its not every day that my favourite big brother comes to visit!"

"Favourite?" a rather indignant voice spoke from behind Ron.

Squirming out of Ron’s arms, Willow stared over his shoulder. "Omigod! Percy!"

"Yes," Percy sniffed. "And Bill and Charlie are somewhere hereabouts as well, so I don’t see why Ron should be getting all your attention, when...Willow!"

Her arms locked around her brother’s neck, after scrambling around Ron’s legs and reaching her third eldest brother, Willow slapped a wet kiss on his cheek. "Oh, don’t be so cranky, Percy! What dragged you away from work?"

"Away from work?" Percy spluttered indignantly.

"He’s here on business and he brought me along," a familiar female voice spoke from between her two brothers and Willow turned. Amy Madison grinned up at her long-time friend. "Hey, Willow."

"Omigod!"

"You were meant to owl her and tell her that you were all coming down, Ron, you daft pillock," Willow looked up happily at Bill’s voice, as she squeezed in between Percy - who looked very affronted - and Amy.

"I wanted to surprise her," Ron replied in an injured tone.

"Like Hermione...er...Professor Granger surprised you?"

Ron went red to the tips of his ears and started mumbling over the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Bill raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, sitting down opposite his sister and Amy, Charlie by his side.

The Gryffindor fifth years had an extremely early herbology lesson on the edge of the Forbidden Forest so a large portion of the table had already been emptied, making all the more room for the newest arrivals.

"Where have you been, Amy? I mean, its been forever!"

Amy laughed. "Its not been that long," Willow gave her a look. "Okay, maybe it has been a while, but your big brother has been looking after me, haven’t you, Percy?" On Willow’s other side, Percy made an odd squeaking sound in his throat.

"Percy? Okay, how? What? And how?"

Bill cut in, pointing a gold fork in Amy’s direction. "We took her to the Ministry of Magic to see if there was any way to have her trained, Will," he explained. "But they were worried about the amount of dark magic her mother had passed on to her, so they gave her a year of probation with a trusted Ministry wizard to test if she would be dangerous to herself or anyone else."

"And Percy has been looking after me ever since," Amy finished happily. "I’ve been staying in The Leaky Cauldron with him." She leaned closer to Willow and added in a conspiratorial whisper. "Your brothers are so sweet!"

Willow laughed. "I know, Amy, believe me." Turning to Percy, she nudged him in the ribs. "So, Percy, has Amy been a good girl?"

"Pardon? Oh! Yes! Very satisfactory progress! Developing very well! Have never enjoyed a project quite as much!"

"Are we talking about Amy or cauldron bottoms, Perce?" Bill teased. "After all, you went all doe-eyed, so my bet would be on cauldron bottoms, unless you have a new fantasy about Miss Madison."

The roar of laughter from the rest of the group drew stares from around the hall, but Willow was the only one that seemed to notice Percy’s ears going the same shade of red as Ron’s had moments earlier.

"I think I will be going to find Professor McGonagall," he snapped crisply, getting to his feet and stomping away up the Great Hall. His three brothers continued to laugh in his wake.

"He’s been kinda cranky like that since we got back to the Burrow yesterday," Amy said, frowning. "I thought he’d be glad that I went to bug Ron instead of hanging around him all the time."

"You don’t bug me, Amy," Ron said amiably, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her against his side in an affectionate hug, while chasing an errant piece of sausage around the plate with the fork in his other hand.

Amy went scarlet and grinned broadly at him.

Willow mentally groaned, wondering if there was possibly a way that things could get any worse.

Of course, it could.

Buffy and Dawn Summers entered the Great Hall with Harry and Ginny Potter.

"Buffy!" Ron leapt to his feet so fast that poor Amy was pitched backwards off the bench. She shrieked and grabbed Willow, both of them landing in a heap on the floor, while Bill and Charlie fell against each other laughing.

"Hey...Ron, right?"

Ron nodded eagerly, holding a hand out across the table again. "Its nice to see you again, Bu...er...Miss Summers! Are you enjoying being a Professor? I mean, not that you wouldn’t, since you’re still here, but I suppose you might not..."

"Ahem?"

"Oh, hello again, Dawn," Ron’s attention immediately jerked back to Buffy, who was laughing behind her hand, her eyes dancing. "So...what... um...what do you have planned for...er...breakfast?"

"I did kinda plan to maybe eat something of the foody variety," she replied, trying to smother a smile unsuccessfully.

Ron looked down at the spaces on Bill and Charlie’s side of the table, then at his own side of the table, where Willow and Amy were picking themselves up and sitting down again. "Er...would you...you know..."

"Like to sit with you?"

"I’m very sorry, Junior Ginger-nut," a lazy male voice drawled from a short distance behind the Slayer and the Potters, who exchanged glances and shook their heads. "But the Professor is sitting with me this morning."

"Is she really?" Buffy inquired, crossing her arms stubbornly and turning to face Sirius Black, who gave her a very wolfish grin, blue eyes glinting. He cocked his head in a very dog-like fashion, pulling his hands up in front of his chest and assuming his pleading puppy look. "All right, already! I hate it when you do that!"

Offering her an arm, Sirius flashed a triumphant grin at Ron, who glared at him. The Slayer seemed oblivious to the looks passed between the two men and cheerfully took Sirius’ arm, Dawn grabbing the other.

Dropping back down on his seat, ignoring Amy’s words of comfort, Ron scowled darkly after them and Willow wondered if perhaps it would be a better idea to go back to her room and hide in her bed all day until Hermione came back from class.

At least, she mused, there wouldn’t be anyone else bold - or stupid - enough to join in the battle for Buffy’s affections, with a former murder-suspect turned prisoner of Azkaban and the famous Ron Weasley.

***

"Excuse me?"

Standing upright on a muggle-clothed man’s shoulders, stretching upwards towards the candle hangings, Professor McGonagall looked down at the young man standing at the door. "Percy Weasley!" she exclaimed in relief.

The former Head Boy stared at the Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts, as she kicked the head of the blonde man beneath her and leapt down from his shoulders, caught a moment from landing by him.

"Perhaps you could be of some assistance to me, Mr Weasley," she said, puffing a little. Her face was flushed and several strands of dark hair had come loose from her orderly bun, which was almost as terrifying as seeing her standing on some random man‘s shoulders.

"A-assistance?"

"Another brain-dead prat, eh, Minnie?" the blond grinned at her and she sorely looked like she wanted to hit him. "Yeah, the lady needs a bit of a hand, since her wand kind of...er...‘accidentally’," He made airquotes with his fingers. "Ended up stuck in the candelabra."

"You threw it up there, you blonde nit!"

Percy Weasley clearly wasn’t used to this behaviour from his former - and he had believed her to be wise and sensible - House Mistress, a panicked look crossing his face as he started backing rapidly towards the door.

"Weasley! Stop backing away! I need you to get my wand back!"

"Run, you pillock, before she slide-tackles you and nicks your wand!"

Somehow, the blond man’s advice made a great deal of sense, considering the fact that Professor McGonagall was prowling towards him like a big cat, looking far too dangerous. Turning on tail, Percy fled from the room.

***

He wanted to kill Black.

Pausing, he considered that thought.

He had always wanted to kill Black, ever since they were at school and for plenty of very good reasons. Although, up until today, he had never felt the urge to poison the bloody man quite as fiercely.

And he wasn’t quite sure he liked his motivation.

In fact, he knew he would happily poison the motivation as well.

Strange, he noted to himself, that his motivation was the single most annoying blonde-haired, muggle-born, wannabe-Professor, American hussy that he had ever had the misfortune to clap his eyes on.

What he couldn’t explain was why he was so deeply and irrationally irritated to see Sirius Black talking and laughing with Summers.

And Summers Junior.

Summers Junior, though, was flashing desperate looks at him. It seemed like she was begging him to save her from Black’s dire attempts and courtly behaviour and what he termed as his ‘sense of humour’.

It had never been successfully defined.

Some had said that man would sooner tap-dance on the sun than understand Sirius Black’s so-called sense of humour.

Sitting at the High table, he looked down at his plate, glaring at the gleaming dish and the reflections in it. He could see that Dumbledore was watching him with that odd little knowing smile on his lips and, more than anything, he wanted to hurl the plate at the Head Master.

That would be immature, though.

Under the table, he directed his wand at Black’s plate and sent it hurtling towards Dumbledore, who - faster than a man his age should have been able to - whipped out his wand and redirected the plate at Black.

Both Black and Summers yelled in protest and surprise, while the Weasleys burst out laughing nearby, along with half the school.

Snape leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk reaching his lips, his wand safely concealed back inside his capricious sleeves.

The smug satisfaction faded the instant he looked at Dumbledore.

The Head Master shook his head in mock-gravity, a broad smile on his lips, his blue eyes twinkling.

With a growl of frustration, Snape stormed to his feet and swept out of the Great hall in as impressive a fashion as Percy Weasley had just over fifteen minutes before, his robes flaring around him.

***

"She’s gone mad!"

Hermione yelped in surprise when Percy Weasley practically tackled her on the way down the staircase to the Great Hall, grabbing her by her upper arms and giving her a wild shake. "Percy!"

"She was on his shoulders! She was standing on his shoulders! And she called him a blond nit!" he exclaimed pitifully. "The Deputy head Mistress of the school! I can’t believe how much the standard of the school has fallen!"

"You saw Spike and McGonagall?"

"Spike?"

"The blond vampire?" Percy’s dark brown eyes formed large and perfect circles, which matched the stunned ‘o’ of his mouth and he blinked owlishly at her. "And I suppose that you didn’t know he was a vampire, did you?"

"I came because Amy asked if she could come and visit Willow," Percy mumbled to himself. "Certainly didn’t expect to run into a vampire, especially with his head up Professor McGonagall’s robes..."

Hermione smothered a giggle, wondering if it would be incredibly mean to mention that the vampire and the teacher had been known to play strip poker and gamble over games of snap in the staff room.

"Miss Granger! Mr Weasley!"

"It’s her!" Percy yelled wildly. He was off again, running, as Professor McGonagall appeared in the Hall, leaving Hermione laughing helplessly, leaning against the stone balustrade beside her.

McGonagall watched him go, looking a little perplexed. "Very excitable little fellow, isn’t he? To think he is included in the mad group, who are meant to be the ones who saved the world. Shocking, absolutely shocking." she remarked, then turned her attention to Hermione. "Granger, do you happen to have your wand?"

"Of course I do."

McGonagall sighed with relief. "Then perhaps you would be kind enough to help me to retrieve my own wand. Billy believed it would be highly amusing to throw out of my reach and the nitwit managed to get it trapped in the candelabra."

"You realise that your antics with Spike have terrified poor Percy, don’t you?"

Professor McGonagall’s expression was serious, but there was a naughty twinkle in her eyes. "I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Granger," she said with a long-suffering sigh.

"I’m sure," Hermione retorted, grinning.

***

"But it’s breakfast time!"

Dawn gave Duncan a reproving look. "Stop complaining. If you had come to the Great Hall when I told you to, you wouldn’t have missed breakfast," she hissed at him, jerking him sideways as a group of Hufflepuffs went hurrying past them.

They were hidden under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak and were on the way to their so-called ‘hang-out’, the girls’ toilets on the second floor. Duncan was sure they were just using the cloak, because Dawn thought it was cool.

"Can’t we do this after our first class?" Duncan asked again, his stomach growling loudly. "Or maybe after I have some breakfast?"

"I have to check on my potion!"

There was a silence, as they hurried down the hall towards the toilets.

Finally, Duncan gave in to curiosity. "What are ye working on?"

"Polyjuice."

"POLYJUICE!?!"

A hand was slapped firmly across his mouth.

"Not so loud, dork-brain! I don’t want the whole school to know about it!" Dawn whispered in annoyance, glaring at him. "If Harry, Ron and Hermione can make it, I can make it!"

"But ye’re not allowed to!"

"Which is why we’re doing it secretly, doofus," Dawn said impatiently. "C’mon!"

Duncan made an incoherent sound of concern.

"You’re scared of getting caught, aren’t you?"

"Me?"

"That was a very manly squeak."

Duncan shot a glare at her. "Has anyone ever told ye that yer the most annoyingly girl in the world?"

"Every day," Dawn replied airily, grinning. "C’mon! I wanna check the potion, then we can go back and see everyone! Harry and Ginny have actually come out of the medical wing and Ron is visiting again!"

"Ron? Ron Weasley?"

"Duh!" Dawn exclaimed. "Who else? Its kinda like a reunion of all the heroes from the books! Harry Potter, Sirius Black and all the Weasleys! Someone said that Fred and George would be arriving this afternoon!"

"The Weasleys that run Zonko’s?"

"You got it."

A look of hero-worship crossed Duncan’s face. "All right, we have ta get back tae the Great Hall as soon as possible! Can ye introduce me tae them? I’ve always wanted tae meet them!"

Dawn grinned. "Only if you shut up and come with me to check my potion."

***

"Afternoon, Willow."

Sitting in a large, comfortably squashy chair, Willow looked up at her lover, a weary smile coming to her lips. "Hey, sweetie."

They were in the large living room that had been provided for all the guests. Various doors lead off into the dozen guest rooms, but most of the group were currently sitting around the room, chatting and laughing.

Suspiciously, Dawn Summers and Duncan Cameron appeared to be in some kind of secret conclave with the Weasley twins, who had arrived late, during the evening meal with a fantastic display of their latest tricks.

Needless to say, the twins had immediately sold out of these rare goodies.

Dawn and Duncan looked like they were having the time of their life.

"Why so tired?"

Leaning forward in the seat, Willow nodded over to the opposite side of the room, where Percy was sitting in the cushioned window seat with a book in his hands. Why he was pretending to read a Sesame Street book, Hermione didn’t know.

"He has been behaving rather...strangely today."

"He has someone on his mind," Willow muttered, jerking her head subtly in the direction of the table, where Buffy, Ron, Amy, Xander, Sirius, Harry and Ginny were sitting and discussing the threat of Glory.

Ron looked like he was very interested in something the Slayer was saying.

Hermione looked from the table to Percy, then saw just who the most rigid of the Weasleys was staring longingly at. "He fancies Amy?" she whispered in shock.

"I think so," Willow said, exhaling a breath. "Which definitely isn’t of the good."

"How do you work that out?"

"Look who Amy is interested in."

Sure enough, Amy was sitting so close to Ron that she was practically curled up in his lap, touching, prodding and swatting him at any chance she got, which Ron didn’t seem to mind, but then, he was a little distracted.

By a small blonde woman.

Who was currently chatting amiably to a striking black-haired man with dazzling blue eyes.

"Ohhhh..."

"I’ll say," Willow muttered, leaning back in her seat. "And Buffy likes Sirius, but I don’t think she like-likes him. I dunno why, cos he’s all hot and sexy," Hermione raised her eyebrows. "But not as hot or sexy as you," Willow corrected with an impish grin. "And you look better in a dress."

"I would hope so!" Hermione huffed, then glanced at the table again. "What about Ron? Does she know Ron has a crush on her?"

"Buffy wouldn’t know if someone liked her, unless they walked up to her, smooched her and said ‘I like you like you’."

"So Ron’s everso subtle mumbling approach won’t go down too well?"

"Mmm."

"And Amy..."

"She’s liked Ron since they first met," Willow replied. "She likes kinda goofy, but not too goofy guys, so Ron is perfect in her opinion. Plus, hey! He’s my big brother and it’s always good to date a friend’s big brother, because they can’t do anything too bad to you, unless they want you to get revenge."

"Poor old Percy..."

"Shouldn’t we feel sorry for Ron?"

Hermione shook her head adamantly. "He can get any girl he wants, if he just puts his mind to it. I mean, look at him! He’s tall, good-looking, he has a brilliant sense of humour and he can be your best friend. He always chooses the impossible, though. He has missed so many chances just because he was always looking at the better-looking person in the distance. Has done ever since he met Fleur."

"Bill’s wife?"

Hermione nodded. "Ron fancied her for months."

"So him and Amy...?"

"We stop at all costs."

Willow grinned, shifting in the seat so Hermione could perch comfortable on the deep red velvet of the arm. "So what do you have planned, oh wicked witch? Do you want to help out my hopeless big brother?"

"Percy hasn’t had any luck with women, mainly because he has been so focussed on his work," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Now, he is interested and that’s because the woman started out as work."

"And that woman is interested in the goofy younger brother."

"Willow, we’re witches," her lover reminded her. "If we want Ron out of the picture and we want to push a certain pair together, I am sure that we could achieve it without too much difficulty."

"You don’t think Ron would mind that we took a potential girl friend away?" asked Willow, worrying her lower lip.

Hermione glanced across the room at Amy and Ron. Ron had an arm around her, but he was still talking to the Slayer. "I think he sees Amy more as another little sister, because she came into his life at almost the same time as you. I don’t think he could see her as anything else. And now...Buffy and Sirius..."

"NO!"

"Why not?"

Willow gave her lover a look. "Because," she replied simply. "Buffy would kill both of us in a very slow and painful way."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

 

 

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