The Eighth Weasley

By Fyre

Chapter 41: Show & Tell

"You’re leaving me here?"

"Mmm."

Ben sat up amid the muddle of sheets and blankets on the bed, staring at the vampire woman, who was donning a tight-fitting black gown. "But I thought you were meant to be guarding me."

"That is because you have a head full of cotton candy," she replied dreamily, as she smoothed the bodice of her dress. "I came to play with your little snake, because my pet is so lost and far away."

"Glory didn’t give you permission to play with me, did she?"

The vampire grinned at him. "The shining one permitted me to play," she replied, her head swaying from side to side in a strangely reptilian fashion. "But I do not think she believed I would ride her hidden pet," She clapped her hands together gleefully. "Like a wild pony, you are!"

"You’re crazy!"

She pouted, whimpering deep in her throat. "That is no way to be talking to a lady, you wicked boy," she chastised, walking to the bed and kneeling to crawl across the mattress towards him. "So hot...fierce..."

Ben’s protest was smothered, when her cool lips pressed against his again.

Those chilly fingertips touched his cheek as she drew back, staring at him, her tongue running along her teeth. "If mummy’s job is well done, she will make sure you have another little treat before she says farewell, my sweet."

"Huh?"

A hand cupped his crotch through the sheet and the vampire grinned wolfishly at him. "A little treat for you, my pet," she replied in a husky murmur. "When I have picked the lock for the gleaming one."

One more fierce kiss was pressed to his lips and then, she was gone.

Ben fell back among the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. "My life is screwed up," he decided, covering his face with his hands.

***

"I think this is it," Minerva McGonagall said triumphantly.

Along with Spike, the vampire formerly known as William the Bloody, and Anya Emerson, formerly the Vengeance Demon Anyanka, the Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been waking in all her spare hours trying to put together some higher defences for the school.

Combining her and Spike’s equally sharp minds had been a stroke of genius on the part of Dumbledore. Anya Emerson’s knowledge of the ancient world and magics that had been around a millennium previously was an additional bonus that none of them could have counted on.

Presently, although it was two hours until dawn, a time when everyone else in the school was probably sleeping, she was in the silent library with the blond vampire, poring over ancient texts.

They were seated at one of the long tables that ran down the centre of the library, books, pages, documents and sheets of parchment scattered in organised chaos around them as they worked in comparative silence, fingers stained with ink and dust.

A candelabra stood in the middle of the table, illuminating their work with soft, flickering light. Both of them were wearing thick, black winter robes to stave off the chill of the massive room, making them nigh invisible to passers-by in the darkness that surrounded them.

Professor Dumbledore had offered his assistance in any way possible and, thanks to him, they had been able to access documents and manuscripts from the ancient library in Diagon Alley.

Many of the pages they had been provided with from the Ministry of Magic had been written in languages long lost to the wizarding world, which had convinced Minerva that they bound to fail.

However, she had not counted on Anya, who had picked up one of the sheets and started chuckling over it. It transpired to be a vengeance spell that a witch had written down after accidentally using it to transfigure her faithless husband into one of the sheep she had caught him tupping.

That was when they had realised that the thousand-year-old ex-demon could read the pages as easily as if it was the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, giving them an even bigger advantage than they had initially realised they had.

While the Head Master was letting them continue do the research, their team work better than anyone he had known, his own energies were directed into collecting the specific items they needed for the various protection charms.

Bill Weasley’s arrival had provided them with the Amulet of Shiron, the crystal of Adelar and several smaller items, which - when combined in the spells they had uncovered - would provide a near impenetrable protective circle around the school.

Or, at least, that was the hope.

"What now?" Spike looked up from the notes he had been making on a hefty book at Minerva’s exclamation.

"I think I’ve found the solution to that problem we were having with the Mendel incantation," she replied. "It’s a rhyme from that book Anya translated for us and if it matches, we have our answer. After that, it’s just a matter of rearranging the spell to suit Hogwarts, if I’m right."

"So, let the wiser one present see this wonder," he demanded patiently. Turning her script around to face him, she watched his eyes as he studied the notes, a look of weary relief and genuine appreciation crossing his lips. Looking at her, he sighed. "If I wasn’t so bloody knackered, I would kiss you, Minnie."

"Please don’t," she retorted, removing her glasses and rubbing her dust-dry eyes.

The vampire’s half-grin was undercut by the exhaustion that was overcoming both of them rapidly. Not only had they been working most nights on solving the riddles in the ancient documents, but they had also been working through the days - Minerva in her classes and Spike on the notes they had already.

"I’m here now!"

Both of them looked towards the door at the voice of Anya, which sounded a little shriller and more tight than it usually did. A grin that looked forced was plastered on her face and she hurried towards them.

"What do I need to do to make sure I don’t get killed or maimed?"

"We think we’ve found the solution, Demon-girl," Spike nodded towards the book that Minerva had placed her glasses on top of, the witch rubbing both hands over her face. "All thanks to you."

"Oh good," Anya sat down beside Minerva and looked down at the book.

"What are you doing here, anyway, Anya?" The witch inquired curiously, studying the younger, yet much older woman’s face. "I thought you were staying in with Mr Harris tonight."

Anya made a dismissive gesture with one hand, but didn’t look up from the book. "I figured this was more important than spending time with a muggle who thinks magic is stupid and only wants to stay with me for regular orgasms."

Unnoticed by the ex-demon, the witch and the vampire exchanged looks, both guessing that Anya and Xander’s already rocky relationship had just been taken down an even rockier road.

"So, demon girl, how about it?" Spike broke the awkward silence. " D’you think Minnie’s little discovery makes sense?"

Anya looked up, giving him a frail, grateful smile, her brown eyes moist. "I’ll have to check that I translated the rhyme right," she said, as she looked back down at the page. "I don’t want anything to go wrong with the spell! Everyone’ll yell at me if they get killed."

"If I get killed, I promise I won’t yell at you," Spike said with all the sincerity he could muster, Minerva chuckling behind a hand.

Anya gave him a half-exasperated look. "Obviously, because you’re already dead."

Minerva couldn’t help laughing.

***

"Mornin’ Xander. What are ye doin’ out here this early? An' in this weather?"

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree on the lip of the Forbidden Forest, Xander didn’t look around at Hagrid, gazing into the woods. He seemed oblivious to the fact that it felt like it was about to rain, wearing nothing more than muggle clothes and the most basic of robes. "I guess I just needed to be on my own for a while," he said sadly, his face as clouded as the heavy sky overhead. "Anya and me...we broke up last night... or this morning...a few hours ago...whenever it was."

"Oh..." Shifting his feet awkwardly, Hagrid’s brows beetled together as he fished for some kind of comfort for the young man. "I...well, I’m sorry, if tha’ helps."

"I actually thought it would have happened a lot sooner than this," Xander said, sighing. "Ever since we came back to the magic world, I haven’t been good enough. I didn’t have enough money when we were in Sunnydale. Now, I don’t have enough money or magic or abilities."

"Ye don’ have to be magic or have lots o’ money to be a decent feller, Xander," he said comfortingly. "Maybe ye were wrong for each other anyway?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, forearms resting on his knees, Xander exhaled a breath, which billowed out in a cloud of condensation. "Yeah, I guess so. I don’t have much luck with keeping a woman."

"Ye don’ have much luck? I’m seven’y year ol’, Xander, an’ I don’ have a woman around, do I?" Slapping Xander on the back, he chuckled, a deep, booming sound. "If ye get to my age an’ can say ye’ve only been involved once, I’ll let yer say ye don’ have much luck keeping a woman."

Turning, Xander smiled faintly. "You know, that could be real comforting or real depressing," he said.

"Aye..." Hagrid nodded, then smiled broadly. "Aye, yer right. But never mind about her, eh? Yer a decent muggle, Xander. Ye’ll get yerself a nice little muggle girlfrien’ before long."

Standing up, shivering a little Xander nodded. "That’d be kinda different from my record so far," he admitted. "So far, I’ve dated a cheerleader who went to LA to be an actress and ended up as a Seer, my best friend before she found out she was all witchy and an ex-vengeance demon. I guess a boring old muggle would be kinda nice..."

"Ye’ve dated a seer?"

"Well, she kinda wasn’t a seer when I knew her, but yeah and I seriously screwed up that relationship by getting smoochies from my best friend. A seer, a witch and an ex-demon. Pretty good record, huh?"

Hagrid laughed. "I’ve only ever had a half-giant Witch and lemme tell yer its not a good idea to argue with one o’ them...she threw the table at my head, without magic, when we were arguin’."

"And I thought doing wacky spells to try and keep my girlfriend was bad," Xander grinned. Drawing a breath between his teeth, he shivered. "Could we kinda maybe go inside? Its kinda cold out here..."

"The kettle’ll be boilin’ by now. Do yer want ter try one o’ my secret-recipe rock cakes?" Hagrid offered, as they started towards his hut. "I just made a new batch fer plugging up the draughts in me hut."

"Uh..." Xander looked up at the giant, then gave him a lop-sided grin. "Hey, why not? You only live once, right? Just..." Hagrid looked down at him questioningly. "If they had bits of skrewt or anything in them, you’d tell me, right?"

"O’ course!" Hagrid boomed cheerfully. "An’ don’ you worry! Nothin’ like that in the rock cakes. Just plenty o’ rock!"

Shaking his head, Xander actually smiled for the first time that day.

Hagrid beamed at him.

He liked the muggle who was so much like Harry and Ron combined into one rather lonely individual. The boy was almost always on his own, had been since the group had arrived, simply because he wasn’t magical.

The half-giant knew that feeling well.

"Xander," he said, looking down at the young man. "Have yer ever been down ter Hogsmeade? There’s a nice little pub down there and if yer like, we could go and get somethin’ ter eat and yer can see some of the shops and maybe la’er, we can go fer a proper drink."

"Sure!" he replied. "But...what about the rock cakes?"

"Oh, don’ you be worryin’ about them," Hagrid replied cheerfully, eyes crinkling in a smile. "They’ll keep and keep."

"Oh," Xander replied with a look of feigned enthusiasm, pulling the robes he had been given around his body. "Goodie."

As they walked away from the Forbidden Forest, neither of them noticed eyes glittering in the shadows of the trees, watching them depart.

***

"Hi Ron!"

"Morning Amy. Willow. Percy."

The third eldest of the Weasley clan made an incoherent squeaking sound in his throat, avoiding his brother’s eyes as Ron sat down at the breakfast table, pretending to read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.

"What’s up with him?" Ron asked Amy in a stage-whisper, across the broad table, receiving a brilliant grin in return from the girl. "He seems even stiffer than usual."

"With Percy?" Amy’s eyes flicked to him, then back to Ron. "Who knows?"

Beside Amy, Willow watched Percy from beneath her lashes. He was watching still watching the dark-haired young witch, although he did look convincingly like he was reading the article in his hand.

If this didn’t complicate matters...

Sirius Black had already sought an audience with Willow, asking her far too many questions about Buffy, what she liked, where she liked to go and so on for it to bode well on the ‘happy and straightforward’ relationships scheme of things.

Ron had asked almost exactly the same questions at various stages over the summer, whenever he had been at home and his interest in the Slayer didn’t seem to have dimmed in the least.

It wasn’t so surprising, Willow mused, because Buffy was definitely of the cute and attractive type and a lot of guys did go for the blonde look. She was also smart, funny and strong, which both Sirius and Ron seemed to appreciate.

Buffy, for her part seemed oblivious, distracted by her concerns about her sister.

It was kinda worrying to see Buffy not interested in guys.

Normally, she was the one checking out all the cuties in the vicinity, but lately, even after the yummalicious Sirius had arrived, with everything going on, she had become a lot more work-focused.

Willow was quite honestly surprised that Buffy hadn’t even noticed Sirius’ interest.

Hell, she had briefly wondered what he would be like as boyfriend material when she had first met him. The guy was good-looking and he had a crazy sense of humour that could keep them all laughing for hours.

The only male that Buffy seemed to notice anymore - aside from Giles - was the one she called ‘Snapey’ and that was solely because she had taken to bugging the crap out of him, when she needed to distract herself from the worried about Dawn.

"Morning, kids," Willow heard Ron groan at Sirius’ voice. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Feel free, Sirius," she said, scooting up a little, so the dark-haired wizard could sit down beside her. He glanced up at the High table, where Buffy and Hermione were talking over coffee.

"Great view you’ve got here, Will. And that Professor Summers...Buffy. She’s a very likeable lady," Sirius said amiably, either ignoring or oblivious to the look that Ron sent in his direction. Or maybe not. "Very likeable indeed..."

Ron practically growled in annoyance, scowling at his breakfast.

Sighing, Willow made certain that she had her wand close at hand, as well as her own natural magics ready. Something told her that as long as Sirius and Ron were in the same building, it was going to be a long day.

***

Ben was bored.

More than bored.

He actually wanted Glory to take her form back.

Pacing back and forth across the room, as he had since hours before dawn, when his vampire lover had departed, he wandered towards the window, where rain was pelting against the glass, rattling down the panes.

His eyes drifted to the massive pair of doors that stood opposite the window and he wondered briefly if he would be able to force them open.

He had considered throwing himself out of the window, but looking down at the gravel-strewn yard, many feet below, he had decided against the idea, as he rather liked his body intact.

Given a choice between killing himself and remaining bonded to Glory, he knew he would rather be bonded to a psychotic demon goddess.

Yes, she reduced humans that she didn’t know to little more than babbling husks, she took away the lives of nice, normal people, she ruined the existence of anyone who crossed her path, but better to be in conclave with her than in her way.

It was a shameful way to live.

He knew that he could defeat her with the simple - and noble in this case - act of suicide, but when it came down to it, he knew prized himself so much more than the hundreds or thousands of people she had destroyed.

No one - at least no one that he knew of - would be willing to give their life for the greater good.

No one would love so greatly that they would sacrifice themselves.

Unfortunately, now, his bond with the Hell Goddess had left him imprisoned in a beautiful room, with food and water whenever he wanted it and nothing to do except watch the rain slashing against the windows.

His eyes drifted to the door again.

Well, there was no harm in trying to make an escape.

If Glory liked this place so much, she could always bring their body back.

***

Both slightly merry after a pleasant morning in Hogsmeade, then a few hours in the Three Broomsticks, Hagrid and Xander had just arrived back on the grounds, having avoided the torrential downpour of icy rain a couple of hours earlier.

Xander had intended to make it back in time for Buffy’s little display, but now he knew he was ready to find a nice bed to spend the rest of the rainy day sleeping. It was so dark already, even though it was barely three in the afternoon, that it felt like nighttime for the Californian boy.

He didn’t really mind missing the ‘display’ since he had seen it all before. Having had a lot to drink, lamented his broken relationship, then spent a couple of hours singing karaoke with Hagrid, he was content that his day had been full enough.

Apparently karaoke had just reached the wizarding world, bringing a whole selection of popular muggle songs, which otherwise might never have been heard, into wizard homes all across the country.

Xander was sure he had never seen anything quite as funny as magic karaoke.

The principal was - as soon as you chose a song - you immediately were kitted out in the clothing and hairstyle of the person you were singing as, as well as receiving generous amounts of make-up based on the look of the artiste.

The only thing that didn’t change was your voice.

Seeing Hagrid dolled up as Tina Turner was quite literally one of the most hilarious things Xander had ever seen, although the tight-fitting, very revealing leopard print number had made his stomach twist in ways he doubted were of the good.

Although, had he been able to get to a mirror, he was pretty sure that he looked just as bizarre in his Elvis Presley look, when he had vainly attempted to sing ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ as a reflection on how he was feeling.

It had been a choice of that song or ‘I will always love you’ and, while he had been tempted to see how they would magically give him a ‘pair’ to rival Dolly Parton, he thought it was safer to actually avoid drag.

Now, though, the sky was dark above them, still billowing with heavy rainclouds that had yet to shed their load, the ground damp and slippery beneath their feet, as they stumbled back towards the hut on the edge of the forest.

"Uh, Hagrid," Xander’s voice was a little slurred, as was his vision. "I know that I had kinda a lot of firewhisky, but....isn’t that a giant spider sitting right behind your house?"

With Hagrid leaning rather heavily on his shoulder, he staggered to a halt and pointed at the rain-sheened mass behind Hagrid’s hut. Either the hut had grown legs or Aragog was paying a visit.

Hagrid squinted at the house, then his face split in a broad smile. "Blimey, Xander, I would never ‘ave notice ‘im sittin’ there," He slapped Xander on the back. "’E was always good at playin’ ‘ide and seek, was Aragog!"

Xander, after regaining his footing having been almost knocked off his feet by the pat on the back, looked up at Hagrid in disbelief.

Never would have noticed...

An enormous spider the size of an elephant was sitting behind his house, with hairy legs as thick as Xander’s own and twice the length of Xander’s body sticking out in all directions, and he wouldn’t have noticed it...

Although, admittedly, Hagrid had had a little more to drink.

"Does Aragog come out of the forest often?" he asked, quickly interrupting Hagrid’s rambling reminiscing about how cute Aragog had been when he was just a baby, when ‘’e were still big enough ter fit in me pocket’.

Hagrid paused and scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Now, tha’s odd, tha’ is," he remarked. "’E don’ ever come out ‘ere. ‘E don’ like bein’ seen. ‘E usually sen’s one of ‘is babies or summat ter get me ter go ter ‘im."

"The fuzzy effects of the fire-whisky were rapidly fading as Xander looked from his giant friend to the spider on the other side of the house.

"So he only comes here if it’s important?"

"Not even then," Hagrid murmured, half to himself. "I think I ‘ad better ‘ave a word or two with him, ter see what’s going on."

***

"You’re sure this is okay, Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore beamed at the Slayer. "I’m positive, Miss Summers," he replied as he lead her down the hallway, towards the Great Hall. "After all, I have provided you with challenges to test you and I do appreciate observing your skills."

Buffy smiled broadly.

When the Head Master had said he would provide her with a training area like Giles had in the back room of The Magic Box, in Sunnydale, she had been overjoyed. With all the skills she had developed over five years as Slayer, she didn’t want to grow lax because she was a teacher, especially with the growing threat of Glory.

"Where is it?" she asked for the tenth time as they descended another staircase.

"You will have to wait and see, Professor Summers," he chastised with amusement, his eyes twinkling. "And I hope you don’t mind that I have allowed friends and family of Miss Weasley to observe, from a safe, unseen vantage point. They have heard about your skill, but none have been privileged enough to witness it."

"An audience? That’ll be kinda weird and...kinda embarrassing."

"All you need know is that you and they are quite safe," Dumbledore said jovially, motioning towards the doors of the Great Hall. "Everything you see is a physical illusion for you to use. The creatures you fight shall be charmed objects and shall return to their native state as soon as you ‘defeat’ them."

"And it’s in the Great Hall?" Buffy’s eyes widened. "That’s like the biggest hall in the whole school."

Dumbledore smiled. "You did request a challenge and I hope to have provided one for you," He reached into the deep pockets of his robes, then withdrew his hand and a black blindfold. "If you would like..."

A wary look crossed the Slayer’s face. "Do I get weapons before I get in? Or do I wait before the fighting starts?"

"Do you trust me, Professor Summers?"

"Not really, no," she replied, taking the blindfold and placing it across her eyes as she said it. Dumbledore chuckled. Tying the straps behind her head, she allowed the Head Master to lead her towards the door. "Okay...lemme in."

She heard the loud squeal of the doors swinging open, the scent of a damp, musty graveyard washing over her. A shiver of eager anticipation prickled down her spine and she felt Dumbledore’s hand on her arm, directing her forward.

The ground felt soft beneath her feet, a little damp as well, the scent that of a cool California night. She could feel it making soft squishy noises as she stepped. Ho boy! The Head Master really wanted to give her a good challenge!

"There are weapons to your right and I will remind you again that you are in no danger in this room," Dumbledore’s voice was soft and reassuring in her ear. "Should you wish to stop, simply call out ‘stop’ and the illusions will dissipate."

"Can any of the stuff in here hurt me?" she asked carefully.

"You are familiar with the film called Star Wars?" She nodded. "You recall Luke Skywalker’s training?"

"You tell me I’m gonna see me in a Darth Vader suit and I’m outta here!"

"Perhaps earlier training, then," Dumbledore laughed. "When he is learning to use the lightsaber - like the remote in the film, the illusions here will be able to sting, but they will not cause serious harm to you."

"Okay," She nodded again. "Let ‘em at me."

There was a rustling of robes. "Count to ten slowly, then remove the blindfold and the illusions will commence."

Bouncing on her toes in eager anticipation, Buffy counted to ten. She could hear the movement of the Head master as he took himself out of range of danger and as she reached ten, she raised a hand and jerked aside the blindfold.

The setting momentarily took her breath away, the ground resembling one of the cemeteries of Sunnydale to such an extent that she could almost believe that she was back in the town.

She didn’t have much time to speculate, though, as a massive white-skinned demon that looked vaguely familiar leapt out of the bushes to her left, charging towards her at full speed. Dropping onto her back, her feet connected with it’s stomach and she flipped it, leaping onto her feet again.

Her eyes darted around and she spotted the weapons Dumbledore had mentioned, a few different throwing knives scattered between the gravestones, as well as some stakes, an axe lodged in the trunk of a tree.

Breaking into a run, she managed to grab the axe, yanking it free from the trunk, a moment before her demon attacker caught up with her, a swift swing of the axe connecting with the creature’s neck, its head and body parting company.

"I asked for a challenge!" she yelled to the unseen Dumbledore and was sure she heard a distant chuckle.

As if they had been conjured out of thin air, a triad of vampires - armed with swords and maces - ran at her. She recognised them as replicas of ‘The Three’ and couldn’t help laughing a little at the thought of how unoriginal that name was.

Back-flipping over a moss-covered gravestone, the granite cold against her palms, she slipped a foot under a sword and kicked it up into her waiting hand and taking the head off one of the three before they even realised she was armed.

The other two rapidly followed suite and Buffy shook her hair back from her face with a broad grin, as she straightened up, after staking the third, over the top of a grave at her feet.

An arm locked around her neck.

That was more like it!

Using the axe and sword, she managed to break free of the massive arm, recognising it’s owner as one of the trio of spiny demons who had unsuccessfully tried to open the Hellmouth only the year before.

Everything she was facing was coming from her memory, that much she knew.

The day before, Dumbledore had offered her a chance to fill a pensieve - some kind of memory...thingie - with images of the demons and creatures she had fought on a regular basis, to give them a more closer approximation of what she had to fight.

She had poured her memories of the fights in and watched in fascination and a little shock the way she fought them in the rippling surface.

She had never realised there were quite so many before or how big a lot of them were compared to her or how incredible her fighting looked. To her, it was simply a job, but watching it played back, it looked like she had it down to an art.

With a powerful sweep of her axe, she caught the demon hard on it’s right shoulder, sending it crashing to it’s knees in front of her, then rapidly thrust her sword deep into it’s chest cavity.

Several more demons followed the same line, attacking and being destroyed in rapid succession. Buffy could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins in a dizzying heady rush.

It had been far too long since she had been able to challenge herself physically like this and she was back in her element now.

The fact that she could not depend on her slayer senses to tell her where the next attack would come from made it even more of a challenge, forcing her to use her eyes and ears more.

Panting a little, she paused to take in her location, standing on top of one of the low crypts that had been added beside a large clump of bushes. Her sword was gripped in her left hand, the axe in her right and a stake was in her belt.

So far, she had used every weapon available, as well as manipulating the terrain, the open graves, gravestones and patches of sparse shrubbery that might have served as hindrances being used to her benefit.

A tingle from her right side made her whip around, ducking under the attack of a shrieking creature she didn’t recognise. It vaguely resembled an oversized, almost six-foot long, and very bald cat with bat-like ears and claws that lashed at her as it soared over her.

A gasp of pain escaped the Slayer, radiating through her back and she felt damp warmth spreading across her back.

"Stop!" she called out, straightening up.

The cat-creature attacked again, Buffy managing to jerk her sword up to block it.

"Buffy!" Giles’ raised voice reached her over the hoarse caterwauling of the demon cat. She saw him running out of nowhere, also armed. "Something has broken into the room! This isn’t an illusion anymore!"

Slayer-sense kicked in instantly and she swung around, raising her axe as the demon charged her again.

Slashing it across the head, she kicked out hard, catching it across the ribs, and sent it hurtling off the top of the crypt, jumping down after it and bringing her axe down towards the top of it’s large skull.

The creature was fast, though, jerking out of the way and launching itself at her, its fangs locking around her ankle.

With a yell of pain, Buffy stabbed down through the demon’s face, her other foot slamming down on it’s ribs to hold it still as she slammed the axe down on it’s neck, severing head from body.

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of Giles and a few of the other wizards also at battle with invaders. Using the sword to lever the demon’s jaws open, blood spilling down her torn ankle, she turned and ran as fast as she could towards them.

Whatever the demons were, she had never seen anything vaguely like them before.

There were claws, some mucus, whip-like tails, scales, horns, prongs, many arms and legs that seemed to be doing everything at once, but especially snatching at wands before the owners had a chance to use them.

Lunging into the fray, avoiding Dumbledore, Giles, the two eldest Weasleys and Sirius, Buffy swung the axe, cleaving one of the demon’s heads down the middle, while - behind her - another demon was greeted by her foot and sent soaring across the room.

With help from the wizards, the pack of at least a dozen demons were rapidly taken care of, the small knot of humans standing in the centre of the redecorated Great Hall, splattered with blood and goo.

Leaning heavily on the axe she still held, Buffy was panting heavily. "How the hell did they get in here?" she asked Dumbledore breathlessly. "I thought you said this place was protected."

Dumbledore looked far older than she remembered him looking as he surveyed the hall and the demon bodies strewn on the ground. "It appears that Glory is stronger than we anticipated," he replied.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I’m going to help McGonagall, Spike and Anya to get that ancient magical protection up and running," Giles replied for the Head master. "We’re going to need it right away."

"That would be wise, Rupert," Dumbledore agreed.

"Go, Giles," Buffy added. "We’ll be okay here."

Giles gave Buffy a look, but she waved him away and he nodded, departing, leaving the Slayer standing unsteadily on her bleeding limb.

"Are you all right, Buffy?" Dumbledore asked with clear concern, stabilising her with one hand.

She grinned faintly. "I've been better," she replied, limping over to sit on one of the magically-created gravestones and wincing. "Gimme a second to get my breath back, then we can go to the medical wing."

Leaning forward, she looked down at her ankle.

The demon’s fangs had torn right through the leather of her black boots and she felt a whine of annoyance rise in her throat. They were her favourite boots and now, they were all torn to pieces.

"You’re bleeding!"

Looking from her ruined boots, Buffy found Sirius kneeling in front of her. He gently lifted her foot and she yelled in pain. "Hey! Stop! Don’t start poking it! You’re making it worse!"

"Oh! Sorry!" Abashed, he dropped the foot instantly and she released an ear-splitting shout of agony as her torn ankle smacked against the side of the gravestone. "Oh crap! Sorry, Buffy!"

Grimacing, she glared at him. Pushing herself back onto her feet, wobbling unsteadily, she pointed at him. "Just...don’t touch anything, okay? I can deal with this kinda thing, except when wannabe first aiders start making things worse."

Sirius backed off immediately, looking very red in the face.

Dumbledore shook his head in mild amusement, approaching and offering Buffy an arm to lean on. "You really are the most surprising of women, Professor Summers. I have never seen anyone with the ability to make Sirius Black blush."

The Slayer’s glare abated somewhat and she leaned heavily on Dumbledore’s arm, her face a myriad of pain. "I do kinda get cranky when some evil demon thing eats my favourite boots," she admitted, taking a limping step alongside the Head Master.

"That is why you were angered by Sirius? Not because your ankle is in pain?"

"Well," Wincing with every step, she grit her teeth. "Yeah, it hurts, but the boots were my favourites...a hundred dollars...and that was in a sale...if Glory shows up, I’m so kicking her ass for sending those demons..."

The Head Master looked at her, partially amused by her attitude, partially worried about her injuries. "Would you like me to help you get to the medical wing, Buffy? I could have a stretcher take you..."

"Nuh-uh," Buffy replied firmly, although she had to reluctantly admit that her vision seemed to be drifting in and out of clarity. "Its just a demon-bite. No biggie. I’ve had way worse than this before. The more I walk and use it, the more quickly I heal."

"What about your back?"

"My...back? What about my back?" That was when the numb tingling in her back was brought to her attention and she twisted one hand up behind her back to touch the back of her pale blue sweater. "Dammit! Not the sweater too!"

"And you are bleeding rather...copiously," Dumbledore added, worry visible in his blue eyes.

"I am? Crap..." Sighing, the Slayer ran her free hand through her hair. "Okay, get me to the medical wing, Professor."

***

Coming to yet another junction in the massive house, Ben looked left and right. He couldn’t help feeling that he had passed this particular way before and it was starting to get a bit creepy.

It felt like he was being watched by unseen eyes.

The whole massive house felt like it was alive with some malevolent force, a force that knew what he was and what he carried in him. And, he realised, with a shudder, the house liked what it saw within him.

Glory and this house...

It was frightening to think an inanimate building could be so full of dark power that it recognised a Hell Goddess in her host’s form.

He had managed to break out of his room which was - fortunately - not locked by magic, using bits and pieces that he had found lying around the room, as well as breaking several expensive-looking pieces of furniture.

However, he had yet to find the exit.

The halls were dim, lampless. The only illumination he had were the rectangular panels of dull daylight that added grey patches to the blackness of the halls, through the windows set high in the walls.

He had been walking for what felt like hours, without seeming to get anywhere.

He had passed several doors, looking into the rooms on the other side, but none of them seemed to lead to a staircase that would allow him to escape the mansion that had been his prison for days.

"I don’t see why we should have to..."

Voices!

Thank you God!

Voices meant that there were other people nearby and other people meant he could get directions and directions meant he could get the hell out of here without anything worse happening to him.

Following them, he rounded another corner and saw a light slanting out through and open door.

Peering in, he saw a striking blonde woman, in her late thirties, perhaps early forties, sitting in a window box. She was clad in a dove-grey set of robes and was gazing out the window at the dark skies.

Behind her, an equally fair-haired young man was pacing angrily back and forth across the floor of the room. His pointed face was flushed with what could only be anger, an ugly scowl twisting his features.

"Uh...excuse me?" Ben cleared his throat hesitantly. "Hi..."

Both of the occupants of the room turned sharply, staring at him, the young man pointing a narrow stick of wood at him. "Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get into our home?"

"Draco," the woman sighed, standing up. "That’s hardly polite."

Ben privately agreed with her, thinking the boy must be slightly mad to wave a stick at random strangers. "I...I woke up in a bedroom here a few days ago..." Yes, this was the most coherent response he could come up with. "With a vampire... I don’t know how I got here."

"Do you know a woman named Glory?" the boy demanded angrily.

"Uh...you could say that...why?"

"Draco..."

"I want you to tell that gold-digging slut to get out of our home and away from my father!" Ah, so this is why the little ass was in a bad mood. Daddy was screwing around with a blonde goddess. "I want you to tell her go back to whatever hellhole it was she came from."

He really was closer than he knew, the boy.

"Draco Malfoy!" the woman snapped angrily. "Did I raise you to behave this way?"

The boy gave Ben a venomous look, then turned to his mother. "Mother, I apologise, but I feel I have every right to want that filthy whore out of our lives. She is probably after father for wealth and status."

Unfortunately, what the blond youth was saying was being relayed straight back to Glory and Ben staggered back a step. She really wasn’t amused by the cocky little jerk, that was for sure.

"I-I can’t tell her what to do."

"Got you by the balls as well, eh?"

Ben shuddered as he felt Glory stirring from her dormant position in the back of his consciousness, her irritation rising. "Look, buddy, just tell me how I get outta this place! It’ll be better for all of us if I’m gone."

"And you’ll take your whore with you?" the boy sneered.

Ben would have screamed a warning, but Glory surged to the fore and Ben was pushed back in her consciousness, his body bursting out into her one, leaving him as a helpless observer as she grabbed the boy by the throat and slammed him back against the wall.

"You know, puddin’," she cooed. "That was real rude of you."

Malfoy was gagging and clawing at her wrist, the blonde woman running forward.

"Please!" she grasped at Glory’s arm in desperation, her eyes wild and expression writ with panic. "Let him go! You’re choking him!"

Glory looked the woman up and down. "So you’d be Lucius’ wife, huh? Quite the stallion, ain’t he?" she grinned lewdly, then looked back at Draco. "Pity this arrogant little jerk doesn’t behave like his daddy-oh."

Her other hand rose and she trailed her fingertips down the choking youth’s brow.

"You never know, sweetie," she sighed dreamily. "One day I might just suck you dry like a sponge...one day when your daddy sees through you like I do." She smiled coldly and dropped the youth to the floor, gagging and breathless, his face scarlet. The woman knelt and gathered him in her arms fearfully. "You might wanna teach your little boy some manners."

Ben wished he could force his way back out and apologise to the sobbing woman, who was clinging to her nearly unconscious son, but he couldn’t and Glory just stood there, smirking as Draco gasped for breath in his mother’s arms.

***

"Professor!"

Snape wanted to smack his head down on the desk in front of him, wondering how another pupil - aside from Summers Junior - had been able to find where his private chambers were.

"Professor Snape!" Whoever it was, it wasn’t one of the younger pupils. Sixth or seventh year at least and they were knocking on the portrait with a little too much vigour for his liking. He could hear the portrait complaining loudly.

Rising from his desk and the scrolls he was marking, he approached the painting. He had stayed in his chambers tonight for several reasons: Sirius Black was still in the castle; Buffy Summers was still in the castle and was doing a display of her skills; he wanted to be able to turn down one of Dumbledore’s invitations for once; and, most importantly, he needed to reaffirm his standing as an anti-people person.

"OPEN!" He heard the feminine voice cry out and, much to his shock, the portrait swung outwards.

Well, if that wasn’t classed as an invasion of privacy...

And since when had someone been able to open the doors of the private chambers without a password?

A frenzied-looking red-haired young woman crashed straight into him as he stepped into the doorway and he looked down to find Willow Weasley staring wildly up at him, a trickle of blood running from her nose, her eyes slightly glassy.

"Thank God," she squeaked pitifully.

"Weasley, what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, catching her by the elbows as she staggered, almost falling, her eyes unfocused.

She had drawn on her inner powers, powers that most of the teachers only spoke in hushed whispers about. She must have done. Nothing else could leave her looking so sapped and disorientated.

"Weasley?"

"I...I...had to..." She sagged against him and Snape groaned in disbelief. This was just bloody typical. Lifting her quickly, he carried her to the bed and deposited her on it, then hurried to his shelves, seeking out a specific potion.

Returning to her side, he opened her lips and forced the peppery contents of a small vial down her throat.

It took effect almost instantly, the girl sitting up, coughing and choking.

"So, Weasley," Snape snapped, hauling her to her feet. While the potion was ideal for reviving people, if she didn’t start moving on her own, she was liable to faint again. "May I know why you felt you had the right to invade my chambers?"

"Dumbledore sent me to get you," she replied, swaying, her shaking hands spread on his chest as she appeared to try to regain her balance. "We need some kinda potion, sanguine potion...right now..."

Sanguine potion?

That potion was only ever used to replace blood that had been lost in vast quantities and was seldom required in Hogwarts, so seldom that he hadn’t brewed any in two months. That meant that the last batch he had sent to Pomfrey would be out of date.

Fortunately, it was quick to brew in cases of emergency, usually taking fifteen minutes as long as all the components were readily at hand.

Still gripping Weasley firmly by one elbow, he dragged her out of the room and down the hallway, lit only by torches, towards the dungeons. "What happened?" he asked tersely, their footsteps loud in the darkened halls.

"Buffy...she was doing her thing..." Weasley’s coherence was rapidly returning and he flashed a look down at her. Her eyes were coming back into focus. "Some demon things got into the Great Hall and she got hurt."

"Demons? In the school? Don’t be absurd!"

"Hello!" Weasley snapped back in the same tone of voice, jerking her elbow free of his hand. "Saw ‘em all with my own two eyes! There were demons! Big, ugly, scaly, clawy, icky, bitey drooly demons!"

Wonderful gift for visuals, this girl had. However, something she had said caught his attention. He didn’t know why, but he felt...something, although he wasn’t certain quite what, when he asked, "And Summers was bleeding?"

"Wherein lies the need for sanguine potion for Madam Pomfrey," Weasley replied, glaring at him, practically jogging to keep up with his longer strides. "Do you have kinda... lying around?"

"Lying around?" Snape snorted in disgust. "Have you no respect for the patience and skill that goes into making a substance such as the sanguine potion, Weasley? It is not something one would make on a random whim and have, as you so eloquently put it, lying around. It takes deftness, patience, care..."

"So you can make all kindsa weird magic potions. So you’re all skilful and creepy and uber-smart and sneaky and everything," Weasley returned at him bitterly. She really was a fiery little creature when she was angry. It was like having an irritated pixie flitting around him. Harmless and quazi-bitchy, but very amusing. "Big whoop for you! Have you got any sanguine stuff lying around?"

Black eyes flashed at her and he was smugly pleased to notice her recoil at his dark glare. So she was still afraid of him. That was a plus. "No, Weasley," he replied. "We have no potion left, which - I’m afraid - is why we are going to the laboratories."

"But Buffy!"

"I am acutely aware that Summers is in a perilous situation, little girl," he snapped, never breaking pace. "However, having you panic will do very little to aid us - or her - at this precise moment, so if you would be kind enough to keep your head and try not to lose control of your abilities again, as great a challenge as it may be."

Weasley stared at him. Running along to keep up with him, she seemed to gather her thoughts and then asked, "What do we do?"

"We brew a fresh batch of potion, obviously."

"We?"

Snape raised his dark eyes ceilingwards, exhaling a breath between his teeth. "Yes, Weasley," he replied, opening the classroom door with a gesture of his wand. The candles flared to life. "We, together, will produce a potion to aid your friend."

"But you..."

"Weasley," he said calmly, various implements flying out of the cupboards with a rapid succession of wand gestures. "If you intend to babble, I will be forced...no, I will take pleasure in putting a silencing spell on you."

Weasley flashed a glare at him that was really quite impressive. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"I only have one set of hands," he said, already bent over a large cauldron, which was settled over a large ring of flame on the floor of the dark dungeon. He was adding fluids from various vials that he had summoned from the cupboards. "I shall work on the potion. You will prepare the nightstar roots, gilded moth wings and the nettlebalm for the latter stages."

"You know Buffy’ll wanna kill you if she knew what was in this, right?" Weasley said, more to herself than to the Potions Professor, before she started working on her parts of the potion.

That particular thought put a song in Snape’s heart and a nasty grin on his face, as they worked.

***

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

Hagrid stopped short, Xander ploughing into his back, on entry to the large round office at the sight of the grim faces of several members of staff, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, Sirius Black, Harry and Ginny Potter all blocking his path towards the Head Master’s desk.

"What is it, Hagrid?" Dumbledore said, the group parting and allowing him through.

"Aragog, sir," Hagrid blurted out. "’E was at me ‘ouse, in a right state, sir! Came right outta the forest to find me an’ tell me! They ‘ad someone go inter their ‘ollow, the spiders ‘ave! A lot of someones an’ Aragog said they could’n see who it was, sir, an’ ‘e said," A grief-stricken look crossed Hagrid’s face at the thought of his arachnid friend’s anguish. "‘Is children, sir...they killed hundreds of ‘is children! Aragog never did nothin‘ to ‘arm anyone and they killed ‘is children an’ gran’children!"

Ron made some kind of choking sound and Harry immediately flashed a look at him, which made Ron fall silent.

"So they did come through the Forbidden Forest, then," Dumbledore said quietly, half to himself. "I suppose they were masked by some kind of darker magic than that we are familiar with until she deemed fit to reveal them."

"Who did what, sir?" Hagrid asked, looking and feeling rather flummoxed.

Blue eyes lifted to him and the giant could see the weariness in the Head Master’s expression. "I’m afraid there has been a successful attack within the school and we can only assume that Glory is behind it."

"Whoa! Whoa! What do you mean ‘attack’?" Xander demanded, stepping around Hagrid, his eyes narrowed. "Are Buffy, Wills and Dawnie okay? And Anya? Is Anya okay too?"

Dumbledore met the youth’s worried gaze calmly, a calm that had been practised through Voldemort’s reign. "Miss Summers was forced to fight a group of demons and received several injuries," He raised a hand to silence Xander. "She is being treated in the medical wing at present and will be fine. No one else was harmed."

"That li’l girl was forced ter fight demons? Professor Dumbledore, sir! That isn’ ri’!" Hagrid exclaimed. Looks were exchanged among the Weasleys and Xander glanced up at him. Clearly, there was something he hadn’t been told. "She’s jus’ a li’l girl! She can’ figh’ demons, Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

The Head Master gave him a passive smile. "You would be quite surprise, Hagrid," he said. "To learn what Professor Summers is capable of. I believe it is safe to say that she is a good deal stronger than she looks."

"Good thing too," Sirius Black added. "If it had been one of us against those...things, I don’t think we’d have walked away like Buffy did."

"Or humiliated you like Buffy did," Ron added with a touch of glee. Hagrid saw a dark look flash from Sirius to Ron, which was odd in itself, as they had always got on so well before.

Dumbledore raised a hand before Sirius could speak again. "Now, now," he said, although there was an unmistakable amused glint in his eyes. "I trust you all have taken your new tasks to heart?" Nods went around the room. "We will see you back here as soon as you are able."

"Tasks? What’s going on?" Xander was the one to ask Hagrid’s question.

As the Weasleys, the Potters and Sirius filed out of the office, Charlie paused beside Xander. "We have to get things ready, in case this demon...person attacks. We’re the cavalry, so we’ve all got to go and prepare."

"Right," Xander acknowledged.

Hagrid recognised the tone in his voice. It was the tone of voice that Harry had used the moment that he realised that he was no longer safe, even at Hogwarts, when You-Know-Who had returned.

One massive hand came down on Xander’s shoulder. "It’ll be all righ’, Xander," he said, his deep booming voice reduced to a low rumble. "Ye’ve got Dumbledore on yer side, as well as all of Hogwarts and yer friends. Everything’s goin’ ter be fine."

"Yeah..." Xander sighed. "Yeah, you’re probably right."

Hagrid managed to smile down at him, wishing he was as convinced as he sounded.

***

"You really ought to stay still!"

"I’m all right!" Buffy sat up sharply to prove a point and her hand immediately went to her forehead, a groan escaping her. "Okay, maybe not quite that good..."

Giles immediately pushed the Slayer back down on the bed in the medical wing, his green eyes shadowed with worry. "Buffy, please, you have to get some rest and allow the potion to work its way fully into your system."

"You know how bad I am at the staying-still thing," Buffy pouted up at him, shuffling up to lean against the pillows in more of a sitting position.

The bed was curtained off and Giles was the only one present. The rest of the wing had been cleared almost an hour earlier by the rather aggravated Madam Pomfrey after all the Weasleys and Buffy’s friends had piled into the long ward.

The only visitors since then had been Snape, to provide sanguine potion and a brief disdainful look before sweeping off again, Dawn - with Duncan allegedly for moral support - and Willow.

Willow had announced that she would make sure that Dawn was safe for the night, only for Dawn to rebelliously announce that she had a free room in the Gryffindor dorms that she wanted to use.

Giles had been forced to separate the two, Buffy in no condition to do it herself. It had been before the freshly-concocted sanguine potion had started to work and she was tired, pale and dizzy.

Dawn had won her side of the argument and looked smug about it, but Willow - taken aside by Giles - was told to make sure that the brunette teenager did end up in her room in Gryffindor tower and no one else’s.

Especially a certain Scottish boy, who appeared very interested in the brunette.

They had departed, leaving Buffy drifting in and out of sleep and a series of waking dreams, which had been unnerving and surreal. Many of them featured a tall, slender, faceless shadow with glowing gold eyes, flitting through the halls of Hogwarts, always just out of her reach.

She had woken, only moments earlier, feeling a lot better, to find Giles sitting by her bedside. He had watched over her, he said, as her lost blood was gradually topped up with the dark red potion, provided by Snape.

"I am more than aware what a bad patient you are," Giles admitted, his expression growing serious. "But it would be much wiser if you did rest. You’re going to need your strength more than ever now."

Buffy’s eyes settled on his face. "Things are that bad, huh?"

"You just needed the magical equivalent of a blood transfusion, Buffy," he replied gravely. "That alone should tell you how serious this situation has become."

"Dawn...where is she?"

Looking around to check that Madam Pomfrey wasn’t anywhere nearby, Giles slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew a tattered-looking piece of parchment, laying it on the table. "Willow gave me this, courtesy of Harry."

"A dirty piece of paper?" Buffy looked from it to him, trying to cover a mischievous smile. "Well, if that’s the kinda thing you like, that’s Christmas taken care of..."

"Buffy..."

"All right, all right," she laughed. "What’s the bit of paper for?"

Tapping it with his wand, Giles muttered "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"Giles, its paper. It doesn’t hear...hey! Neat! There’s writing!"

Rising to sit on the bed beside her, he held the scrap of parchment between them and let her watch as a map of Hogwarts fanned out before their eyes, tiny dots moving here and there.

"What is this thing?" she asked in awe, laughing as she spotted the dots that bore her own name and Giles’, in the medical wing on the map. Nearby, Madam Pomfrey was apparently bustling around in a store room.

"The Marauders’ Map," Giles explained with a faint smile. "When Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and James Potter, Harry’s father, attended Hogwarts, they were known to each other as the Marauders and were - by all accounts - a band of troublemakers. They made it their duty to find out everything they could about the school and poured all their knowledge into this map, for future generations of school-rule-breakers."

"How...how does it work?"

"Purely by magic," Giles answered. "I can’t imagine how they came up with it, but it bears the mark of genius." He tapped the map with his wand again and muttered under his breath, "The tower."

The lines on the map shifted rapidly, forming a cross-section of what was clearly recognisable as Gryffindor Tower. Giles tapped one of the levels with the wand, the lines changing again to reveal an overhead floor-plan of the level.

"There’s Dawn," he said, pointing to a dot on the small couch-shaped block in front of the main fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. "And there," He pointed to another dot by the table behind her. "Is Mr. Cameron."

"He’s a sweet kid," Buffy remarked thoughtfully. "But if he touches her, I’ll break both his legs. And," she added as an afterthought. "His arms."

"I’m sure Willow and Hermione will make certain that young Mr Cameron behaves in an appropriate manner," Giles chuckled, raising the map to his eyes and looking for the dots of the two witches. "Oh..."

"What is it?" Buffy demanded. "Was someone doing something?"

Giles shook his head. "Mischief managed," he said hastily, wiping the map. "There was nothing happening. Willow and Hermione are close enough to make sure that no harm comes to Dawn."

Although, he knew, trying to smother a grin at the thought, there could only be one thing that the two witches were doing to make their identity dots on the Marauders map overlap like that.


Chapter 42: Funky Soup

"Hey, Giles!"

Looking up from the scrolls he was marking, Giles smiled broadly at the two young witches, who had just entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Good evening, Willow, Hermione."

The room was dark except for the area surrounding the massive teacher’s desk, where Giles was sitting. A large, six-foot-tall brass candelabra with a dozen white candles was standing a short way behind him, casting a warming glow over him, a lamp on the desk illuminating the work.

"Hello, Mr. Giles. We aren’t disturbing you, are we?" Hermione asked, as she and Willow paused at the far end of the classroom. "I mean, if you’re busy, we could come back later."

"Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Hermione!" Giles motioned them forward, smiling. "To be honest, I would be grateful for a breather."

"Whatcha workin’ on?"

Nodding to the pile of scrolls to his right, the former Watcher grimaced. "I promised Buffy that I would have my share of the grading done before the Christmas holidays come around."

"Why isn’t she marking ‘em?"

Giles gave the red-haired witch a ‘Oh, come on’ look. "She has them marked and re-marked her essays on the creatures already, Willow," he answered flatly. "She enjoys working with the children here far too much and she always likes to get their graded work back to them as quickly as she possibly can. It also means that I am left to wade through their attempts at describing how to defeat dark creatures."

"Buffy the teacher..." Willow shook her head, grinning slightly, as they reached the desk where Giles was sitting. "I dunno why, but it still sounds way wiggy."

The former watcher removed his glasses, rubbing them on his tie. "Ah, yes, it does sound rather...un-Buffy-like, doesn’t it?" Swinging off the high chair, he stretched out his legs. "So what can I do for you two ladies?"

"We didn’t have anything to do since it’s almost the end of term and we noticed you weren’t at dinner again," Hermione replied, shrugging. "We were a little curious, as you’ve been missing quite a few meals lately."

Giles chuckled. "Concern? For me? I am very touched, but you needn’t worry about me going hungry," He nodded down to the side of his desk, where a small cauldron was bubbling over a ball of fire. "I have grown rather adept at cooking and since I was foolish enough to leave my marking to the last moment, I have been using every minute I have available to work on it."

"Y’know," Willow grinned at him. "I never thought I’d ever see a day when Buffy was more organised than you were."

Giles tried to look indignant. "Well, I-I-I have been rather busy, with spells and with her training and one thing and another." Both witches folded their arms and gave him identical, knowing looks. "What?"

"Well, who else has been doing Buffy’s training?" Hermione remarked dryly. "Let me think about this...could it possibly be Buffy? And she still manages to find time to do her class work, her grading and annoy Severus."

"Not so much, though," Willow added pensively. "She’s was way worried about Dawnie after the whole demony-invasion thing last month and she’s been working a lot in their room at night. Professor Snape has been way too busy as well."

"No doubt trying to keep ahead of me in the workload and I do believe people have warned her to stay away from Severus prior to the Christmas break, as he is likely to be in the same infernal grading boat as us," Giles grumbled good-naturedly, picking up the "Kiss the librarian" mug that was standing on the desk and bending to ladle some vegetable soup into it out of the cauldron.

Willow giggled. "Professor Snape would use your insides for potions if he saw you doing that."

"Doing what?" Giles inquired.

"Using a cauldron for making something apart from potions," she replied, her green eyes crinkling with amusement. "He got uber cranky with me when I asked him if he had any potions just lying around."

"Willow, Severus tends to be rather...er...uber-cranky most of the time, in case you had forgotten," the middle-aged man replied, sitting back down on the stool. "And I’ll have you know I do sometimes make potions, when I’m not..." His eyes went to the pile of scrolls and he shuddered. "Now, I have been forced to recall - in detail - why I chose to be a librarian and not a teacher at Sunnydale High."

Hermione smirked. "Why do you think the muggle-studies pre-Christmas essays are set to be handed in on the last day of term?" she said. "It gives me nearly a month to work on them."

"Nobody likes a smart arse, Granger," Giles retorted affably, studying the lumps of carrot floating in his soup. "Especially when that smart arse is getting shagged by a certain red-haired witch in the not to distant vicinity."

"Eeep!"

Hermione, while not quite as red as Willow, gaped at him. "How...?"

"Well, you see," he replied, using the tip of a quill to stir his soup. "I do very much like to have some kind of blackmail material, in order to have smug Muggle studies teachers and their girlfriends to help me mark my work, so as to outdo my fellow Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Nuh-uh!" Willow exclaimed. "That’s cheating! That’s not fair on Buffy!"

"Oh well," Giles gave her a wicked look, his green eyes twinkling with Ripperish glee. "I suppose that means I’ll set off a fireworks display in the hall with banners proclaiming the wonder of your love affair to the school public."

Hermione gasped. "You wouldn’t dare!"

"Wouldn’t I?"

"He would," Willow whimpered.

Giles’ face broke in a broad smile and he held out a quill to each of them. "You’ll find an ink well in each of the desks, so take as many papers as you think you could manage and lets see how well you work."

***

Sitting down at the High Table for breakfast, Buffy Summers looked dead on her feet. Her face was pale and she had dark rings around her eyes, her hair pulled back in a rough ponytail at the back of her neck.

Propping her right elbow on the table, she rested her head on her upraised hand and it did quite honestly look like she was about to fall asleep where she sat.

From the extra table, just in front of the High Table, near the Gryffindor table, Spike was staring at her with concern and nudged his neighbour, Xander. Xander followed his gaze, also frowning.

"What do you thinks up with her?" he inquired.

"She ever looked that bad before?" Spike asked.

Xander pondered the question for a moment or two. "Only when she came back after the summer when she killed the Master..." he replied. "And when Angel went bad... and when he left..."

"She killed the Master?"

Xander gave the vampire a look. "Well, yeah, but only after he killed her...and you didn’t know this, did you?" Spike shook his head, looking stunned. "The Master bit her and left her to drown. Angel and me went into the underground, found her, resuscitated her, then she threw the Master through a roof onto a pike and she’s been kicking ass every since."

"Crazy bint," Spike muttered, pushing out from the table.

"Where are you going?"

The vampire looked down at him. "I’m gonna find out what’s...bitten her," Xander groaned at the pun and Spike flashed a grin at him. "Maybe she just had a bad night’s sleep or something."

Approaching the High Table, he moved behind Buffy’s chair and squatted down beside her.

"Morning, Slayer."

Buffy physically jumped, looking around in fright. "Spike! Don’t do that!"

"Frighten ya?" He grinned up at her, leaning on the arm of her chair, but she didn’t return it and concern filtered onto his features. "What’s up, Slayer? You’re not your usual chipper Slay-gal self."

"I-I’m just tired," she replied evasively.

"Tired how?"

She exhaled a breath, then looked at him. "Dreams."

"Dreams?"

She nodded grimly. "Slayer dreams. I’ve been having them every night and they’ve been keeping me awake. I keep seeing someone...something in the halls. I don’t know who it is or what it is, but it’s always looking for something and I know it’s looking for Dawnie...I try to catch it, but every time I get close, I wake up."

"Any clue what it might be?"

Buffy shook her head. "All I know is that it’s got glowing eyes and that it keeps whispering that ‘Soon, my time will come and all the masks will be dropped’," she answered, running a hand over her face.

"You’ve told Watcher-man, right?"

"Everything I can," she said.

"Well, why don’t you get that Snape bloke to make up a batch of potion to let you sleep without dreams or something," the vampire suggested. "I mean, you look like you could do with a good night’s rest, luv, and he’s probably the only one who could give you a hand."

Rubbing her eyes, the Slayer nodded. "I-I guess I could do that."

"And you have no intention of doing that," Spike retorted. "You don’t want to ask the bloke for anything, do you?"

"Spike, it’s the end of term. All the teachers are real busy," Buffy said quietly. "I don’t wanna take up anyone’s time. I can deal with the dreams. I’ve been doing it for five years and if I can’t deal by now..." He gave her a look. "Okay, okay, if they don’t stop by next week, I’ll ask Snapey."

"You do that, Slayer," the vampire said, squeezing her arm. "I hate seeing you worn out like this."

Buffy smiled wearily at him. "Thanks, Spike."

"Not a problem, Slayer," he answered, returning the smile as he stood back up. "You just take care, all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "I’ll be fine."

***

"I don’t like this."

Two weeks had passed since the invasion of the school had occurred and since the new protection charms had been added around the whole building, preventing anything else from breaking in.

Once again, Dawn Summers and Duncan Cameron were in the girls’ toilets in the second floor corridor, checking on the potion that Dawn was brewing and had been for several weeks without his knowledge.

"You’re such a baby," Dawn snorted derisively. "It’s not like I’m making you go into the Chamber of Secrets or anything. You just have to test the potion..." She held out a bubbling cup to him. "Go on."

Duncan looked at it uneasily. "I don’t know, Dawnie..."

"Hey, at least you’re only gonna turn into me, right?" She grinned at him. "What could be wrong with that?"

Reluctantly swilling the lumpy substance around in the glass, he looked at her. "Are you gonnae take any of it then?" he asked. "I mean, I’m no’ gonnae be the only one takin’ this stuff."

"Babyman," Dawn rolled her eyes and reached up, grabbing several strands from his floppy brown hair. She picked up another cup, dropping the hairs in and ladled some of the lumpy polyjuice potion into it. "Okay...on three...one, two, three..."

Both of them took several gulps of the potion.

"Oh my gaaaaaaaaaawd!" Duncan wailed, fleeing for the nearest toilet.

Dawn had to agree with him, the half-full cup slipping from her hand and bouncing on the stone floor, splattering the remains of the potion at her feet, as pain shot through her body.

It felt like her bones were twisting and wriggling under her skin, which seemed to be stretching. Her joints started making strange, clicking sounds, her muscles twitching and she gasped, doubling over.

Prickles ran over her scalp and forehead. She saw her hair shrink upwards, shaking fingers grasping at it as it got shorter, until it drooped over her eyes in a loose fringe and that was when she realised she found she could straighten up without pain.

Looking down at her body, she clapped her hands to her mouth to try to smother a fit of giggles, as she recognised Duncan’s hairy legs sticking out from beneath her knee-length grey skirt.

It didn’t work and the giggles that escaped her mouth sounded bizarre, lower than her own, ringing off the walls of the bathroom.

"This isn’t funny," her own voice rang out from the toilet cubicle.

"It so is!" she called back in Duncan’s lower voice. Omigod! This was so cool! She quickly added. "You look good in a skirt!"

"I WHAT!?!" Duncan burst out of the cubicle, one hand holding his baggy trousers up around Dawn’s waist, which was much slimmer than his own. Duncan wasn’t fat, but he did have the build for playing a tough, resilient beater on a Quidditch team.

Blue eyes stared at the replica of his own body in disbelief, while Dawn did a little pirouette, making him moan in abject horror at the nightmare vision that was playing out in front of him.

"You look good," she said, grinning.

"I look like an idiot."

Dawn laughed. "Don’t worry, Duncan," she soothed. "It wears off in an hour."

Duncan’s expression looked the same whether it was on her face or his own. "A-a-an hour?"

"Yuh-huh," Adjusting the waistband of her skirt, Dawn looked at him. Her own features had gone white as a sheet and Duncan was leaning against the doorframe of the nearest toilet cubicle. "What’s up?"

"Us...we’re stuck like this...for an hour?"

"Yeah. And?"

"And," Duncan whimpered. "We have potions in ten minutes!"

Dawn’s face mirrored his. "Oh crap!"

"You bloody well could say that! What are we goin’ tae do?"

Dawn couldn’t help giggling as Duncan’s normal pronunciation slipped into her own accent. "We...we could always skip the class, I guess," she suggested. The look on his face said that was worse than being in her body. "Or not..." Chewing on her lip, she looked down at her body, then at him. "Quick! Take your clothes off!"

"I bloody well will not!"

Dawn rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "If we’re gonna make it to potions, do you want everyone to see you running around the school in a skirt, doofus? I mean, not you-you, but me-you."

"But you...I’ll see your...parts...naked..."

"OH!" Dawn felt heat burning up her face and tried not to look as flustered as she felt. "Uh..." She gave him a helpless look. "Could you...y’know get dressed with your eyes closed?"

"I-I could try," he agreed. "We-we should go in cubicles next to each other...pass the clothes under the partition."

"Yeah..."

They both ran into the neighbouring cubicles and Dawn hastily stripped off the shoes, shirt and skirt, pushing them under the partition as quickly as she could. She tried to avoid looking at her underpants, which felt a lot tighter than usual. She hastily unfastened the bra that was cutting in under her rib-cage.

"Duncan?"

"Aye?"

"Do you want my bra?"

There was a silence only broken by a demented giggle from Myrtle, two cubicles further down.

"Dawn, I really didnae need to have ye ask me that," Duncan mumbled, but he still stuck a hand under the partition and claimed it anyway. A few seconds later, he cautiously asked. "Er...how do ye put it on? I mean, I’m no’ lookin’ at...them, cos I’ve got me eyes closed..."

"Get it the right way around, put your arms through the straps and pull it on. How hard is that?"

"You don’t want tae know," Duncan muttered.

There were several bumps and curses from Duncan’s side of the partition as his elbows apparently banged against the sides of the cubicle in his struggle to fasten the odd piece of woman’s clothing.

Five minutes later, they emerged from their respective cubicles and Dawn looked him up and down. "I guess you’ll do," she said, tucking the shirt into the trousers she now wore. "How do I look?"

Duncan looked her up and down. "Uncomfortable," he replied.

"Huh?"

"You’ve got your feet three foot apart, Dawnie."

Going pink, Dawn shifted a little. "Well, I’m kinda...not used to having...stuff in the way down there," she mumbled. Duncan grinned at her, then rolled his shoulders, his grin contorting into a grimace. "What?"

"How do you wear these things? They’re some kind torture device!"

"You think a bra is uncomfortable?"

Duncan tossed his head in her direction, her hair flying everywhere. "Like, duh!"

"I so do not sound like that!" she exclaimed.

"Do too!"

"Ock aye, laddie?"

"Hey! I dinnae sound like that!"

Dawn pressed her eyes shut for a long moment. "We’re never gonna get away with this," she said, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. "I bet Snape’ll work it out as soon as we go in."

"Aye, because you’re no afraid of him and I am!"

"And the potion! It’ll wear off before class finishes!"

"Oh crap! Then he’ll know we’ve been doin’ stuff we shouldn’t have!"

Dawn looked down at the cauldron that was still bubbling in the toilet. "There’s only one thing we can do," she said, giving him a hopeless look. "We have to take enough to get us through the hour."

"Take it? Now?"

"No," Dawn replied. "Take it with us and try not to let Snape catch us with it."

Duncan whimpered. "We’re gonnae die. He’s gonnae kill us."

"Oooh, yes!" Myrtle’s head poked through the door of her toilet. "That would be good, wouldn’t it? And," She gave Duncan-in-Dawn’s-form a coy look. "If you get your own body back before you die, you can always come and share my cubicle. There’s plenty of room for two..."

"Omigod..." From her position, kneeling at the cauldron, ladling potion into little bottles that had once held ingredients, Dawn grimaced. "I so didn’t need to see what Myrtle flirting with me would look like..."

"Dawnie..."

A broad grin spread on the replicas of Duncan’s lips, the mischievous glimmer in the eyes pure Dawn Summers. "You know," she said, tossing him one of the bottles, which he hid in his - or her - robes. "This could be fun."

"Or suicidal," Duncan offered.

"Nah," Dawn laughed, closing the door on the bubbling cauldron and taking Duncan by the arm. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled, a sign that classes were about to start. Grabbing their bags from the sink, Dawn grinned. "It’ll be great!"

"I wish I had yer optimism," Duncan mumbled.

"Instead of my boobs?"

"Dawnie!"

***

Looking up from the register as the class piled into the classroom, Severus Snape arched an eyebrow as Summers Junior and Cameron stumbled through the door and immediately took up a position in the back row of desks.

They were practically steeped in the shadows and would barely have been visible to anyone who didn’t know every subtle nuance of the layout and lighting patterns of the dark classroom.

Summers Junior hiding at the back?

Well, well, something odd was certainly afoot.

Both of them seemed to be paying a lot more attention than usual to how tidy their desk was, neither of them looking in his direction, although he did notice Cameron nudging Summers Junior several times.

After checking the register and setting them to a task of working on a wit-sharpening potion, a standard potion that should be to all the fourth years abilities, Snape let his eyes drift back to his protegee at the back of the class.

Hands that were shaking wildly were hacking ginger roots blindly, although - he noted with amused interest - Cameron seemed to have got over the shakes that always assailed him as soon as he entered the dungeon classroom.

How very...interesting.

Drifting around the class, the room stuffy with fumes and the nervous scent of thirty teenagers, the only sound that reached Snape’s ears were the bubbling sounds of the cauldrons, the crackles of the fires and...whispering.

His eyes hooded, he searched out the culprits.

Somehow, he was not surprised, as Cameron whispered to Summers Junior, while swapping perfectly cut roots and ground scarab beetles with the horribly butchered roots that Summers had in front of her.

Without catching their attention, he circled around, coming to a halt directly behind Cameron and spoke quietly, almost directly in the boy’s ear, "And just what do you think you’re doing, Mr Cameron?"

Summers went rigid, but Cameron turned and looked up at him. There was no trace of fright of surprise on his features. "I-I-I was kinda helping D...Dawnie, sir," The stammer was clearly faked, but it was very convincing. "She didn’t...didnae know how to cut her roots properly."

"Indeed, Cameron," Snape smirked. The boy’s lips turned up in a smirk, which was quickly covered up with a sulky scowl. Oh, she was good. She was very good. "And you, Summers," Summers squeaked. "Tell me, how did you manage to produce a year seven potion three days ago and yet, now, you can not even cut some roots."

Summers mouth opened and closed silently several times. "I-I-I..."

"Some time this millennium would be pleasant, Summers," he drawled, watching for Cameron’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. He recognised the stubborn glare that was etched on the boy’s face.

"Quit being mean to him!"

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Him?"

Cameron blinked. "Oh! Her! Right! I meant her!" The boy shifted from foot to foot, wiggling his hips a little. With one hand, he tugged at the waistband of the trousers, a grimace crossing his face.

"What on earth are you doing, Cameron?"

Blue eyes looked up at him innocently. "My trousers are a bit tight, sir," he replied, a moan of anguish escaping Summers Junior. "I kinda..." The boy was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I kinda grew since last night."

Severus was hard-pressed to quash a genuine laugh at the smug look on Cameron’s borrowed features. No doubt, that was the little brat’s intention. "Indeed," was the only reply he gave though.

It had to be one word, or he would have laughed, he knew.

Behind him, Summers was scarlet, her face buried in her hands.

"Summers? You’re ill?"

"I-I-I’m not...um...that is..."

"You, perhaps, are...not feeling yourself, Miss Summers?" he suggested mildly, a slight lift of one side of his mouth serving more effectively than the widest of grins, his eyes glittering with amusement.

Two pairs of blue eyes stared at him in shock.

Feigning ignorance to what he had just said, he looked down at the pile of butchered roots, then at the girl. "Summers, perhaps you should take Cameron’s generous offer of assistance. My hopes for you as a potions mistress are clearly in vain."

With that, he swept off, leaving them exchanging bemused looks.

He had implied that he had caught them out, and yet, he had also just blasted that idea to pieces, leaving two very confused teenagers gawping in his wake, making him grin inwardly.

The mind of the teenager was a complicated thing and yet, it could still be befuddled with such ease, it was almost child’s play.

***

Tidying up their potions equipment and cleaning out their cauldron, Duncan and Dawn managed to take their second dose of polyjuice, apparently without being noticed by their Professor.

"D’you think he knows?" Duncan asked in a whisper, as they piled their notes into each other’s bags.

Dawn shot a furtive look at Snape, who was marking notes in a hefty book on his desk. "I’m not sure," she replied softly. "I think he does, but he’s pretending not to, to confuse us and make us do something stupid to give ourselves away."

"Huh?"

"Now, you’re starting to sound like me," Dawn laughed, receiving a pointed glare from her friend. "Look, if Snapey figured there was something up and he was mad at us about it, he woulda called us outta the class before, wouldn’t he?"

"Well...aye..."

Dawn shuddered. "Okay, that sounded so not right!"

"And you talking with my voice did?"

They exchanged grins, knowing full well that this had to be one of the most surreal days that they had ever had, which was really saying something at Hogwarts.

Gathering the last of their notes up and stacking them together, they piled everything else that was left over into their bags, following the communal scrum towards the door of the classroom.

"Mr Cameron," Snape’s voice spoke quietly from the front of the class. Duncan and Dawn both whipped around, exchanging anxious glances. Snape looked up from the book, his expression unreadable. "A word, if you don’t mind."

"Oh crap," Duncan squeaked. "What do we do?"

Dawn nodded to the door. "Go back to Myrtle’s toilet. I’ll be there as soon as I can."

"But..."

"Go on," she insisted firmly. "I’ll be okay."

Reluctantly, with one last look at Snape, who had turned his attention back to the marks book, Duncan took her bag and followed the rest of the class out of the door, closing the door behind him.

"So..."

Snape said nothing, did even less.

It seemed like several minutes had past before he spoke.

"Come."

Approaching the desk, she assumed what she hoped was a vaguely Duncan-esque stance, wondering if she was going to be in a lot of trouble if he had worked out who she really was.

After all, if he hadn’t worked it out, he would have to be real stupid and Snapey was hardly a stupid guy.

"Tell me, Mr Cameron," his intonation of the words were laced with sarcasm. "How did it feel to actually be adept at potions for once?" He raised his eyes slowly from the book and met Dawn’s. "Or, should I say, as efficient as usual?"

"I dinnae know what you mean."

"That really was a frightfully dire approximation of a Scottish accent, was it not, Miss Summers?" Snape remarked, laying his quill down. There was a definite amused twinkle in his black eyes.

Dawn shrugged, grinning. "I guess so."

"And you decided on coming to my class in his form when exactly?"

"Uh...well...we kinda took the potion before we remembered that we had a class..."

"And how long have you been working on this little project?" He arched a brow at her questioningly.

"For a month," she replied cheerfully. "But, duh, you knew that anyways, since you know that polyjuice takes a month to make, oh all knowing Potions Professor."

"And your source for boomslang skin and bicorn?"

She rounded her eyes at him. "I just used the stuff you gave me, Professor Snape."

"I wonder, Miss Summers," he remarked, smirking a little as he lifted his quill from the book. "How would your gullible little friend appreciate it, if I gave him detention for his cheek in this lesson?"

"No! You can’t do that to Duncan!"

"Pray tell, why not?"

"Because he didn’t do anything!"

"Alas, we have witnesses to prove otherwise, don’t we, Miss Summers?" he said calmly. "Now, if you don’t mind, if you wish to prevent your friend from humiliation, I would suggest you inform me where you find your supplies."

"Um..."

"Am I to assume that it is from a source, who is unaware that you have been raiding his supplies?"

"You could kinda...maybe say that...kinda..."

"And who, Miss Summers, might this source be?"

***

"Hey, Dawnie! Dawnie! Wait up!"

Duncan wasn’t aware of the voice hailing him, until a hand grabbed his shoulder and he spun around to find Professor Summers smiling at him. It felt like the bottom of his belly had dropped out.

Like every other boy in his class, he had briefly had a crush on the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and now, she was up close and she looked too pretty, in black and red combination, although tired.

All the teachers had been looking tired lately, but especially Professor Summers, McGonagall and Giles.

"H-h-hi."

Summers gave him an odd look. "What’s up with you?"

"Up? With me?" Duncan hoped that Dawn’s voice didn’t sound as terrified as he thought it did. "I-I-I just had potions."

Professor Summers rolled her eyes ceilingwards. "And I bet that cranky I’m-an-evil-fiend-so-fear-me-cos-I-wear-black jerk has been picking on you, just because you’re related to me again, right?"

"Er...aye...aye, you could say that."

"Dawnie, I think you’ve been spending too much time with that Scottish kid," the Professor laughed. "You’re even starting to use a Scottish accent!" She raised a hand and ruffled Dawn’s hair. "It’s so cute."

"Er...thanks..."

Another odd look was directed at him. "Thanks? Are you feeling all right?"

"Actually," Duncan fished around for a desperate excuse. "Er...I’ve got a...er...I’ve got a stomach ache..."

Professor Summers studied him, a deeply suspicious look on her face. "Uh huh...and what were you doing here, instead of going back to the dorm like you were meant to? You know you’re meant to be hiding out here."

"Hiding out?" All right, Duncan was officially puzzled.

Summer raised a hand and touched his forehead. "Are you sure you haven’t hit your head or sniffed to many potions fumes or anything?" she inquired, sounding a little worried. "You can’t have forgotten that Glory’s still looking for you!"

"Glory?" What was going on here? Who was this Glory-person? Why was she looking for Dawn? Why had Dawn been sent to Hogwarts for protection? Yes, they had been told she was a visiting student, but that was as far as it went.

Before Summers could ask another question, they both looked around at running footsteps coming towards them, down the long hallway.

Duncan’s physical form ran around the corner and almost collided with them, blue eyes going wide at the sight of Professor Summers standing there, hands on her hips and a questioning look on her face. "Buffy!"

"Duncan, right?" Hazel eyes narrowed a little.

"Uh...right...yeah...I was just looking for Dawnie..."

"I was just telling her about my stomach upset," Duncan interrupted quickly.

Dawn - through his eyes - gave him a look, then turned back to her sister. "Yeah! We were going to go to Madam Pomfrey to get something for it, but Snapey kept me back for speaking out in class."

"You? Speaking in class?" Summers had never looked more sceptical. "In Snapey’s class, Duncan? You hardly even speak in my class."

"I did it because Dawnie couldn’t," Dawn replied stoutly. "Can...can we go now? I mean, Dawnie isn’t looking real well." Duncan immediately let out a piteous moan and clutched his stomach. "Please?"

"I guess...Dawnie, I’ll see you back at our room, okay?"

"Aye," Duncan replied, as Dawn grabbed his arm and hauled him off. He had never been more relieved in his life to be away from a teacher. He was convinced that, if she had looked into his eyes, she would have known he wasn’t who he appeared to be.

Something told him that they wouldn’t have been able to pull the wool of her eyes for long.

"Why aren’t you at the bathroom already?" Dawn hissed, as they ran up the staircase towards the second floor corridor and towards the toilets. "It doesn’t take ten minutes to get from Snapey’s room to the bathroom."

Duncan went red. "I got kinda...lost," he replied sheepishly. "And then, your sister showed up."

"I guess I can forgive you then," Dawn grinned.

"Dawnie..."

"Yeah?" she looked around at him, as she pushed the door of the toilets open.

Worrying his lower lip, trying to decide if he should ask her what he had been wondering since her sister had spoken to him, he met her eyes. "Whose Glory?"

"How...?" A startled look crossed Dawn’s face.

"Professor Summers mentioned her," Duncan explained. "You don’t have to tell me who she is if you don’t want to..."

Dawn stared at him for a minute, then smiled thinly. "It might kinda help if you know, y’know," she said, motioning him into the bathroom. "Once we change back, we’ll go to my room and I’ll tell you."

***

"I just had the weirdest conversation ever with Dawnie."

Giles, kneeling on the floor, made an incoherent sound of inquiry, rooting through the cupboards that stood just behind the teacher’s desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Buffy walked in the door of the class. "Yeah," she said, a thoughtful look on her face. "It was kinda like it wasn’t even Dawnie I was talking to, which is impossible..."

"Of course, of course," Giles nodded, not even looking around. "Where the devil is that blasted box?"

"Box?" Buffy peered down at him. "Whatcha lookin’ for?" She spotted something on the desk, behind a pile of open books at the front of the desk and grinned, recalling what she had heard from Willow about Giles overworking. "Making soup, huh?"

"What?" Giles looked up. "Oh. Not exactly."

His head was stuck back into the cupboard immediately, packets and boxes piling up around him as he raked through the contents of the large cupboard, muttering a liturgy of rather interesting words under his breath.

Peering into the simmering cauldron, Buffy’s nose wrinkled. "Looks like some kinda way funky soup," she remarked. It was a pale, transparent brown with sprinkles of what looked like herbs floating on the surface.

It smelt good though, spicy and savoury.

"Yes, yes," Giles waved distractedly.

Shrugging, Buffy poked the ladle into the cauldron.

"Tastes okay," she gave her opinion, only for Giles to whip around, scrambling onto his feet and staring at her wildly, then at the ladle in her hand. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. "What?"

"You didn’t...oh dear God, Buffy...please tell me you didn’t..."

"Didn’t wha..."

Her words trailed off as the potion took effect and she keeled over in a dead faint.

***

"Severus!"

The door of Snape’s private quarters swung open a heartbeat before Snape looked up to see Giles striding towards him, a fraught look on his face and a bundle gripped securely in his arms. The older man was the only one in the school who knew the password, lest anything happen to Severus, as had been the case the previous month.

"Rupert? I thought you were busy with essays."

"We have a bit of a problem, Severus, and I need you to take care of someone for me, lest there are any side effects."

"Someone? Side effects?"

Giles’ face flushed. "I was brewing a potion in my classroom and since I have been making soups more recently, she assumed that I was making a soup and...well, she should have asked first...dear lord...I don’t even know what the stuff does!"

"What were you attempting to make?"

"A rejuvenating potion," Giles admitted immediately. "None of us have been at our best of late and I was aiming for something that might help. However, my powdered horn of bicorn vanished," That made Severus smirk a little. Hmm. Where could it have gone? "Before I could add it, so she ingested an incomplete potion."

Snape mentally groaned. "And you want me to watch over her?"

"You are the best person to recognise side-effects of various potions and counteract them with your own," Rupert said. "I would rather you watched her in case, while I tried to find an antidote, as I know exactly what was in the substance."

"What happened to the unfortunate girl? Where is she now?"

Giles looked rather sheepish. "Well, she fainted in the classroom and then, the potion actually did work...although not quite as I intended," He opened the bundle in his arms revealing a rosy-cheeked baby of about eight months, gurgling contentedly.

Dear sweet Merlin...

"No!"

"Sev, you’re the only one I would trust with her."

"It’s a bloody baby, Rupert! You know I despise the things! I would rather spend an hour in the company of Summers than touch that thing with a barge pole!"

Green eyes bored dangerously into black. "Sev, this is more important than your petty dislike of small children. If we don’t get her back on her feet, the school may have lost one of its key defences."

"You mean..." Severus eyed the pink...thing that was squirming in Giles’ arms with distaste. "That thing is Summers? You...you’re asking me to watch over a smaller and probably more irritating version of your little hussy."

"Please, Sev, just so I can find out how to get her back to normal."

Before the Potions Professor could answer, the baby was deposited in his arms and Giles was already walking out the gloomy room, exclaiming what a wonderful man Severus was.

Snape made a mental note to poison him.

Shifting the baby, who was wearing little more than one of Giles’ own shirts, he held her under both arms - after struggling for several minutes to get a good grip of the squirming bundle - and glared at her.

She giggled.

Damnit.

Even as a baby, she was bloody irritating.

It was going to be a long evening, he knew.

One of her tiny hands reached out and grabbed his hair and pulled. Hard.

Biting down on his tongue, he smothered the litany of curses that rose - although he couldn’t quite be sure why. It wasn’t as if him swearing would have any effect on her - and tugged her away from his hair, leaving several strands locked in her already-strong little fist.

She stared at him, her enormous hazel eyes seeming to get even bigger.

Her lower lip started quivering.

He could see it coming before it hit, but it was too late to stop it and she released a howl of protest.

"All right, all right!" He brought her closer, offering his hair as a toy, but she seemed to have lost interest in it, screaming with great gusto. Merlin! How could a child fit lungs that powerful into so tiny a torso?

Shaking his hands slightly, trying to jiggle her in the natural manner than mothers seemed to do, he only succeeded in making her howl even more loudly, kicking her plump pink legs and thrash with her tiny fists.

What the devil was he meant to do?

What did he know about babies?

Thinking quickly, he tried to remember what he had seen witches do with their babies and - with some rather awkward negotiation of baby Buffy’s wriggling body - managed to bring his arm underneath her, cradling her against his chest.

One of her hands caught his and yanked it to her mouth. Another storm of curses was hastily silenced when baby teeth bit into his thumb.

"Damnit, Summers," he growled, trying to pull his thumb free, but her grip seemed to be unbreakable.

The chewing gentled, though, and he groaned.

Summers, the annoying little trollop that she was, had shrunk herself into baby form by touching something she shouldn’t have and now, she was cradled in his arms and sucking on his thumb.

Things surely could not get any worse.

Walking across the room, he sat down on the edge of his bed, studying the smaller version of the Slayer. She was hardly blessed in the hair department, wispy tufts of mousey hair standing up here and there and she was plumper than he imagined her being as a baby.

Perhaps because she was so lithe and muscular at present.

Large hazel eyes were growing drowsy and he held his breath hopefully. If she went to sleep, that meant he would be able to lay her down and get on with some work while she slept.

Gradually, her lids drooped shut and Severus tried to place her on the bed without disturbing her.

However, as soon as he withdrew his hands, her eyes snapped open and she started to wail all over again, stretching out her little hands to him.

With a groan, he lifted her back up and held her against his shoulder. Standing up, he paced across the room, one hand under her, the other spread on her back to hold her securely.

"You really are the most obnoxious creature alive, Summers," he murmured to her, as he walked. "Small and blonde and downright irritating no matter what age you happen to be."

He could feel her mouth gnawing on the thick black fabric that covered his shoulder and mentally prayed for mercy from anyone who was listening.

It took nearly half an hour of pacing before the gnawing stopped and another fifteen minutes to assure that she really was asleep. More carefully than before, he made his way back to the bed and placed her in it, drawing the blankets around her.

Straightening up, he looked down at her, checking that she wasn’t about to burst into spectacular fits of tears again.

It didn’t appear so.

With pudgy little hands curled into fists on either side of her head, she was smiling in her sleep. She did appear larger than she had been when Giles had handed her to him, which had to be good. Rupert’s shirt that covered her tiny body looked utterly absurd and Snape was horrified to realise that she actually looked quite adorable.

Turning his attention rapidly from the baby, he hurried back to his desk and tried to focus on the potions essays he had been working through.

***

"Bloody hell..."

"Pretty much."

Duncan stared at Dawn in awe and shock. "I...I...but ye...and she...ye both seem so normal...so...not magical."

They were in Buffy and Dawn’s bedroom and once Duncan had gotten passed being impressed at the stunning room, Dawn had sat down and explained everything she could to him.

Buffy would probably be pissed about someone else knowing, but Duncan was her friend and Dawn knew she could trust him.

"That’s kinda the idea, so no one guesses," Dawn admitted quietly. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands squeezed together between her knees, her eyes on her friend, full of fear and worry.

What if Duncan thought she was a freak?

What if he hated her after this?

"Wow..."

"Good wow or...?"

Duncan gave her a lop-sided grin. "Big good," he replied. "I mean really wow! The Vampire Slayer is real and she’s your sister and she’s our Professor! And you - you’re a magical being! Super-magical!"

"You don’t think I’m just a big freak?"

"Nah!" Approaching the bed, he sat down beside her and gave her a shy grin. "Ye’re Dawnie, no matter where ye came from. I like ye as Dawnie and everyone else likes ye as Dawnie. Yer not just a key or whatever it is people say ye are."

Laying her head on his shoulder, she grinned at him. "You’re real sweet, y’know."

"Och, I don’t know about that..." he mumbled, going a deep shade of crimson. They sat in silence for several minutes, then he hesitantly asked. "Do ye want tae see if we can go down to the games room for a while?"

"Sure! We can get Spike!"

The boy laughed. "I still cannae believe that we have a vampire in the school..."

"Not many people know and Spike isn’t really a proper vampire anymore, anyway, but he’s still so cool."

"Yeah," Duncan agreed grinning. "Kinda like the perfect big brother, eh?"

"Exactly," Dawn said. "Only, with fangs."

***

The whimpering was growing louder.

Laying down his quill, Snape turned to check on the infant, who now lay where baby Buffy had been lying. Over a couple of hours, she had grown from the baby form into that of a toddler, so he assumed that the potion was simply wearing off.

The bed was empty and a very drowsy and tearful four-year-old was standing on the floor, rubbing her eyes. Giles’ shirt was hanging down to her feet and her mousey hair had grown into blonde curls around her round face.

"Where’s my mommy?" she asked plaintively. "I want my mommy."

Sliding off the stool, Severus mentally imagined all the unpleasant things he was going to do to Giles when he got hold of him. Going down on one knee, he tried to force a friendly expression onto his face, but gave up.

"Your mother had to go out for a little while, Summers," he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. He didn’t want another screaming fit, if he could help it. "She asked me to watch you until she returned."

Moist hazel eyes blinked up at him. "I’m not Summers," she said, sniffing. "I’m Buffy, silly. Who’re you?"

"You may call me Snape."

"That’s a silly name," she mumbled. A hand rubbed under her runny nose, smearing the excretions over her hand and Snape groaned. How he had always hated the habits of children, ever since he was one.

Withdrawing a handkerchief from his robes, he lifted her hand away and wiped it clean, then held out the handkerchief. "Blow your nose, little one," he said. She stared at him in confusion. He exhaled a half-sigh, half-groan and held the kerchief around her little button of a nose. "Blow."

The resulting sound was somewhere between a squeak and a snort.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, rubbing her eyes with her other hand.

"And now, why are you up? You were meant to be asleep."

"I-I-I had a bad dream."

"A bad dream?" She nodded. "Well, it’s finished now. Go back to bed."

Her round eyes filled with tears and she started sniffing again. "It was scary," she whispered. "Mommy and daddy were yelling at each another again...I don’t like it when mommy and daddy yell..."

Mommy and daddy yell?

If he was right, the dreams of the child before him were drawn from the memories Summers would have had at that age. He had heard her talk about her mother before, but never her father.

"What did they say, little one?"

"Daddy was being mean..." she whispered. "Daddy said he was going to leave us... that he wished he had a better family..."

Then, much to Severus’ dismay, she started to cry.

If anything, this was worse than the screaming.

She stood there, in the middle of his private chamber, shivering and looking utterly pitiful in the oversized grey shirt, with huge, fat tears rolling down her chubby pink cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

"Come now," he patted her on the shoulder. "It’ll be all right."

Her shiny, pink lower lip quivered. The tears increased in quantity. "I want my mommy, Mr Snape. It-it-it’s not nice here. It’s cold and it’s dark and I had a scary dream and I want my mommy..."

She could have melted the coldest heart in the world with those few words.

He had to distract her. Anything to stop the tears, which were making him rather uncomfortable. "You are cold, child?" She nodded. "Would you like to see a magic trick that will allow you to get warm as well?"

"M-magic?"

Standing up, he motioned for her to follow him around the chair that stood near the mantle. Withdrawing his wand, he pointed it at the dark fire place and conjured a blazing fire, which immediately flooded the room with warm, flickering light.

"Ooooh! That was magic!"

"Indeed," he replied. "Now, perhaps, Miss Summers, you would like to sit in the chair and get warm, while I do some work?"

The tiny blonde girl looked up at him as if she had been betrayed in some way. "I-I can’t sit on my own, Mr Snape," she whispered. "Mommy doesn’t like me sitting by the fire on my own."

Typical.

Just typical.

A small hand rose and grasped his. Dear Merlin! She hadn’t been joking when she said she was cold. Her tiny hand felt like it was made of ice!

Summoning one of his old, but less used robes that were far too small for him, he put them on the little version of Summers. While he had not worn them for years, he had kept them for sentimental reasons, a gift from his late grandmother.

They would no doubt dwarf the tiny girl, but they were the smallest thing he had.

"This is a funny dress," she commented. "Where’d you get ‘em?"

"They are robes, child," he explained, tucking them snugly around her, the thick, midnight blue fabric pooling around her little feet on the floor. "They were made for me by my grandmother."

"They’re pretty," she decided firmly, as he rolled up the long sleeves so her hands could be seen. "I like blue. It’s my favouritest colour of all. Blue is pretty. Do you like blue? I don’t think you do cos you’re wearing all black and it’s not blue. Do you like blue?"

"You talk rather a lot, little one."

"Uh-huh," she agreed cheerfully. "Mommy says so too. I like talking cos talking is how you can know people and I wanna know who you are, so I’m talking to you to see who you are and do you like blue?"

"I suppose I can tolerate it," he replied, trying desperately not to smile at her childish prattling, despite all his best efforts. She really was an annoyingly adorable little creature. "Now, would you like to go back to bed?"

Summers’ face fell. "I thought we were gonna sit in the big seat," she said, pointing at it with a tiny finger. "Can I sit on your lap?"

"I really ought to..."

"Please can we sit in the big chair, Mr Snape?" Eyes that were far too big and pleading and which should have been classed as illegal weapons of persuasion were directed at him.

Harrumphing his irritation, he reluctantly acquiesced, sitting down in the large, dark leather chair and lifting the four-year-old Summers into his lap. She squealed with glee and snuggled against him, her tiny feet pulled up inside the warm robes.

"All right," he said, looking down at her. "What now?"

"Can I ask you stuff? I like asking stuff! It means I can find out things, so can I ask you stuff?"

"I suppose you might," he sighed.

"Okay..." Her face screwed up in concentration, as she thought. "Okay! I wanna ask you...why are you looking after me? Why isn’t Mrs Snape looking after me? I mean, mommy always gets ladies to look after me, so why did she get you instead of Mrs Snape? Is there a Mrs Snape or..."

"No." He cut off her question, partially amused, partially uncomfortable with this particular line of questioning. "There is no Mrs Snape. I was asked to watch over you, as a favour to a friend."

"Oh...why?"

"Why what?"

"Why isn’t there a Mrs Snape?"

Snape looked down at her pensively. What harm could it do to answer? "Because I did not require one."

"Huh?"

"I did not need a wife."

"Why?" Summers asked, staring at him out of those irritatingly large eyes. She sounded horrified by the concept. "Don’t you love nobody, Mr Snape? Does nobody love you neither? That’s real sad! Aren’t you sad that you don’t love nobody?"

"I have never needed to, little one, and I am not the most loveable of people, so - if someone were mentally imbalanced enough," She looked blank. "If anyone were crazy enough to care for me," he corrected. "I would probably scare them away."

"But you’re nice!"

Snape snorted at the thought. "I am most assuredly not nice, little one."

"Yuh-huh! You did magic and wrapped me in your funny dress and made me all cosy warm and you’re looking after me!"

"That doesn’t mean I am nice, child."

Hazel eyes studied him. "I like you," she said firmly. "And I think you’re nice."

"You are quite insane, child," he sighed. How very ironic that the four-year-old Summers liked him and yet, the twenty-year-old version made it her life’s pursuit to drive him up the wall.

A yawn from the tiny creature in his lap made him look down.

Summers was cosily burrowing into his chest, smacking her lips sleepily. Her hands gripped into the front of his waistcoat as she rubbed her cheek against his chest, making herself comfortable.

Wonderful.

Just marvellous.

Summers had decided that she was going to sleep in his lap and was getting a good grip on his clothing, so he knew that he wouldn’t be able to shake her off and place her in the bed.

Laying his head against the back of the chair, he lowered his eyes to the little girl who was presently snuggled against his chest. How, he wondered, could she go from being almost likeable to being the irritating creature she was now?

Raising a hand, he stroked the girl’s tumbling blonde curls back from her face, almost smiling when she shifted and swatted at his hand, even though she was nearly asleep as it was.

She really was painfully likeable.

***

Muttering the password to Severus’ chambers, Giles peered into the room.

It wasn’t quite as dark or cold as usual, which surprised him. There was a small fire crackling quietly in the grate and he could see one of Severus’ hands resting on the arm of the chair in front of it.

Where Buffy was, he had no idea.

He had spent nearly four hours trying to solve the riddle of what the potion did and had finally come to the conclusion that what he had effectively made was a youth potion that wore off by the hour.

Approaching the chair that Severus was seated in, he rounded it and immediately stopped short, his eyes going round.

While he had seen many unnatural and bizarre things in his life, nothing could quite contend with the absurd image that was now being presented to him in all it’s three dimensional glory.

Severus looked like he was asleep where he sat and comfortably so. That would have been a strange sight to see in itself.

However, it was the sight of five-year-old Buffy, fast asleep, clad in Giles’ grey shirt and in a large set of deep blue robes, cuddled against Severus’ chest, one of his arms around her.

"Comment on this," the Potions Professor muttered, making Giles jump. "And I will hex you into next week."

"You’re awake."

"How observant you are," Severus opened his eyes and sat up a little, which served to disturb the little girl asleep in his lap. Buffy whimpered in protest and snuggled closer against him. "I hope you have come to take her back."

"And disturb her when she is clearly so peaceful?"

"Giles," Severus growled.

The former watcher chuckled. "Of course I’ve come to take her back, Sev. Do you honestly think I’d be cruel enough to leave her to deal with you when she turned back into herself?"

Scowling at Giles, Snape turned his attention back to the child in his lap. "Little one," He gently shook her, until her hazel eyes opened and she squinted drowsily up at him. "Your uncle Rupert has come to take you back to your own room."

"NO!"

"Miss Summers..."

"I don’t wanna go with him! I wanna stay with you!"

Giles smothered a snort of laughter, which made Snape glare at him. "Sorry."

"I’m afraid you can’t stay here, child," Severus said to the mini-Buffy, who was glaring petulantly at Giles, her arms crossed over her chest. "I have a great deal of work to do and Mr Giles will be able to show you some more magic."

"Magic?" Buffy looked Giles up and down, her little nose wrinkling. "Nuh-uh. I don’t like him. He looks mean. I wanna stay with you. You’re nice."

By now, Giles was practically having to bite through his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud, while Severus looked like he was getting to the stage of wanting to hurl the child at the former Watcher’s head.

"Very well, child," Snape stood up, Buffy clinging to him like a little blonde limpet, her arms around his neck. "If you are going to stay here, you will have to take a little of my medicine, to be sure you don’t catch a cold."

"Medicine?" Buffy echoed dubiously. "Medicine is icky."

"You can stay and take medicine, or you can go with my friend, your uncle Rupert and he will give you chocolate."

"Oooh! Chocolate!" Buffy’s eyes lit up. "Will you give me candy, Mister Giles?"

Giles nodded, unable to speak for fear of bursting out laughing.

"But..." Her wide eyes went back to Severus, who bent to deposit her on her feet on the floor. "You’ll be all on your own again, Mr Snape! I don’t wanna leave you on your own."

"I assure you I will be quite all right, Miss Summers," he said, giving her a gentle push towards Giles. She stopped and came back to his side, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. "What?"

"C’mere," she whispered, tugging his hand again. "I wanna tell you a secret."

Sighing, Snape went down on one knee, little Buffy barely even standing the same height as his shoulder. "Well?"

Looking suspiciously up at Giles, she stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. "I don’t want you to be so sad no more. I’ll love you, Mr Snape, even if nobody else does." A stunned look crossed his face and it only got worse when smacked a wet kiss on his cheek.

Above them, Giles was shuddering with the violence of his silenced laughter.

"Off with you, child," Severus snapped gruffly, standing back up.

Giles lifted the child up, ignoring her glare, and smirked at Severus. "Well, Sev, I must admit I’m impressed."

"Would you be so kind as to leave me? Now."

The watcher looked down at the sleepy girl, who looked like she was already about to fall asleep against his shoulder. "What about the robes she’s wearing?" he asked, raising his eyes.

Snape looked at them.

"Let her keep them," he said finally, raising a hand to brush the girl’s golden curls back from her cheeks again. "Although, when the potion wears off, I doubt she’ll remember any of this evening. Do not inform her where they came from. She..." A faint smile curved his lips up. "She likes blue, therefore I believe they will be better used by her than I."

Giles nodded, all expression of mirth disappearing from his face. "Thank you for looking after her, Sev," he said sincerely.

"It was certainly...enlightening," Snape admitted quietly. "Good night, Rupert."

That said, he turned around and sat back down in the chair before the fire, letting the watcher and the young Buffy depart, leaving the quiet room steeped in silence and solitude once again.


Chapter 43: The Power Of Two

Stretching luxuriously, Buffy yawned, arching her back and flexing her arms and legs until they ached in the way that feels so good as soon as you relax.

Which was when she became aware of something.

Of more than one something as a matter of fact.

One: if she could judge her body clock as well as she usually could, it was afternoon, which struck her as strange because she never slept past seven o’clock in the morning, even if it was the weekend.

Two: she could hear voices in the room, which seldom happened, because she had always attempted to keep their room concealed, lest someone accidentally betray Dawn’s whereabouts to Glory.

Three: she felt alive. Not just newly-woken-and-a-little-drowsy alive, but caught-up-on-sleep-in-a-big-way-and-have-recharged-all-internal-batteries-to-full-power kind of alive. She was thrumming with energy, more than she had felt for days.

Four: Probably most importantly, she could sense a vampire in the near vicinity, but she definitely wasn’t getting ‘bad’ vibes.

Sitting up, rubbing her eyes drowsily, she pulled open the drapes around her bed to see Dawn, Spike and Duncan seated on the floor, apparently playing a rather obtuse version of poker with exploding snap cards.

A pile of singed and burnt cards lay to one side.

"Evening, ducks," Spike saluted her. That explained the vampire-feeling and the non-threat instinct. "Feeling better?"

"Spike?"

"Well," the vampire commented to Duncan. "That proves she’s awake, don’t it?"

Dawn reached over and smacked him on the head. "Spike! She just woke up! Don’t be mean to her until she’s awake properly."

Pushing her sleep-tangled hair back from her face, uncaring of how unkempt she looked to one of her pupils, she swung her legs out of the bed and pushed her feet into her slippers. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded, scratching her head.

"Giles put me on guard duty," the vampire replied with a grin.

"Giles did what? In my bedroom?" she squeaked. "Okay, that’s it. I’m killing him."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy, you were pretty much unconscious," she said. "Giles just figured that I would be way safer having Spike as my guard dog until you were awake again. And Duncan just came along so Spike could teach us poker."

"Un...conscious? How long have I been out?"

"Don’t worry about it, Slayer," Spike replied, placing a card down and pulling his hand back quickly when it exploded with a deafening bang. "Although, how you could sleep through nine games of this..."

Buffy blinked at him, having a little trouble remembering just how she had got from the classroom, to her bedroom, into her...wait a second...why was she wearing a large grey shirt and not much else?

"Okay," she snapped. "What’s going on?"

"Told you she was cranky when she woke up," Dawn muttered to Duncan, who was keeping his eyes safely down. "Buffy, you drank one of Giles’ potions on Friday night and it pretty much knocked you out."

"Knocked me out how?"

Spike shrugged. "Watcher-man didn’t go into details," he replied. "Just said that he was trying to find something that would freshen us all up a bit and you got to it before it was finished. Whatever it was, it helped you get some sleep."

"How much sleep...exactly?"

Looks were exchanged.

"Um..."

"Well..."

Buffy crossed her arms, tapping her bunny-slippered right foot. "Guys..."

"It’s kinda...Monday afternoon," Dawn finally answered, cringing as if she expected to be yelled at.

"Monday? As in Monday-Monday? As in three days after Friday?"

"Yuh-huh...?"

Running a hand over her face, Buffy shook her head. "I don’t believe this..." she muttered in disbelief, looking from Dawn to Spike and back. "You let me sleep for three whole days?"

"It...wasn’t exactly a matter of letting you sleep, Slayer. It was a matter of you not waking up."

"Once more, in American."

"You wouldn’t wake up," Dawn interrupted quickly. "Giles tried pretty much everything to wake you up. Potions, spells, throwing you in a bath full of cold water... or that’s what he told us."

"You didnae hear us playin’ with the explodin’ decks, either," Duncan added. "It would have woken the dead and you slept through it."

Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to take this information in. "Okay... so I’ve been asleep for three days..."

"And you’re looking a lot better for it," Spike said with a wink.

"Spike! Now is so not a good time to be saying stuff like that!" Buffy wailed, looking like she desperately wanted to throw something at his head. "I need to know what I’ve missed! Has anything happened? Did anyone find out anything new? What’s the what?"

"Well..."

"Yeah?"

Dawn looked down at her cards. "We accidentally burnt the staff room down and blew up half the suits of armour in the halls..." Duncan leaned over and whispered something to her. "And caused a flood in the dungeons...and...what was that thing called again? With the hitting tree...?"

Buffy looked hopelessly at Spike. "Please tell me they’re joking..."

Spike grinned. "Of course they are, Slayer," he replied, his blue eyes dancing with mischief. "But, on a serious note, Red and the Prof upstairs are humping like bunnies on a regular basis."

Reaching down, the Slayer slapped him across the head, with a cry of, "Spike! Like that would happen!"

Unfortunately, with her somewhat renewed strength, an average Buffy-style slap across the head now sent the vampire flying across the room and he smacked into the wall with a thump, before landing in a heap on the floor.

Dawn shrieked and Duncan swore in ways that no fourteen year should know how.

"Oh crap!" Buffy added in a shrill voice.

"Ow...I think ow covers it..." Spike mumbled, as Buffy scrambled over to help him to his feet. "Slayer...whatever was in that brew you took...bloody hell...wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you any time soon."

"Sorry," she winced, helping him back over to one of the seats. "I forgot I could do that. Haven’t felt up to it, lately."

"That’s cause you’ve been low on batteries, Slayer," Spike grimaced, clutching his bruised ribs. "Something tells me that your little duracell bunny has been recharged and you could go on and on and on and on and on and..." He gave her a quizzical look. "And did I mention the on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on..."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Want me to slap you across the room again?"

"Not really, no."

Buffy smiled sweetly. "Then shut up."

"Shutting up, Slayer," he replied, then grinned. "And up and up and up and up and up and up and up and..."

"SPIKE!"

***

"Hey."

Sitting at the extended table, Xander looked up in surprise. "Anya!"

Evening meal was about to start, a few pupils and teachers just starting to filter into the massive hall, although only Xander was sitting at the table, the rest of the group no doubt awaiting Buffy.

Smiling slightly at him, Anya looked down at the opposite side of the table. "This is a very awkward situation," she noted, then looked across at him. "Would it be all right if I sit here?"

"I guess," he replied.

The former demon slid down into the seat opposite him, looking down at the plate in front of her. On the other side of the table, Xander picked at the chips lying on his plate, an uncomfortable look crossing his face.

"So..."

"So..."

Another silence fell.

Xander dropped his fork, sighing.

"Look, An," he said, looking at her. "This is crazy. We...we weren’t right together, were we? We haven’t been right for a long time so why are we being so crazy with each other now, when we know we’re way better this way?"

Anya’s smile was faint, but visible. "You’re right," she agreed.

"Hold up," Xander gasped, clapping a hand over his heart. "I’m right? Why couldn’t you realise this...I dunno...when we were arguing? Damn! If I’d known I could make you agree with me so easily..."

"Okay, now you’re being an arrogant male oppressor!"

"Hey! I resemble that remark! I...er...resent...no, wait! I know this one!" Xander cocked his head with a teasing half-grin at her. "Which one of those do I use if I want it to be good for me?"

Anya retorted, a genuine laugh escaping her. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "You were a good, very sweet muggle boyfriend, Xander," she said sincerely, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she added, "And a very, very good orgasm friend."

At the High Table, Hagrid seemed to have a choking fit over his dinner.

Clearing his throat, his face deep scarlet, Xander flashed a lop-sided, albeit slightly pleased and smug, grin at his former-girlfriend. "You couldn’t have said that any louder, could you, honey? I mean, not that I mind the compliment..."

"Although," she interrupted. "You were the first orgasm friend I had in over a thousand years so I might not be a very good judge..."

"And you so could have missed that part," he added, raising a silencing hand. "The first part was good enough for my fragile, yet manly ego."

Giving him a familiar coy look, she leaned forward. "I don’t think I am wrong about you, though Xander," she said in a softer voice, her fingers tightening around his. "And I still love you."

Xander looked down at their joined hands, then back at her face. "Yeah," he said with a smile. "I don’t think I’m gonna ever stop loving you, y’know, and we can...well, we can do the friend thing, right? I mean, I did it with Willow and Cordy..."

"You think so?"

He nodded. "I know so."

***

"And I feel like...like...like...I dunno what it is! It’s like I’m super-charged! Like I’ve maxed out on caffeine."

As they walked up the flight of stairs towards the Great Hall, Rupert Giles looked down at Buffy in clear amusement, as she practically bounced alongside him, talking nineteen to the dozen about how energised she was feeling.

He didn’t need to be told and part of him wondered if it was the accidental ingestion of his potion that had done the trick or simply the fact that she had slept for nearly seventy-two hours straight.

Whatever it was, he hadn’t seen her quite as exuberant for some time.

"Oh and I was wondering," she added, as they approached the doors of the Hall. "Do you know what happened to me after I drank that soupy stuff of yours? I mean, did I grow horns, or sprout a tail or something?"

"Hmm? Oh! No...nothing like that," he replied cheerfully. "No...no...not to worry. You were your usual charming self."

"Yeah, but I didn’t have Slayery dreams and I’ve been having them every night since I got here and..." A puzzled look crossed her face. "I actually remember having a dream I haven’t had since I was a kid..."

"Imagine that," Giles remarked dryly towards the ceiling.

He and Severus were the only ones in the castle who knew what had actually happened to the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, although Giles has a sneaking suspicion that the Head Master was probably aware of it too.

Suspicious hazel eyes narrowed up at him. "Why do I get the idea that you’re not telling me something?" she inquired, pausing, causing him to stop as well. "Is that why you left me these robey things?" She indicated to the dark blue robes she was wearing over her normal clothing. "To apologise in advance for when I find out what you did to me?"

"Not at all!" he exclaimed, grateful that it was - indeed - the truth. Buffy, after all, had a knack for knowing when he was lying and when he wasn’t. "It just seemed that they would be more suited and well-fitted to you than I."

Truth be told, they did look good on her.

Although they had been made for Severus, when he was no doubt a young teenager, and although they were a little long for the petite Slayer, they settled just right on her slender body, making her look even more petite and dainty, trailing behind her.

Deep blue of a clear midnight sky, the only marking on them was a stylised silver ‘S’, which was embroidered onto the left breast. They were held shut by two round, matching silver buttons on each side of the breast, which were held together by narrow silver chains between them.

"So you’re telling me that nothing happened and you just figured you’d..." She spread her hands in a shrug. "I dunno...ditch these robes in my closet so I would have something kinda magic-person-style to wear?"

"I suppose that might be the gist of it," he agreed, smiling slightly.

He truly couldn’t wait to see the look on Severus’ face when it transpired that Buffy, his detested Summers, actually liked the robes and had insisted on wearing them, because - as Sev had noted - she did like blue.

Buffy looked down at her new ensemble, smoothing the robes with one hand. "Do they look okay?" she asked nervously, fingering a silver button. "I mean, people aren’t gonna point and laugh at me, if they see me in ‘em?"

Taking her by the arm and steering her forward, he assured her, "You look perfect, Buffy, and I’m sure everyone else will think so too."

"Really?" she asked plaintively.

Giles almost wanted to strangle the girl’s fashion-conscious side. "Really."

***

"But we should have gone to dinner!"

Duncan grinned up at Dawn from the position where he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom. "After all the meals ye’ve made me miss, I think I’ve got every right to pull ye out of one meal."

Once more, they were in Moaning Myrtle’s toilets and - much to Duncan’s relief - the ghost was absent. She had really taken far too much of a liking to him in a way that had started to unnerve the boy a lot.

A book in his lap, a candle standing beside him in a small lantern, Duncan Cameron was sitting at the far end of the bathroom, leaning back against the wall.

The dim light of evening was filtering through the round windows at the ends of the bathrooms, although barely bright enough for them to make one another out. It had been raining on and off all day, the sky overcast and the moon blotted out by cloud.

"So..." Dawn crossed her arms over her chest. "You know Buffy’s gonna be way pissed if she finds out we left the room, right?"

Duncan gave her a knowing look. "Then we’re gonnae have to make sure she disnae find out, won’t we?" he replied, looking back down at the book he had in his lap. "And I couldnae show this to ye in the room, in case anyone walked in on us."

Now, THAT intrigued the Slayer’s sister.

"What is it?" she asked, kneeling down beside him and peering at the book.

A smirk crossed Duncan’s lips. "Fred and George mentioned this book just before they left and I managed to find it."

"Find...how?"

"Er...I...kinda borrowed it off one of the seventh years..." he replied sheepishly. "Which is kinda why we have tae look at it during dinner," Dawn looked blank, so he quickly added, "So he disnae miss it."

"You stole a book?"

"Not so loud!" Duncan exclaimed, looking around frantically as if he expected a teacher to leap out and charge him with some heinous crime or another. "And I didnae steal it! I borrowed it! There’s a difference."

"Uh-huh..." Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Look, will ye just take a wee look at this potion and see what ye make of it?"

Leaning closed, Dawn started picking her way through the script in the hefty book, the scent the parchment making her nose itch. No doubt the seventh year who owned this book never looked at it, judging by the amount of dust trapped in it’s pages.

Her eyes settled on the paragraph Duncan was clearly talking about, immediately going round in surprise.

"I can’t believe adults actually told you about this book!" she whispered.

"Well, they were the Weasley twins," Duncan admitted. "D’ye think ye could manage the potions mentioned?" She gave him a look. "All right, yes, that was a stupid question, but I just had to check, especially if we do this..."

Dawn was looking at the page again. "Y’know," she remarked, her eyes glimmering in a way that made her friend deeply uneasy and paranoid. "If we do this right, we might be able to sell some new stuff on to them..."

"That’s what Fred say ye might say..." Duncan mumbled.

"Fred and George think that I’m good enough to make stuff for them?" Dawn squeaked enthusiastically. Her eyes lit up and she grabbed the book from her friend’s hands. "Oh, we are so making as many things as possible!"

Duncan shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide a small smile. "And George said ye’d say that," he added, although Dawn didn’t notice, her nose already buried deep in the book of potions.

***

"She does seem a great deal more vibrant, does she not, Severus?"

Lifting his chin slightly, Severus Snape looked sidelong at Albus Dumbledore, who was seated just two seats away from him. The Head Master was beaming in the direction of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was chatting animatedly with Granger and Flitwick.

"What was that, Head Master?"

Blue eyes turned to him. "Professor Summers is certainly looking more spry than she has in some time, wouldn’t you agree?" he said mildly and Snape was practically positive the old man smirked.

Severus glared at Dumbledore, although he had been thinking along the same lines a few moments earlier. Not that he would ever admit, publicly or privately, to noticing that Summers looked anything but downright annoying.

From what he had heard, she had finally woken from her potion-induced quazi-coma only two hours earlier. It had taken her a good half hour to realise that she had been sleeping in the same piece of clothing for three full days.

Apparently, her screams of anguish had rung around Gryffindor Tower, when she had confronted a mirror in her room, called Bob allegedly, and been greeted with the bird’s nest that seemed to have replaced her hair.

Bob had apparently screamed just as loudly, which hadn’t helped matters.

Fortunately for all of them, she had managed to get her hair under some manner of control. It was currently twisted up and pinned in place up the back of her head, a few loose tendrils curling around her face and she looked like she had scrubbed herself until there was almost a glow radiating from her.

Although, judging from the warm energy pouring out from her in waves, perhaps the glow wasn’t caused by excessive bathing.

Severus mentally chastised himself for even considering the possibility that Summers, the annoying little tramp that she was, had any kind of...glow around her, supernatural, natural energy or otherwise.

He also had definitely and absolutely not noticed that she was wearing the robes he had gifted her miniature self. Positively had never noticed how they seemed to compliment her features. Utterly had not noticed how well they seemed to fit on her.

Growling under his breath, his attention returning to the plate in front of him, he drummed his knife impatiently on the table, wondering if it would be considered ill-mannered to depart barely halfway into the meal.

Of course, that was when he remembered that he didn’t give a damn about manners.

Pushing his chair back with unnecessary force, knocking it over with a deafening crash, he stormed towards the side door and out of the Great Hall, aware of the rather surprised silence he had left behind him.

Leaning against the wall of the hallway, Severus closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists by his sides.

How could one person cause so much irritation?

She didn’t even have to deign to look at him today and yet, she had still succeeded in driving him from the Great Hall with her innate...good energy that had been flooding the room, sweet and light and utterly agitating.

Running a hand through his hair, which was - like hers - washed and brushed for fear of her throwing him under a scalding shower again as she had threatened, he straightened up and shook his head.

He would work, he decided, and ignore the little hussy.

After all, it was almost time for the Christmas holidays and the majority of the pupils would be departing soon, which meant that he had a lot of work to grade, especially bearing in mind the time he had lost the night before, due to a certain...distraction.

Stalking off into the halls, towards one of the many twisting staircases that lead down to the dungeons, he told himself that he wouldn’t let thoughts of the irritating little trollop affect him further.

Not a chance.

He would push her from his mind.

Completely and utterly ignoring any thought of her.

No, he really wasn’t thinking about how annoying she was or how much he wished that he could hex her into next millennium or just how decent those damn robes of his had looked on her.

No, not thinking of her at all.

***

"Care to join me?"

Standing in the doorway of the massive study, Ben couldn’t help staring at the man sitting on the opposite side of the mahogany desk, in front of the window on the other side of the room.

He had, after trying to escape, repeatedly found himself back in the room that had been his prison for several weeks and had decided that he would be wiser to simply give up any fight he had in him and allow Glory to do what she liked.

However, his door had opened barely moments after he had woken and a filthy little pillow-case-wearing creature with bat-like ears, a lumpy nose and bulbous terrified eyes had informed him that ‘the Master’ wished to see him.

Uncertain of who the Master was, he had pulled on clothes that had been left out for him and followed the creature - barefoot - down the wooden-floored halls of the mansion to this room.

‘The Master’ was seated behind a desk and he was possibly the most extravagant human that Ben had ever seen and, bearing in mind the things and places he had seen thanks to Glory, that was really saying a lot.

The rain-drenched moonlight gleamed in a soft, silvery halo on the man’s long, silver-blond hair, which hung elegantly around a pale, cold, gentlemanly face. Cool grey eyes regarded him from half-closed lids, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair, black-gloved fingers casually resting against his jawline.

His clothing could only be described as flamboyant. He looked like a dandy come to life, in a flared white shirt and tight-fitting black breeches. Feet clad in knee-high boots were propped on the edge of the desk in a pose of lazy casualness.

However, the cruel, calculating glimmer in his grey eyes suggested there was nothing vaguely lazy, casual or dandyish about the man.

"Who are you?" Ben asked cautiously, shifting his feet awkwardly on the cold floor.

The floor of the study was stone, unlike the corridors outside, and that polished stone was icy against his soles.

The corner of the man’s lips lifted. "The Master of this house," he replied, swinging his feet down from the desk and rising. He motioned towards the fireplace, where a blaze immediately sprang up. "Join me?"

Although it was said as a question, Ben knew it was meant as an order and complied.

Gesturing to one of the two seats by the gaping fireplace, the man’s smirk was starting to unnerve Ben a great deal. He sat, the man retrieving a glass of what looked like wine or some kind of clear liquid from the fireplace and taking the opposite seat, leaning back in that same casual fashion.

A startled cry escaped Ben as iron bands snapped around his arms and chest, pinning him into the seat.

Swirling the drink in his glass, the silver-haired man didn’t even look at Ben. "I hear you are the host for my rather charming associate," he remarked, holding the glass up to the light of the flames and studying it from all angles.

"What’s it to you?" Ben gasped, as the bands bit tighter into him.

Grey eyes drifted to him. "I’m awfully interested in you, you see," the Master of the house replied. "And I do so detest rudeness, so if you would..." He made a casual gesture with one hand. "Humour me, perhaps, I’m sure that this interview will be a...less painful experience for both of us."

Panting, as the bands grew tighter still around his chest and wrists, Ben nodded. "Okay! Sure! I’ll talk to you!"

"I know you will, dear boy," the Master chuckled. Rising smoothly to his feet like some kind of big cat, he gazed down at Ben. "However, I do suppose that once you’ve had a drink of veritaserum, you will be more than willing to tell me everything you know about you, your feelings about your Mistress and the experience of being a body-sharer."

"She’ll know you did this," Ben gasped.

This time, the Master of the house laughed, a sound chilling and devoid of humour. He squatted down in front of Ben’s chair, gazing up at him. "My dear boy," he murmured. "I thought you would have realised by now."

"Realised...what?"

The man smiled. It was like facing off with a great white shark. "Realised," he replied cheerfully. "That your lady gave me permission."

Ben stared at him. Okay, he knew Glory was screwed up, but letting a human in on all of her secrets? Like she would let that happen! Unless she really trusted the human and that had never happened.

Until now, apparently.

Unfortunately, though, being chained to a chair meant he was at a distinct disadvantage, which became all the more painfully clear, when a hand under his chin jerked his head up and the contents of the glass were forcefully poured down his throat.

Gagging and choking, he couldn’t help swallowing a little of the fluid. It felt like his mind had gone white the second he did so and he vaguely registered the man sitting back down, opposite him.

"So," the Master of the house said. "Tell me about Glory."

***

"So they’re back on speaking terms?"

"Mmm-hmm," Spike acknowledged.

"And you’re taking your time."

"Mmm."

"Would you mind hurrying up?"

Straightening up, the blond vampire turned to his companion. "Look, kitten, if you plan on cheating anymore, I’m just not gonna play."

Minerva McGonagall gave the vampire a shocked look. "Cheat? Me? Billy, for shame, how can you imply such a thing?"

Spike looked down at her snooker cue, which was poking against his knee. "Hmm," he remarked dryly. "I wonder." The witch immediately lifted it away, with an expression of mock-innocence that would have made Saints die laughing.

The odd pair was in the games-room that had been set up by Dumbledore on the special request of Dawn Summers and they had decided to take advantage of the fact that no one else was using it.

Currently, McGonagall was beating Spike seven games to two on the snooker table and she had beaten him hands down at Foosball and the Space Hockey games, which had lead to much vehement complaining that she was cheating and using her wand.

To prove a point, her wand had been placed on the fireplace and she hadn’t touched it.

Instead, she had used the cue to rile the vampire in various other ways.

On top of that, she really was a very good snooker player.

"I’ll behave," she promised, smirking.

Spike rolled his eyes at her and turned to take his shot. The cue ball ricocheted off the cushion and went into a corner pocket, initiating another bout of colourful swearing from the blond.

"You really are awful at this game," Minerva said, retrieving the white and immediately potting a rapid succession of colours, then the black. Straightening up, she gave him a smug smile. "And I believe you owe me."

Spike glared at the table, as if it had betrayed him. "Make it best of twenty!"

"Not a chance, Billy," she extended a hand, palm up. "I won fair and square and I would be much obliged if you would give me what you owe."

Scowling and grumbling loudly, Spike dug out a roll of film and handed it on to the Deputy Head Mistress, who gave him a smug smirk. "I’m sure that Miss Weasley and Professor Granger will be most interested in knowing that you have been sneaking into their chambers while they were sleeping. And with a camera, no less!"

"Hey! I’m a red-blooded male!" An eyebrow rose in his direction. "Okay, I’m a horny vampire who doesn’t mind watching a bit of girl-girl action. It’s not my fault that I just happened to be carrying a camera..."

"Or that you happened to point it at them and take several films worth of pictures."

"Just a fluke, one in a million chance," the vampire agreed. He paused, then gave her his best puppydog look. "Any chance of me getting a few copies to keep? Y’know, just as a memory of that one night of huge coincidence that involved naked witches, me being there by accident, the camera, chocolate...?"

Minerva cleared her throat. "Chocolate?"

"Didn’t they have it when you were you, back in the Dark Ages?"

"This coming from the vampire who is fifty years older than I am?"

Spike groaned. "Ran into that like a brick wall."

Minerva smirked at him. "I would certainly say so," she agreed, pocketing the film. "As for this film, I will be handing it on to Professor Granger and Miss Weasley, with your kindest regards."

"And a set of the pictures, eh?"

"Billy, my lad, you are a perverted demon to the last," she sighed.

Spike made a bow. "And I thank you for the compliments my lady."

"Twit," she added. "And now, I think I’m going to retire for the night, as I do have a rather early start in the morning."

"Scared to try another game, Minnie?"

"Bored of beating you into submission so very easily, Billy," she replied, retrieving her wand. "I bid you good night."

Spike smiled politely at her. "And I’ll make sure to ask Red for that film back."

"You do that," McGonagall said. "I’m sure she’ll hand it back to you once you tell her what it is."

Smiling an oddly innocent smile, Spike stuck his hands in his pockets. "Of course she will, kitten," he replied amiably. "G’night." The door closed and he grinned. "So, Niblet, did you get it?"

There was a swish of material and Dawn appeared from under the invisibility cloak, a small film canister held in one hand, a broad grin on her face. "If this is what you meant, yeah! She didn’t even notice."

Catching it as she tossed it to him, he arched a brow at the dark-haired girl. "You never fail to surprise me. Nicking a film right out a teacher’s pocket," he said. "You never know - we might have to sign you up for a life of crime."

"Nah," Dawn replied. "I’m gonna stick with potions just now. Too many way fun things to make."

"Nothing...dangerous?"

Dawn made a dismissive gesture. "Pfft! As if! Just crazy potions. The dangerous stuff is way icky and smells gross too...at least that’s what Professor Snape said."

"Good recovery, Nibbles," Spike smirked. "So...you best be getting back to bed, while I go and get this developed."

"What is it anyway? You were joking about the Willow and Hermione thing, right?"

"Of course!" Spike exclaimed, hand on his unbeating heart. "Do I honestly look like the type who would perv on two girls and...actually, forget that excuse. Do I look like the kind of vampire who knows how to take photographs?"

The teenager rolled her eyes. "I should be getting back to bed now, anyway, Spike," she said, shaking out the invisibility cloak. "You know how freaked Buffy gets if she wakes up and I’m not there."

"Night, Nibbles."

The door opened and closed again and the vampire grinned at the plastic tube in his hand, which contained the photographic evidence of Willow and Hermione’s affair. All right, it was just them sleeping, but still, they were righteously cute together.

It would always be fun to tease them.

Dropping the film into the pocket of his jeans, he took one last look around the room and muttered the password to dim the flaming torches, then slipped out into the dark of the halls and away to his room.

***

"Find out anything useful, baby?"

Looking up from the parchment he was writing on, Lucius Malfoy smiled slightly as his lover snapped the metal bands binding her to the chair and rose to her feet. "A good deal of very interesting and potentially useful information."

"Like where my key might have gone?"

"Indeed," Lucius murmured, motioning for her to join him by the desk, as he continued to write with an eagle’s feather quill. "I do recall that you said that the Slayer was the one protecting this...key of yours, was she not?"

"Yup." Glory sat down on the edge of the desk, brushing her hair back from her face.

A slow, chilling smile crossed Malfoy’s face. "While I am aware that our attempts to reach the Slayer have been thwarted," he said, not raising his eyes from his page. "We do have a little additional information."

"Oh?"

"It would certainly appear to be the case," Lucius replied. "While the Slayer may be protected by high magics now, I do believe we might be able to...persuade her to listen to us, if we develop our negotiation technique."

Glory raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Well," he said, leaning back in the seat. "You see, our wonderful heroine was not alone when she went to the school to teach. Several friends accompanied her and I have heard that her sister is also present."

"Her sister..." A gleeful grin crossed Glory’s pretty face. "I remember her. Cute as a little button. What do you have in mind for her?"

Lucius spread his hands, his lips curling in a smile. "Oh, I was thinking of the usual," he replied casually. "Kidnap, possibly a touch of torture followed by a little murder, although it may have to wait until she finds a breach in their security."

"Those new spells are still holding, huh?"

He grimaced. "You could say that. Apparently, no one can cross into school grounds without permission and should they attempt to force the issue, they will find themselves physically expelled with great force."

Sliding off the edge of the desk, Glory draped herself across Lucius Malfoy’s lap, sliding an arm around his neck and toying with his long hair. "And how is our little girl doin’ in her task?"

"I do believe she is close to discovering the whereabouts of the key," Lucius replied, eyes slitted, as her fingers wandered up and down the back of his neck.

"Well, that’s good news, ain’t it, cutie?"

"I certainly would concur with that assessment of the situation."

Blue-green eyes studied grey for a long moment, before Glory dropped a feathery kiss on his lips. "Sweetie, you’ve had a busy evening," she remarked. "And I’m horny as hell, so can we do stuff?"

Lucius chuckled. "You have such...captivating phrasing, my dear Goddess."

She smirked at him. "Look whose talkin’, cutie-patootie."

"Is that an indication that I must shut you up?"

Before she could reply, their lips met in a fierce kiss.

***

Whispering the password to Hermione and Willow’s room, Dawn glanced up and down the hall, making sure there was no sign of the vampire whome she hoped hadn’t caught on to what she had done yet.

The painting swung open and she slipped through the opening, running lightly up the circular staircase towards the bedroom that the two witches shared, her fingers closed around a certain item.

The door of the room at the top of the staircase was slightly open, which Dawn took as a cue not to knock and walked into the room, her eyes going wide as she found Willow Weasley and Hermione Granger in a bit of a warm situation.

Although, warm in the sense that they were severely lacking in the clothing department.

Pyjamas were strewn on the floor and chair beside the bed and both witches looked like they were fast asleep, curled under the pale, silky sheet on one of the beds, Hermione spooned behind Willow, her cheek resting against the red head’s.

The older woman’s arm was looped around Willow’s waist possessively and the red-haired woman’s hand was resting lightly on Hermione’s softly tanned forearm. She had a peaceful smile on her face.

Taking a step back, Dawn’s foot caught on the end of the borrowed invisibility cloak and she stumbled, knocking the door shut with a bang.

Hermione was on her feet, wand raised, in a heartbeat and Dawn uttered a squeal of embarrassment, covering her eyes.

If she had doubted that anything had happened between the two witches before, the blindingly obvious love-bite on Hermione’s belly assured her that they had - indeed - been partaking in smoochies.

Or, they had become members of some belly-sucking cult, but Dawn felt pretty sure that she knew which it was.

"Dawnie?" Willow mumbled sleepily, sitting up in the bed, as Hermione summoned her bathrobe and pulled it on, blushing slightly.

"You!" Dawn squeaked, pointing at them, then realising that she still had the cloak on. Yanking it off, she pointed from one tot the other. "You...and you...in the bed...making with the smoochies!"

"Us?" Willow was bolt upright in a blink. "Us? Smoochies? No! Way big no! And in the bed? We were just sleeping! And I am so not good at lying...yes, we were making with the smoochies."

An awed look crossed Dawn’s face. "This is so cool!" she gasped, a broad smile crossing her face. "I shoulda guessed! I mean, you two are so alike! How could you not like-like each other?"

Willow and Hermione exchanged bemused glances. "You’re not uber-wigged?"

"Wigged? No way! This is beyond cool!"

Hermione actually smiled. "Never thought we’d get that reaction."

"Hey," Dawn laughed. "I’m the easy one to deal with. I know Buffy’ll be way wigged, so I’m not. It makes her go nuts when something seriously gives her a wiggins and I don’t get wigged by it."

The two witches couldn’t help laughing, as Willow summoned her own dressing gown and slid out of the bed. "So, what did you wanna come up here for at this time of night anyway, Dawnie?"

"Spike," Dawn replied. "He’s been up here for blackmail material. He took pictures."

The teenager was sure she saw a deep blush flood Willow’s cheeks. "So what’s he gonna do with them?" the red head asked, tying her dressing gown cord with hands that were shaking.

A small object was tossed across the room and Willow caught it.

A film.

"Nothing," Dawn replied, grinning. "But he doesn’t know that yet."

***

Withdrawing the film tube out of his pocket, Spike sat down on the edge of his bed in his hidden room, giving the little container a shake.

He had intended hunting down one of the Ravenclaw fifth years who was known throughout the school to be an avid photographer, in order to get the film developed, but it would have to wait until morning.

He rattled the tube again, a frown crossing his features.

It was the right weight, but something didn’t sound right about the rattle.

But Dawnie, the niblet, his sidekick had been the one to pickpocket Minnie and she would never, ever in a month of Sundays pull a double-cross on him. Or at least, he didn’t think she would have the nerve.

Lifting the plastic tube up close to his face, he narrowed his eyes and cautiously peeled up the edge of the lid.

Emerald-green fluid sprayed out of the tiny tube, all over his face, the vampire gagging and yelling in surprise. In the battle painting on the wall behind him, some of the soldiers stopped fighting to watch and started laughing.

Hurling the plastic tube away from his face, he blindly groped for one of his sheets and dried the goop off, wondering just what the little minx had slipped in, in place of the film when he wasn’t looking.

The giggling soldiers in the picture were getting louder by the second and he turned to them, only to have one of the commanders shriek hysterically and fall off the horse he was on, rolling around in the mire and laughing like a hyena.

Raising a hand to his face, Spike moaned. "I’m gonna kill you, Niblet!"


Chapter 44: Reflected Reassurance

Winter had descended suddenly on Hogwarts.

During the night, a storm had rushed in from the sea, coating the whole school in a thick lair of powdery snow. With the clear skies outside, the sunlight reflected into the Hall, brighter than usual.

Walking into the Great Hall, Hermione couldn’t help notice the flurry of whispers that spread around her. It felt like almost every eye in the hall was on her and it was a feeling she didn’t like at all.

Briskly striding down, towards the High Table, she tried to ignore the looks and shot a furtive glance at Willow, wondering if her lover was as aware of the pointed stares as she was.

Apparently she was.

The red-haired witch had her head ducked over a barely-touched bowl of cereal and she wasn’t looking anywhere but the table in front of her.

It was a little unnerving.

How did everyone know?

Surely Willow wouldn’t have told anyone else about their clandestine relationship without telling her first. And Dawn... she knew better than to run off and tell her classmates about it...

Approaching the additional table, Hermione paused beside her lover. Another rush of hushed conversation broke out and she flashed an angry look around the hall, all the voices falling silent.

So, she realised, judging by the impassive expressions of the other teachers at the High Table, it was only the pupils who knew about them. Either that, or the teachers were taking the news better than expected.

Somehow, she was more convinced of the former than the latter.

"Hermione!"

The hasty hiss from the end of the Gryffindor table made her look around. Dawn was beckoning her frantically, an apologetic look on her face. Resisting the urge to pull out her wand and jinx the girl, Hermione forced a smile and approached.

"Dawn," she said cordially.

"I’m so sorry, Hermione," the dark-haired teenager whispered, her face marked with anguish. "I-I was kinda talking to Duncan in the bathroom and Myrtle overheard and she thought it was funny, so she told Peeves...something about wanting to get back at you for ignoring her..."

Oh, marvellous.

"Let me guess," the Professor said in a somewhat less-than-normal voice. "He has been floating around all the Common Rooms and making sure that everyone know with a whole song about us..."

"And dance routine with backing vocals from Myrtle..." Dawn winced.

Hermione massaged her temples with her fingertips, in an attempt to stave off the impending headache she could already feel brewing. "I didn’t realise she hated me that much," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Hate you?" Dawn squeaked. "No! Nonono! She doesn’t hate you! She just wants to get your attention again!"

"My...attention?"

A pink glow flooded Dawn’s cheeks and she suddenly seemed to find her breakfast plates enormously interesting. "Um...Myrtle...she...um...she’s like...she doesn’t just like Duncan..."

"Oh...dear..." Hermione mumbled, clearing her throat. "Right...well..." She flashed a forced smile at Dawn. "If you see Myrtle, tell her to come to the staff room and see me, if it’s so important."

"Kay," Dawn nodded. "And...you’re not mad at me, are you?"

"You? Of course not, Dawn!" Hermione exclaimed, squeezing Dawn’s shoulders affectionately. "Although, Peeves had better look out, because if he comes anywhere near me, poltergeist or not, I’m going to wring his neck."

Leaving the teenager to her breakfast, the Professor of Muggle Studies turned her attention back to the High Table, hurrying up to her seat. As she passed Willow, she lightly squeezed the back of her lover’s neck.

As she took her seat, she shot a look down at Willow, who didn’t even look at her, her eyes still fixed on her plate, her expression one of misery.

Odd.

Normally, Willow would smile broadly up at her. She had been in such a good mood when she had left their room this morning, so what could have happened to lower her girlfriend’s spirits so much?

Yes, it was a bit of a shock to find out that almost all the students knew about them, but Willow had always been the one asking when they could reveal their relationship to the world.

Was it possible...was...could it be that she was disappointed now?

Was she hoping to keep it a secret permanently?

Did that mean that she wasn’t as happy as she had claimed to be?

Hermione’s face fell at the thought, the fleeting memory of her other lover crossing her mind.

His words, when she had asked if they were going to go public, still stung: "You’re good fun for a tumble in the hay, Herm, but be serious...you’re not the kind of person anyone would want to be in a relationship with."

Maybe he had been right.

After all, Viktor and Ron had acted the same way.

Everything had been great at first, then...

Then, everything was turned on it’s head and, within weeks of that happening, both relationships had floundered.

It couldn’t be them, she knew.

After all, since then, Viktor had got married only a year after they had parted ways and was now a father, twice over. Her other lover, from the Ministry, had also married one of his employer’s daughters.

Something, she mused as she picked at a dry piece of toast, had to be wrong with her, since every one of her relationships had crumbled around her.

Her eyes prickled and she bit her lower lip.

Maybe, she thought sadly, she should save Willow the heartache of tolerating a long sham of a relationship, before breaking up just after it became public. If it protected Willow from any hurt, she knew she would break her own heart.

Staring sightlessly at the piece of toast she was holding, her eyes still burning, she drew a slow breath. They would have to talk it through and hopefully, Willow would understand why.

Correction, Willow would probably be relieved about it, judging by the dejected look on her face.

Sadly, turning her attention to her toast, she picked up a knife and dipped it into the marmalade, then scraped it over the cooling toast. She felt stinging warmth of barely noticeable tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

She did not, however, notice two pairs of concerned eyes watching her.

***

"Knock knock!"

With his back to the open door of the classroom, Snape raised his eyes ceilingwards in a silent plea for mercy. "Summers," he said, not turning. "That most certainly does not qualify as knocking on the door."

"And look who got outta the wrong side of bed this morning," she retorted chirpily.

By Merlin, he wanted to strangle her.

Standing in the narrow slats of dusty light that cut in through the thin, high windows of the dungeon classroom, Severus slowly turned around to face his personal gnat, a long breath being exhaled.

Calm.

He would remain calm and civilised.

He would not grab his nearest textbook and hurl it at her.

"May I know why you have decided to torment me, so early in the day?"

The petite blonde flashed a grin at him, strolling into the room. "You’re really not a morning person, are you, Crankenstein?"

Much to his irritated observation, she was wearing his old robes once again, loosely fastened between her breasts and perfectly matched with her deep blue trousers and white shirt.

Perhaps, she was lucky that her clothing had distracted him, because otherwise the Crankenstein jibe would have cast him across the line between sanity and madness and a book would have rapidly flown at her head.

Or a cauldron.

Preferably one of the big ones.

"Summers..." he snapped. "If there is a reason for you being here, do inform me, or do me the great courtesy of departing immediately."

"I thought I’d drop by because you haven’t been at many meals and I hadn’t been down here in a while and figured that you might be missing me," she replied, ignoring his snort of disdain. "So...d’you miss me?"

"Summers, I miss you as much as I would miss a shattered femur."

Hazel eyes glimmered with amusement in the dust-captured light of the classroom, as she reached the desk in front of him and leaned her hip against it. "So, in a kinda roundabout way, you do miss me..."

"Summers..."

She laughed, the sound ringing like a thousand annoying tiny bells off the arched sections of the roof. "Oh, c’mon, Snapey! You gotta lighten up! We get rid of most of the kids in the next coupla days. Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to it."

Severus made a noncommittal sound in his throat, turning his attention to the scrolls and books piled on his desk.

"That’s what I came down for, too," she continued cheerfully. Damnit. All because of that blasted potion, she was ten times more lively and irritating than she had ever managed to be before. "You’re staying here over Christmas, right?"

Again he said nothing.

"See," she rambled on, her voice cutting through his attempts to disregard her like a hot knife through butter. Despite mentally screaming at her to be silent, nothing worked and he reluctantly turned to face her. "Professor Dumbledore told me that you always stay at Hogwarts for Christmas vacation and me and Dawnie...we kinda have to stay this year, in case Glory is watching our home in Sunnydale and mom can’t come, in case Glory follows her..."

"Do you intend to reach to point of this discourse any time in the near future?"

Summers chuckled. "You really are a cranky jerk, y’know," she remarked, cocking her head at him as she straightened up. "And yes, I do plan on getting to the point. We have to stay here. You always stay. Wanna have Christmas dinner with us?"

"Not particularly."

She stepped right in front of him, grinning that annoying, smug, American grin. "I don’t wanna be...well, yeah, I do wanna be the one to break it to you, Snapey, but you promised the Head Master you would come to Christmas day meals. You just have to choose if you wanna sit with me and Dawnie or with him..."

"Or there is the option of hanging myself from the decorations."

"Not really a Christmas kinda guy, huh?"

He stared at her implacably. "I think you will find that it is more about being given a choice of torment in two different dimensions of Hell," he replied coldly. "The old and irritating or the young and equally irritating."

"Since Dumble has been irritating you longer than I have, I’ll let that one slide," she grinned up at him. "And trust me, Hell is way worse than anything I could give you. I should know. I was there."

"You were in Hell," he echoed. "Somehow, I am not surprised."

"You don’t believe me, huh?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she gazed up at him steadily, her expression frighteningly old in it’s intensity. "I was there all right. In a Hell where people are forced to work all day, tormented by the knowledge that they are being forgotten by their loved ones. I was there for less than an hour, but it was enough. Getting out of there was the thing that let me go back. Hell was the thing that showed me that there were good things in life. Things worth fighting for."

Severus stared at her, uncertain what to think.

"Oh, and there was that one time I dived into the Hellmouth," she added, her tone lightening immediately. "And do I even have to say gross? I mean, ew! The stuff I saw down there was just uber-wiggy! Way glad I managed to stop it opening. The stuff inside was worse than the stuff that almost came out when we were at school..."

Black eyes blinked at her in sheer bewilderment.

"So...since Christmas dinner isn’t going to be Hell, you’re gonna sit with us, me and Dawnie, right? I think that’s a yes, yeah? Okay! Great!" She tapped him in the centre of his chest, beaming. "It’s gonna be fun!"

That said, she seemed to bounce all the way out of the classroom, leaving a rather puzzled Potions Professor standing by his desk, his face contorted in an expression of abject confusion.

Shaking his head slowly, one hand rose to touch the spot on his chest, where she had poked him. "She really is by far the most irritating little creature I have ever met," he remarked to himself.

Still, as he sat down at his desk, his fingertips still lingered on the spot where she had touched his chest.

***

Lunchtime had arrived and Willow still hadn’t been able to bring herself to approach her lover.

Checking that the other girl’s familiar face wasn’t present at the head of the hall, Willow kept her eyes on the floor as she moved towards the table that she shared with her friends.

She had seen the dark look that Hermione had flashed around the Great Hall at breakfast and if the brown-haired witch had been so angry about their secret coming out, did it mean she didn’t want anyone to know?

When Hermione had squeezed the back of her neck as she passed behind Willow at breakfast, Willow had been convinced that it was a small sign of her annoyance at their being ‘outed’.

Was she so bad that Hermione didn’t want anyone to know about her?

Chewing on her lower lip, she slid into her seat, not even raising her face to the other occupants of the table, who were chatting amiably amongst themselves.

"Hey, Wills!"

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she raised her eyes to Xander. "Hey."

"What’s up? You look like you just got told you’re gonna get kicked outta school."

She shook her head and picked up her fork, poking absently at the stew and potatoes that had appeared on her plate. "Nothing," she replied distantly, watching the gravy swirl around the meat and vegetables. "I’m good."

"Uh...huh..."

"You don’t look good," Anya added.

"An," Xander muttered under his breath.

Anya sighed the patient, long-suffering sigh of someone humouring a person who didn’t understand what they were talking about. "Well, she doesn’t, Xander. Maybe she hasn’t noticed!"

"I noticed," Willow said glumly. "It’s no big deal."

"Then why the long face, Wills? Failed a paper or something?" Willow shook her head, pushing a pea under the gravy with one prong of her fork and watching it sink without trace. "Wills?"

"Just thinking."

"Is this about your orgasm friend?"

"Anya!" Xander exclaimed.

"What? When people are cranky or depressed, it’s usually because they haven’t had enough orgasms."

"I know, An, but can you please not mention sex when there are kids here?"

There was a silence, then Anya seemed to catch up. "Oh!" she squeaked, apparently a little flustered. "Oh right! I didn’t realise that using the term orgasm would be offensive in public..."

"Not exactly offensive," Xander murmured. "But kids might not know what it means and I don’t wanna be the one to explain."

"Okay," Anya agreed brightly. "So...Willow, since you’re all...mopey and stuff, I’m betting you haven’t got laid for a while."

"Anya!"

"I can’t mention getting laid now, either?" Anya asked, in an injured tone.

"Maybe we should...y’know...change the subject," Willow suggested half-heartedly, mention of sex, love and relationships making it feel like a giant hand had clamped around her heart.

Anya started to protest, but Xander laid a hand on his ex-girlfriend’s to silence her and nodded across the table to Willow. "Yeah, Wills," he said comfortingly. "So... whaddya want to talk about?"

The red-haired witch shrugged. "Anything except that," she replied sadly.

Opposite her, Anya and Xander exchanged concerned looks.

***

"We have to do something."

In the Gryffindor Common Room, Dawn was sitting at the corner table, staring out on the snow-covered grounds of the school, watching a group of Hufflepuffs having a snowball fight.

She was wearing a thick, woolly red sweater, provided by the Scottish boy sitting with her, over her baby-T, and shirt, the icy winter weather far colder than her limited wardrobe had catered for.

Duncan nodded in agreement. "After all, it is kinda our fault that everyone knows about it and they’ve fallen out."

"I don’t think they’ve fallen out," Dawn murmured, her breath misting the panes of the window. "I think...I dunno...I think they’re both so scared of what they’ve got. I know that both of them had bad relationship stuff before, so maybe they’re worried that the other deserves something better than them."

"But they’re both great!" Duncan exclaimed. "And so pretty! And nice!"

"Yeah," Dawn said, drumming her fingertips on the table in front of her. "But they both have real bad issues with self-esteem. They both think they’re everything ungreat and that there are better people out there for them."

"So what do we do?"

Nibbling on her lower lip pensively, Dawn glanced back at the window, catching a brief glimpse of her reflection in the glass.

Suddenly, her eyes went wide. "I got an idea!"

Duncan’s face went a shade paler. "It doesn’t involve polyjuice, does it?"

"No!" Dawn exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "But we’re gonna need to get help from some of the teachers and I think we’ll need more than just us to convince Dumbledore to let us do it..."

The Scottish boy gave her a curious look. "What are you up to?"

"You’ll see," Dawn said, grabbing his arm and hauling him onto his feet. "C’mon! We have to hurry."

As he was dragged out of the common room, Duncan moaned. "I have a feeling I’m gonnae regret this..."

***

"Well, well, what have we here..."

Minerva glared at the painting. "I would suggest that you shut up," she said. "I’m not in the mood for dealing with you right now."

"Haven’t got laid for a while, eh?" the painting inquired, grinning at her and she was tempted to whip out her wand and give the occupant a makeover, involving flapping shoes, a red nose and voluminous rainbow trousers.

"Be quiet!" she snapped.

The painting snickered. "Looks like I’m right, then," it said. "Whatcha wanting?"

"Let me in."

"Gimme the password and I’ll think about it."

Pursing her lips, McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "I’m the Deputy Head Mistress of this school," she said coldly. "Open the door."

"Nope, that’s wrong."

"Right," she snapped. "I don’t need to deal with you. I know he can hear me through this canvas." Raising her voice, she called out, "Billy!"

"Sod off!" the reply came from behind the painting, making the occupant smirk at her knowingly. Her fingers were itching to teach the occupant a lesson, but decorum - and lack of a decent spell - prevailed.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was a patient woman for the most part, but standing in a draughty corridor, with breezes whooshing down and slapping her skirts around her ankles, as well as a loudmouth painting winding her up, she really wasn’t in the best of moods.

"Billy, you better open this door now, or I’ll make you regret it!"

There was a scuffling sound from inside. "Whaddya want, Minnie? I’m not opening the door unless it’s important."

"William," she snapped. "Weasley and Granger look like they are feeling that their significant other deserves better. I do honestly believe that they will separate because both think the other is too good for them."

There was a silence on the other side of the door.

"They’re wrong."

Minerva rolled her eyes, her arms folded, fingers drumming impatient on her upper arms. "I know that and you know that and every pupil in this school knows that," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "But they don’t and they are going to throw away a remarkable relationship if we don’t stop them."

There was another silence, then the click of the painting being slipped free and it started to open.

"Thank goodness," she began. "I almost thought..."

Spike looked gloomily out at her from the candle-lit room.

A choked giggle escaped her.

"Don’t even say it, Minnie," he said miserably, looking as pathetic as it was possible for him to look.

Even if she had wanted to say whatever ‘it’ was, Professor Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Head Mistress and prim and proper school-marm, was laughing so hard that she could not form a coherent word, no matter how hard she tried.

***

Sorting through his collection of Chocolate Frog cards, Albus Dumbledore was - as usual - unsurprised when the door of his office opened inwards and a party of people hurried in.

It was, however, the members of that party that caused a bushy eyebrow to rise.

"Minerva...William...Miss Summers...Mr Cameron..." Stacking his cards neatly, he motioned the closer to the desk, the vampire edging around the patches of sunlight on the floor, a blanket over his head. "How may I help you?"

"It’s Willow and Hermione!" Dawn Summers burst out. "We...we kinda accidentally let Myrtle know about them and she told Peeves and now, everyone knows and they have stopped talking! We think they’re gonna break up."

Dumbledore folded his hands. "Indeed?"

"Albus," Minerva laid a hand on Dawn’s shoulder, to calm her. "None of us want to see those two young ladies hurt, but if we don’t do something, they are going to ruin this special relationship they have, because of their own insecurities."

"Minerva, you of all people ought to know that I cannot change a person’s feelings."

The Deputy Head Mistress gave him one of her patented glares. "Albus, this is not a matter of toying with their feelings. We know they care for one another. It’s a matter of showing them that the other cares equally and they do deserve each other."

"I do not see what you think I can do about it, Minerva."

"Yeah, right," William muttered from under the blanket.

Dumbledore gave the vampire a curious look. "If I may ask..."

"Don’t," the vampire replied, raising a hand to silence him, as Minerva, Dawn and Duncan started snickering behind him. "It’s not pleasant."

"Oh, go on, Spike!" Dawn laughed. "Show the Head Master! He might be able to figure out why it hasn’t worn off yet."

William deliberated for several seconds, then raised his hands and lowered the blanket from his head, revealing...

"You do realise that you look rather...odd?"

Gold eyes glared up at the chuckling Head Master. "Of course I do, you bloody great nit!" he lisped around centralised fangs that were overhanging his lower lip. "As if vamping normally wasn’t bad enough..."

"If I may ask, what happened?"

"Potion...accidentally..." Dawn mumbled, going a little pink in the face. "I...he was going to blackmail Hermione and Willow..."

"Bit!" William groaned. "You weren’t meant to mention that. And you," he pointed at the Head master. "Got any reason that it would have stayed like this, this long?"

"I would assume that the potion was a new one, not based on anything that Professor Snape uses in the texts?" Dumbledore said, struggling not to smile. Dawn nodded her head. "I would let it remain for twenty-four hours and, if it has not worn off by then, I would seek out aid from Severus."

"Bloody marvellous, that is," William mumbled, then sighed. "Right, so, Professor, the Niblet had a damn good idea about something we could to get our favourite pair of girlies to stay together."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked towards Minerva, who nodded in agreement.

Before he could ask, though, the door of the office swung open again, Xander and Anya dashing in, breathless.

"Professor! Willow isn’t getting any orgasms and we think..." Anya’s words trailed off into silence and she went rigid. The colour drained from her face and she uttered a squeak of terror, pointing at William. "No..."

The vampire gaped at her, taking a step towards her. "Demon-girl?"

"STAY BACK!" she screeched, diving behind Xander. "Keep it away!"

Xander looked from the young woman cringing behind him to the vampire in front of him and then, appeared to work out what was troubling her. "Spike, can you kinda cover yourself...?"

Dumbledore couldn’t hide a small smile as Xander protectively let Anya hide her face in his shoulder and burrow against him. It was reassuring to see that their parting hadn’t caused too much hurt on either side.

The vampire’s confused expression looked utterly ridiculous with his face looking like it did, covered in fluffy white fur. His nose was pulled up, pink and had whiskers beneath it. Tall ears stood up on each side of his head, his long fangs making him like a rabbit version of Nosferatu.

"Omigod! Anya’s got a rabbit phobia!" Dawn exclaimed. "Spike! Put the blanket back on!"

Grumbling bitterly as he forced the ears flat, William pulled the blanket back over his head. "Niblet, have I mentioned that I hate you with a fiery passion and when I get this chip out, I’m gonna eat you?"

"Not for...oh...a week?" Dawn grinned at him. "Anyways, what were you guys saying about Willow?"

Xander had one armed draped around Anya, reassuringly, as he replied. "Willow was way depressed at dinner. An told me that he and Hermione got together and now, they might be breaking up. Hermione looks as depressed about it as Wills, so I don’t think they wanna break up."

"Red and the Prof both can’t get over the idea that they’re not good enough for each other and it’s gonna break them," William said from under his blanket. "That’s why we’re here. I didn’t get ‘em together for them to break up a couple of weeks later."

"And you were saying something about Miss Summers having an idea?" the Head Master said.

Minerva nodded. "It really is astoundingly simple, and yet, I doubt any of us would have had the foresight to think of it," she said, gently steering Dawn forward. "Go on, Miss Summers."

"Um...you won’t be mad if you don’t like this, right?"

"Of course not, Miss Summers."

"Well..." Twisting her hands together nervously, Dawn cleared her throat. "This is what I was thinking we could do..."

***

Sitting in the open quad in the middle of the school, wearing thick warm robes and several layers of shirts and sweaters to stave off the cold, Willow was pretending to read a Charms book she had borrowed from the library.

The previous three nights had been her worst at Hogwarts.

She and Hermione had barely been able to speak for the tension between them. She had wanted to explain and then let that be that, but no words would come out.

They hadn’t even been able to face sleeping in the same bed, not since their secret had been made public, and, for the first time since the bathroom, they had not shared a goodnight kiss, which hurt more than she could bear.

Willow had never been more grateful for vacation time than she was now.

With the majority of pupils gone, it meant that there were less staring, prying eyes. It also meant that her family would be able to visit without being stared at and fawned over by awe-struck pupils.

They were due to arrive today, probably within a couple of hours, and she hoped that their arrival would provide her something to smile about, although she truly wasn’t feeling in the Christmas spirit.

Turning the page of her book awkwardly, with the woolly fingers of her gloves, she sniffed, her nose cold and stinging, her cheeks prickling with the cold. Part of her wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t.

"Willow!"

Looking up, she found Dawn and her friend, Duncan, hurtling towards her.

"Hey."

"You gotta come with us, Willow!" Dawn panted, clouds of condensation billowing from her lips with every breath. Her eyes were alight and her cheeks flushed with cold and exertion. "We have to show you!"

"Show me what?" Willow asked, reluctantly closing her book.

"Oh, just come on!" Dawn squealed, grabbing one of her arms. "It’s so cool!"

"An’, for one, I agree with her," Duncan added, his blue eyes dancing.

"You-you do?"

"Aye! It’s crackin’!"

Reluctantly letting the two teens haul her onto her feet, she sank in the snow up to her ankles and it soaked into her socks, above the edge of her boots. "So," she said, as they lead her down the halls. "What is this cool thing?"

"You gotta see it!" Dawn exclaimed.

She asked the question at least half a dozen times more before they reached their destination and got the same reply from both of them.

They came to a halt in front of a door she didn’t recognise. "Go in!" Duncan urged.

"Yeah! You gotta go in on your own!"

Looking from one to the other suspiciously, Willow nodded and pushed the door open. Before she could even see the contents of the room, two pairs of hands gave her a firm push and she all but fell into the room.

"Hey!"

The door crashed shut behind her and she heard the click of a latch being pulled into place. "You can yell if you wanna, but you’re staying in there until you figure it out!" Dawn called through the wood.

"Figure what out?" she cried back.

"Willow?"

Okay, that voice wasn’t outside.

Turning around, Willow felt her heart jolt at the sight of Hermione, sitting on a desk on the opposite side of the room. "H-Hermione."

The other witch smiled weakly, getting to her feet. "You know, I think there’s some kind of conspiracy going on here. Spike tossed me in here and told me to wait...and now, you’re here and we’re locked in again..."

"Yeah..."

Lowering her head, Willow shuffled her feet. She glanced around the room, which was almost bare but for a few desks piled in one corner. Her eyes paused on a mirror that stood by one wall, its large frame held up on gilded feet.

"Weird..."

"The mirror?"

Nodding, Willow approached it. "Yeah." She stared at it. "It...it looks familiar."

Hermione approached her, standing less than a foot away from the red head, the closest they had been in days. It caused such a sweet pain to be near her that Willow was hard-pressed to stifle a soft moan.

They looked at the mirror, then at the reflection, where their images gazed back out at them.

"We look good together," Hermione murmured. Willow turned to her in surprise, staring at her lover, who slowly drew her eyes away from the mirror. She sounded... sad? "I...I wish that we..."

"You..."

Hermione paused, gazing at her. "Willow..."

Tears burned in Willow’s eyes. "Please," she whispered unsteadily. "Don’t break up with me, Hermione... I don’t want to lose you, but you...I didn’t know you would be so upset about everyone knowing about us..."

"B-break up with you?" Hermione gasped. "I-I-I thought you were ashamed of us...I thought you didn’t want anyone to know..."

"Ashamed? Of us?"

"You aren’t?"

"I thought you were!"

They stared at each other, then Willow released a peal of laughter.

"Omigod! We are so stupid!"

"You don’t want to split up?"

Dropping her book to the floor, Willow lifted her hands and cupped Hermione’s face. "Does this answer your question?" she asked, as she closed the gap between them, their lips meeting.

Raising her hands to tangle through Willow’s fiery hair, Hermione pulled her young lover closer to her, as she deepened the kiss, their tears mingling into it.

"I thought you...oh God, I missed you, Hermione..." Willow clung to her, burying her face in Hermione’s neck. Hermione nodded, her own voice to choked to speak, her lips pressed to the top of Willow’s head.

It seemed like an eternity before she could speak.

"I love you, Willow."

Green eyes rose as Willow lifted her flushed face. "I love you too, Hermione," she whispered, one hand running lightly down Hermione’s equally-flushed cheek, before she claimed another light kiss.

Wrapping their arms around on another, they shared a tight embrace, unable to voice the intensity of the relief, the love and the...the bliss they were feeling at being together once more.

"Willow..."

"Mmm?"

"The mirror...look at the mirror..."

Shifting slightly in Hermione’s arms, Willow looked at it, then noticed something she hadn’t seen before: an inscription marked into the elaborate decorative scroll carved along the top of the mirror.

"Omigod...I...I only saw us in it..." Hermione nodded in awed agreement. "Does that mean that we...?"

"We must..." Hermione agreed.

Willow blinked, then turned back to the mirror. "Wow..."

"I-I thought Professor Dumbledore had got rid of it," Hermione whispered.

A third voice spoke from behind them. "I did."

Willow and Hermione both squealed in fright, whipping around to find the Head Master standing a short distance from them, a pleased smile on his face, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You really like sneakin’ up on people, don’tcha?" Willow said, wagging a finger at him, her other arm still looped around Hermione. "I’m gonna get you a bell!"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "So you are feeling a little happier, I assume?"

"You...you were part of the set up..."

"Very good, Professor Granger," he said, beaming at them. "Although, I am afraid to admit that the idea was certainly not mine. You have Miss Summers to thank for providing the means of bringing you back together."

"Dawnie?"

Dumbledore nodded. "She really is an exceptionally bright young woman."

"I dunno if we should hug her or hex her," Willow sighed in aggravation.

Hermione nudged her hip against Willow’s. "Well, she did get us back together..."

"Yeah..."

"Professor Dumbledore? Have you seen Willow...?" The door of the classroom opened, a bright slat of sunlight pouring in through the crack. Both witches raised their arms to shield their eyes, as Buffy Summers’ head poked in. "Oh! There you are, Wills! I just thought you’d wanna know your family just showed up!"

Hermione released Willow. "Want me to come with you?"

"Always," Willow replied with a smile, grabbing Hermione’s hand and running towards the door.

Stepping into the room, Buffy shook her head. "I really don’t get those guys," she said to Dumbledore, who chuckled. She looked around the room. "What were they doing in here anyways?"

"We had some matters to discuss and this seemed as suitable a place as any," he replied with a smile, stepping aside the instant that Professor Summers noticed the massive mirror beyond him.

"Neat mirror," she remarked. "Is it one of those talkie ones?"

"It happens to be one of the only non-talking mirrors in Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied, as she approached it and looked up at the frame.

"What’s the weird writing? Latin?"

"I am not sure what you would call it," he replied evasively, the corner of his lips twitching as she looked into the glass, at her reflection. Her eyes screwed up and her expression contorted into one of shock.

"EW!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Turning away from the mirror, she shuddered. "That’s some kind of hall-of-mirrors magic mirror, right?" she said, glancing over her shoulder at it, then shuddering again. "The kind that shows way freaky stuff?"

"I suppose you could say that," Dumbledore was hard-pressed to hide a smile and he innocently inquired, "May I know what you saw?"

Buffy pulled a face as she replied, "You don’t wanna know!"


Chapter 45: Under The Influence

"How long are you all gonna stay?"

Molly Weasley was sitting in one of the cosy lounges of Hogwarts with her husband and youngest daughter, who had been filling her in, in detail, about what had been going on at the school since her last letter.

The rest of the Weasley clan was being liberally scattered throughout the school to various rooms, where they would being staying over the Christmas period.

The family had agreed to gather at the school because of Glory's threat and since Willow was known to the Hell Goddess, she didn't want to risk her family by having their location pointed out to the demon.

There was also the additional bonus that Amy would be able to visit, with Percy, and Bill would be able to report in from his end of the communication line about what they knew was happening.

"We'll probably only be here for a day or two, dear," she replied, beaming at willow, who was sitting on the heart rug at her mother's feet, in front of the fire, both of them armed with large mugs of hot chocolate. "We wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Way? In the? Oh no! You won't be in the way!"

"Well, your brothers all have work as well, dear," Molly reminded her daughter. "I know that most of them can't stay very long, although I do think that sweet young friend of yours, Amy, might have persuaded Percy to take a few days off."

Willow choked on her hot chocolate. "Percy? Days off? Have...have pigs started their own transatlantic air haulage company?"

"That's what your brothers said," Molly chuckled. "And yes, she really does seem to be able to wrap him around her little finger." She looked down at her mug. "I wonder if someone might have gone and fallen in love with a little witch..."

Unnoticed by Molly, Willow went a rather fetching shade of red.

"Do...um...do you think we should go down and check on them? I mean not...not everyone has met everyone else and I kinda don't want Fred and George meeting Spike before Professor McGonagall is there."

"Spike is still here?"

Willow nodded, grinning. "Yuh-huh!" she said. "Him and Professor McGonagall are... well, they're kinda like best friends in a way that they pretend that they're not, but everyone who isn't a student knows that they really are."

"So," Molly put her mug down, getting to her feet. "When Percy came home, ranting about how the school has gone downhill with the Deputy Head Mistress allowing vampires to look up her skirts, he wasn't joking, was he?"

"Nope! That would be Spike."

Looping her arm through her daughter's, Molly couldn't help smiling. "I'm looking forward to meeting him now, dear," she admitted. "Especially if he is as good-looking as you mentioned..."

"Mom!"

"What did you expect, dear?" her mother laughed, as they emerged into the hall and headed towards the staircase that lead towards the Great Hall. "I am you mother, after all. Any quirky tastes you have come from me."

"That's not something a lotta people would be proud of, mom," Willow remarked.

"You should know by now, dear, that I'm not like a lot of people."

"I'll say," a male voice cut in and Molly swung around. Charlie ducked under the cuff aimed at his head, grinning broadly at them. "All right, Wills? Sorry I'm late. Got stuck with a hatchling."

"I guess I can forgive you, then," Willow replied, trying to look grumpy and failing miserably. "C'mon! You wanna meet Spike with everyone else? I think McGonagall is keeping him occupied for now."

"Occupied...how?"

Willow snickered. "You don't wanna know."

Charlie went an odd shade of green. "That just gave me the worst possible visual I think I could have had right now."

"Consider yourself lucky, Charlie," Molly advised, as they ascended the staircase to the Great Hall. "From what I heard, last time Percy was here, he caught Professor McGonagall with the vampire's head up her skirt."

"Dear Merlin..." Charlie moaned. "I didn't need to know that."

Willow and Molly just laughed, as they entered the Great Hall, in time to see Spike and Professor McGonagall locked in what looked like mortal combat of the exploding snap variety, the Deputy Head Mistress' hand hovering over the deck of cards.

"You're telling me," Charlie muttered. "That that bloke is a blood-sucking fiend?"

"SNAP!"

The explosion of pack of cards as Spike slapped down his card was deafening, the empty Hall's acoustics reverberating the sound back, as the pair started coughing over the black smoke billowing around them.

Willow beamed at her brother. "Yuh-huh. Wanna be the first one of the family to meet him?" Charlie looked from her to the vampire, a dubious expression on his face, which his sister cheerfully ignored. "Hey! Spike!"

It took several minutes for the vampire and the Professor to emerge from the cloud of smoke, by which time, several more of the Weasley clan had wandered back into the Great Hall.

"Afternoon, Red," Spike coughed out as he clambered over the table, scattering the remnants of the exploding snap pack on the floor. He paused at the sight of seven Weasleys staring at him. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Either there's something in those fumes, or you're multiplying..."

McGonagall, after rounding the table, gave him a smug look. "Like rabbits, you might say," she remarked dryly.

"Minnie," the vampire cautioned. "Don't make me want to drain you dry."

The Deputy Head Mistress gave him a thoroughly innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about, William," she replied, casually brushing a few flecks of ash off her robes. "You, on the other hand, look like a rabbit in the headlights."

The vampire scowled at her, stomping down from the dais, upon which the High Table stood. "So, Red, this is your family, eh?"

"Yeah," She grinned around at them. "Everyone, this is Spike. Spike, this is my mom," As she identified them, she nodded to them. "Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, my dad and Ron."

"We think Percy might be avoiding you," Fred put in helpfully.

"So he's scared of me?" Spike perked up a little.

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes as she came alongside him. "Aye," she said, exaggerating her accent more then she usually did. "Because yer a vicious brute! With big, nasty, pointy teeth!"

"Minnie, I'm warning you!"

Willow, though, had a hand over her mouth and was doubled over, giggling.

"What does a vampire have to do with a demonic rabbit from Monty Python?" Bill asked, warily stepping back when Spike flashed a golden-eyed glare at him. "And pretend I didn't say that."

"Bloody hell!" George gaped, staring at the vampire's face. "That's what it looks like when you...you know...go...well, bitey on people. Does that," He gestured to his own face. "Hurt?"

"This?" Spike said, studying the ginger-haired man. "Nah. It's the teeth in your neck I'd worry about." A dangerous smirk tilted the corner of the vampire's mouth up. "I'd offer to show you, but..."

"But I'd stake your bony ass if you even tried," Willow finished smartly. "I'm not having any of my family eaten on Christmas eve!"

"Not even a nibble, Red?"

"Spike, this is my resolve face," She pointed at herself. "You are not eating any member of my family while they're here."

Heaving the sigh of a wounded victim, the vampire shook his head mournfully. "I'll just have to wait until they leave then, won't I, little Red?" His eyes went to Molly, who immediately matched her daughter's 'resolve face'. "And I'll be leaving your mum well alone, if I want to keep my nads intact."

"Bloody hell..." Charlie muttered. "She hasn't even said anything to him and he can already tell exactly what she's like."

"Charles Weasley," Molly turned to him. "What do you mean by that?"

"What he means, Mrs Weasley," Spike said sincerely, with a dashing bow, which was counteracted by a wicked grin. "Is that you are about to take away his ability to have children."

Charlie immediately did the wisest thing possible and hid behind his big brother.

Spike grinned at Willow. "Y'know, ducks," he remarked with an approving nod. "I think I could get to liking your family."

"Why does that worry me?" the red head countered.

The vampire smirked. "Because you know me?"

"Yeah," Willow agreed reluctantly. "That's exactly the problem."

***

Brushing her hair, before she lay down for the night, Dawn Summers was humming to a tune that Bob had planted in her head, the mirror in a good mood after receiving a tiara of tinsel in the spirit of the season.

It was late on Christmas Eve and Dumbledore had finally suggested that they should all call it a night after possibly one of the craziest meals Hogwarts had seen in nearly it's full millennium.

Seldom were all the Weasleys able to be in the one place for a meal, let alone all be in on place together, in the presence of the Slayer who Ron fancied the knickers off, the witch Percy would give up work for, the vampire who cheerfully threatened to kill them all and the former school friend of their father, who was as nutty as their old man, once they got talking.

Arthur and Giles had resorted to a manly bout of pinkie wrestling after the evening meal, which had involved several charmed foods that had lead to Dumbledore turning into a cactus, McGonagall transforming into a warthog - which Spike took great pleasure in poking fun at - and most everyone else into something small and furry.

Even Molly hadn't been able to keep her face straight long enough to lecture both her sons and thing only got worse when it came out that Rupert Giles had somehow managed to spike the drinks at the High table with a potion of his own making, which made the drinkers sound like they had been inhaling helium.

Dumbledore had found it hilarious, although his usually uproariously laugh sounded more like it should belong to a hyperactive lemming.

Harry and Bill, two of them men with the deepest voices after Dumbledore, has burst into a Bee Gees song, Staying Alive, with their new and not-so-improved squeaky voices, which Spike had interrupted with his own version of the lyrics.

He had promptly been turned into a large, white rabbit by Professor McGonagall.

It went without saying that, in the wake of the meal, very few of the Weasley family were able to take his constant death threats seriously.

All in all, it had been a fun, yet incredibly surreal meal and Dawn had loved every minute of it.

"Saw you talking to Wills' big brothers," Buffy said, as she pulled her own hair back into a ponytail, moonlight slanting in through a chink in the curtains, a fire roaring warmly in their fireplace, staving off the winter chill.

"Yeah," Dawn acknowledged, tossing her brush to the dressing table and punching the air triumphantly, when it landed on the desktop. "They're so cool!"

"Mmm...and I heard that you were seen talking to Fred and George..."

"Uh..." Dawn's attempt to look innocent only succeeded in making her look even guiltier than before. "Yeah? And?"

"And," Buffy climbed into her own four poster bed. "If I remember right, Fred and George run a joke shop and you and Duncan seem to have been spending a lot of time playing with potions and that trick you played on Spike..."

"Hey! He was going to be mean to Willow and Hermione!"

"And I suppose that makes everything all right?"

Dawn shrugged as she hauled her own blankets over her legs. "Well, yeah..."

"And you're not going to tell me what you were talking to them about?"

"Duh!"

Buffy chuckled, pulling her thick blankets up to her chin, the lights dimming around them. "I'll find out, Dawnie," she warned, yawning widely. "When I do, if you're into something ubercreepy, you're in so much trouble."

The only response she got from her sister was a snore.

Snuggling against her pillow, Buffy smiled drowsily. "Night, Dawnie."

***

Snape hated Christmas.

He always had.

Everything about it.

Merriment, festive cheer, smiling, happy children.

It all made him nauseous.

However, he had made the foolish promise to Professor Dumbledore that he would attend the Christmas day meals. He didn't have to say anything or do anything, except be in attendance.

If a pupil so much as looked at him, he knew he would probably wring their neck.

Easing out of his bed chamber, he closed the portrait over the doorway and glanced down the hall, wishing - once again - that he could go to his lab and work on some nice, slow-acting poisons, preferably to do away with that annoying little hussy, who was still holding her own as the teacher of Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way down the arch-roofed corridors, to the black stone staircase that led to the ground and upper levels of the school, the air warming as he ascended, the dark and gloom of the dungeons bleeding out into the vivid greens and reds of the Christmas decorations.

Dear Merlin, how he despised Christmas.

He could hear ringing laughter and happy chatter from the Great Hall from several corridors away, lurking in what shadows were left along the stone walls, thanks to the fairies casting light everywhere.

There were only a few people remaining this Christmas, as far as he knew, which was a small blessing.

Unfortunately, among them, he knew there would be Summers, the eighth Weasley and the muggle boy. The vampire, the ex-demon and Summers' sister, much to his surprise, he didn't mind so much.

Perhaps because the vampire reminded him of himself in an unusual way: sarcastic, dry, sinister in his own way.

Emerson.

Well, what wasn't there to like about her? She was a former demon, she had a mind on her that would make the London sewage and waste system look positively sterile and she saw no point in hiding either of those facts.

It proved amusing on many occasions.

And the sister...

Well, she a veritable expert at irritating Professor Summers, making the Slayer lose her cool almost daily, which was always a good thing in Professor Snape's book. On top of that, she had an exceptional gift with potions that he had seldom seen before in anyone at the school, muggle or otherwise.

She was also sarcastic, quick-tempered, sharp-tongued and cynical, very much like him. Oddly tolerable as well, for a teenager.

Yes, Dawn Summers was tolerable.

Now, if only her blasted sister would take a few pointers...

"Merry Christmas!" A ghost flitted past, giving him a cheerful wave.

Snape scowled.

Nearly-Headless Nick paused. "Not in the Christmas mood, eh?"

"It so happens that I have managed to acquire a potion that includes an anti-root that can dissolve the anti-matter that ghosts are made of," the Potions Master growled, his expression dark.

Nearly-Headless Nick looked amused, the corners of his lips rising. "That would be a no, then?" He patted Snape on the shoulder and it felt like a rinse of ice-cold water had streamed over the spot. "You better hurry. The feast has already begun." Stalking away, Snape tried to ignore Nick's cheerful call of. "Have fun!"

"Obnoxious undead arse," Snape hissed through his teeth, making his way around the elaborately-dressed Christmas trees that lined both sides of the entrance hall, casting a pleasant glow around the hallway, glittering with icicles and candles.

Ignoring a small choir of singing house elves - which he was sorely tempted to kick, when they started warbling as he passed them - he swept into the Great Hall, where he immediately stopped dead, his hands clenching by his sides, his jaw locking.

It as if his worst nightmare had come true.

Two of the largest long tables had been pushed together to form one table, around which almost thirty people sat. As he had entered the hall, ten red-haired heads turned in his direction.

The Weasleys.

All of them.

Which could only mean that Potter would be with them.

His eyes slowly moved around the square table.

William, his wife - the veela-descendant - Fleur, Percy and his charge, Amy Madison, Peter Pettigrew's niece, Charles, Harris and Emerson occupied one side of the table.

The next one was filled by Ron who looked rather pale, which was hardly surprising, considering his neighbour was Spike. Next to him, Cameron and Summers Junior sat beside Potter - yes, there he was - and Ginny, along with the laughing Hagrid.

The next table seemed to be the Teacher's table, where he could see Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Giles and Hermione, who sat on the corner, next to youngest Weasley.

Alongside the girl, her mother sat, then her father and the twins, as well as the young first year that the youngest Weasley had befriended, Leon Mzimba, who seemed to be in the raptures.

Snape's stomach twisted painfully and he wondered if it would be so wrong to turn and walk back out of the hall, despite Dumbledore gazing at him, that blasted amused twinkle in his eyes.

And then, of course, things could always get worse.

"Snapey! You came!"

Ah, yes.

There was the crowning feature of what was already turning out to be an absolutely wonderful day.

Every one of the Weasleys was doubled over, sniggering at the Slayer's words, as just beyond Giles, on the far corner of the table, he saw Summers leap to her feet and wave to him.

As usual, she wasn't wearing standard robes, like almost everyone else at the table. A loose red sweater hung on her, over black trousers, a ridiculous-looking Tiara - no doubt from a cracker - propped jauntily on her curled blonde hair.

The blue robes, he noticed absently, were not present, which was another small blessing, as she did tend to be rather distracting when she wore them.

The muscles in his cheeks felt like they would shatter when he forced a tight, thin smile in her direction. "Miss Summers." He had given up on telling her not to use the nickname, as it only seemed to make her use it more.

"I saved you a seat," She gave him that annoying, awful, American smile of hers, as he made his feet walk towards the table, shooting a malevolent look at Dumbledore, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in innocence.

"I will only be here temporarily," the Potions master gritted out through clenched teeth, as he forced himself to sit down in the seat next to the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Giles chuckling on his left side. "I have work to..."

"You really are boring, you know," the blonde next to him remarked, giving him a nudge that could have shattered his ribs. His jaw tightened, but he made no sound of pain or otherwise. "It's Christmas Day! Everyone else is having fun, so why not loosen up for once?" Black eyes turned to her, expressionless. "Or not..." She picked up the cracker in front of him. "Can I pull it for you?"

There was a choking sound from further up the table, drawing attention to the youngest Weasley, who seemed to have swallowed something the wrong way and was going a funny shade of purple.

"Willow?"

"Buffy!" She pointed at the Slayer. "Bad words! Naughty images!"

Emerson grinned broadly. "She's right! I'm surprised that I didn't notice it first. Perhaps Willow having regular and very good sex is helping her to see things my way," the ex-demon commented. "Your words could be taken in a sexual way, if you take into account that you could be pulling on..."

"ANYA!"

No one could be sure who it was that voiced the squeal the loudest: Summers or Weasley.

Snape was, however, certain that the Slayer's squeal had perforated his eardrum.

In the middle of the next side of the table, he could see the Slayer's sister giggling behind her hand, the vampire smirking. Harris looked mortified and was staring at his plate, while Dumbledore just chuckled. A couple of the Weasley brothers sniggered initially, until they caught up with what the full sentence had been.

Fortunately, though, the revelation about the youngest Weasley's sex-life was of more concern to her elder brothers and her parents, who were staring at her crimson face, distracting them from the Slayer's accidental innuendo.

The Potions Master took the chance to shoot a murderous look at the Slayer, while no one would notice. She, however, noticed, and flashed him that annoying American grin of hers again, knowing just how much it irritated him, before turning to the scene playing out in front of them.

"Willow...?" The Weasley mother was staring at her daughter.

"All right," Ronald punched his palm, looking around the table. "Who is he? Who is the git that decided to boff my little sister without marrying her first?"

"RON!" both Granger and the youngest Weasley squeaked.

"But I thought that you and Oz had decided to just be friends..." Mrs Weasley began, then apparently saw the blush flooding the faces of both her daughter and brown-haired witch sitting beside her. "Oh!"

"Oh?" Weasley Senior looked at his wife. "What do you mean, 'Oh'?"

Snape rolled his eyes at the Weasley father. Two young women, sitting practically in each other's laps, who had been whispering to one another since he had entered the hall, and now, were both ruby in colour. What else could she mean 'Oh' about?

Granger and Weasley Junior exchanged glances, then Granger nodded, smiling. Weasley number eight looked around the table at her father and brothers, who all seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ronald.

"Um...I have something to tell you."

"I'll say! Who is the manky git?" one of the twins demanded, outraged. "You were meant to get a ring on your finger before you did the deed!"

Willow looked indignant. "You didn't mind so much when I was sleeping with a werewolf! You know he wouldn't have eaten you if you had complained to him and none of you did," Percy coughed. "Okay, Percy did, but I can't get married to my new lover, even if I want to."

"Why the Hell not?" William exploded.

"Because," Granger answered, grinning mischievously. "I'm not a man."

Seven Weasley and two Potter jaws hit the table.

Snape suddenly felt very glad that he had forced himself to stay at the dinner. This was certainly a lot more entertaining than he had expected.

"You...you're kidding," the other twin mumbled faintly.

"Nope!"

Ronald raised a hand, pointing at Granger, then at his youngest sister and back again. He looked like he was stunned, horrified and possibly a little ill, his face white as a sheet, his freckles standing out like fluorescent orange spots. "But you...and her..."

"You're both girls..." Percy whimpered, his forehead creased as if he was having trouble adjusting to the concept of his sister get more girl action than he did.

"We had noticed that, Percy," Granger answered. "Although," She looked at the youngest Weasley, with a deep and soulful expression in her brown eyes. Snape was convinced he was about to vomit. "It wasn't that important."

"Ginny..." Potter looked at his wife suddenly, a paranoid look on his face. "You... you're not interested in witches, are you?"

"Harry, don't worry! I'm just her twin. I'm not her," Willow Weasley laughed. "And I'm not totally gay. Nor's Hermione." Again, they exchanged looks and tiny smiles. It was quite honestly the most sickening thing that had ever been seen in Hogwarts. "We both just kinda...liked each other."

"A lot," Emerson put in. "Which is why they started having sex a lot," A thoughtful look crossed the ex-demon's face and she started to ask, "Do you use your wands, since neither of you has a penis...?"

"ANYA!" This time, it was a competition between Granger and Weasley for the loudest squeal of embarrassment.

"I knew there was a reason that I liked having her around," the vampire chuckled from the far end of the table, raising a glass of dark red wine - or perhaps it was blood. Snape didn't want to ask - to Anya. "Demon-girl, you make every meal a cabaret."

Emerson grinned at the commendation. "See, Xander!" she exclaimed. "Someone appreciates me when I speak. Stop mumbling at me to shut up! You aren't my boyfriend anymore, so you can't tell me what to do!"

"Miss Emerson," Dumbledore spoke, looking straight across the table at the girl. "I would be most displeased if you did, in fact, stop talking. It would make conversation frightfully dull."

Snape gaped at the Head Master. Dumbledore didn't even notice he was being observed, which was definitely a first. What the hell was going on around here?

Much to his increasing astonishment, the former demon flushed and shyly ducked her head, flashing a coy smile across at Dumbledore, who also went a bright shade of pink, his eyes going down to his plate.

Dear Merlin...

Dumbledore wasn't just interested in Emerson for her amusing conversation skills, her bluntness and forthright manner. The Head Master had a crush, yes, a teenage-style-head-over-heels crush, on the former Vengeance demon.

And what made it worse was that Emerson apparently wasn't at all shocked by the behaviour of the old wizard...or would he be young wizard to her?

Snape glanced at her former boyfriend, who was staring at his plate, blushing furiously and pointedly ignoring her. Well, having someone who wasn't embarrassed by her...outbursts, it was hardly surprising that she found Dumbledore's polite advances acceptable.

Shaking his head, Snape chuckled as he returned his attention to his plate, which had filled with a full pile of Turkey breast and trimmings, boiled and roast potatoes that were liberally steeped in thick, luscious gravy and vegetables of all varieties.

"What are you laughing about?" he heard a voice mutter in his ear, which reminded him sharply that he wasn't meant to be enjoying himself.

He was sitting with a group of the people that he despised most, during a festival he deplored and he was definitely not going to let any of it enjoyable for him in any way, shape or form.

"Nothing, Summers," he growled, stabbing a Brussels sprout with his fork.

He felt her eyes resting on him for a moment longer, then heard her laugh quietly, and turn to ask her sister what she thought she was doing, drinking out of Potter's wine glass.

***

"Well, that went better than I expected."

Hermione, folding the sheets down on the bed, looked up as Willow re-entered their bedroom from the small bathroom. "How did you expect it to go?" she asked, fluffing the pillows.

Pausing in a patch of moonlight on the floor, Willow shrugged. "We weren't hexed or exiled from the family," she replied, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge, brushing her hair. "That's always a big plus."

"I suppose so," Hermione smiled. "And did you see the look on Ron's face?"

Grinning weakly, Willow nodded. "Poor Ron. I've never seen him go that shade of green before."

"Think they'll get used to it?"

Dropping her brush on the bed beside her, Willow caught her lover's hand and drew Hermione along the bed to her. "They'll just have to," she replied, lifting the other witch's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. "I'm not about to let you go."

Kneeling down between Willow's feet, her hands resting lightly on the red head's knees, Hermione raised her hand to cup Willow's face. "After what we went through last week, I don't think I'd be able to cope without you."

"I love you."

"I love you," Hermione answered in a whisper, rising up until she was face to face with her lover. Both her hands framed Willow's face and she smiled. "Now, I have to give you your Christmas present."

"Another one?"

"Mmm," Hermione acknowledged into the kiss, one hand sliding around to cradle Willow's head, silky red hair trickling between her fingers in soft, loose strands.

Willow's hands rose to pull Hermione closer to her, sliding up her lover's back, as the kiss increased in ardour. With both of them wearing snug, winter pyjamas, Willow moan of frustration as she encountered a row of buttons was matched by Hermione's.

"Clothes," she panted, fumbling with the buttons. "Off. Now."

Reaching for her wand, Hermione gave Willow a sensual grin. "You know, this is a short cut, don't you?"

"Duh! The sooner clothes are off, the sooner better smoochies will happen!"

Within seconds, all pyjamas were dispatched and Willow scooted under the sheets of the bed, squealing as the cold material came in contact with her bare skin. "You could have put a warming charm on!"

Discarding her wand, Hermione slid in beside her lover, one arm drawing Willow closer. "And what," she asked huskily, as she brushed Willow's hair back from her cheeks. "Would be the fun of that? After all," One hand moved down the red head's side. "There are plenty of ways to get warmed up."

"You gonna help me?" Willow asked with a playful pout.

The pout was caught in a fierce kiss, which more than answered the question.

***

The dark hall was quiet as Snape, wand illuminated and raised, reached the portrait of a solitary hooded figure standing on a wind-whipped, night-shadowed moor, that opened into his small sanctuary.

However, he couldn't get away from the feeling he was being watched.

"Come out, Summers," he sighed.

"Good guess, Snapey," The blonde woman emerged from behind one of the cylindrical black columns that lined the hall, leaning against it with her grin firmly in place. "How'd'you know it was me?"

She was still wearing the red and black ensemble she had been wearing at the dinner earlier in the evening and apparently hadn't noticed the rash of goosebumps on her skin, which were apparently trying to remind her that she was cold.

"I can't think of anyone else quite as irritating who would waste valuable time to lurk outside my private quarters in the dark," he answered coldly. "And you carry the most infuriating scent with you."

"Scent, huh? What are you? A dog?" His eyes flashed angrily. "Easy, Snapey! I was joking," she laughed, clearly more amused than afraid of his anger. "So...what do I smell like?"

"Will you leave me alone if I tell you?"

"Tonight, maybe. On a permanent basis...not likely."

"Miss Summers, you are the most infuriating individual I have had the misfortune of encountering," She smirked, arms crossed over her chest. "Very well, if it will make you leave now, you smell of white musk and vanilla. Both of them sweet fragrances, so very unlike you."

She laughed, softly. "My my, aren't we bad-moody tonight."

"You said you would depart."

"Not right away, I didn't." She gave him that wicked look that suggested she was up to something. "You really don't like having me around, do you?"

He scowled down at her. "Miss Summers, I would rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick, repeatedly, than spend time with you of my own free will," Her eyes gleamed wickedly and he wondered what the little hussy was plotting.

"So you wouldn't dream of abusing the legend of this, then?" He glanced down at her hand and mentally groaned at the sight of the sprig of mistletoe, which she was rolling between her forefinger and thumb.

"You are aware that it is deadly, are you not?"

She shrugged. "What isn't?" she grinned, hazel eyes glittering oddly by the light of his wand. "So, Snapey, are you going to take advantage of me handing myself to you on a plate, or are you gonna do the crank-meister thing and glare at me?"

The Potions Master was bewildered for a moment, then his lips tightened.

Another of her little tests, was it?

She wanted to see how far she could push him, what pressed his buttons, what he would and wouldn't do in reaction to her smart-arse tricks. Admittedly, she was ahead of anyone who had tried the same thing before.

Many people had tried to understand his inner-workings, but he wasn't about to let a little hussy with the strength of a titan get the better of him.

Grabbing her arms in a bruising grip, her jerked her towards him. "Don't annoy me, little girl," he snarled, before crushing his mouth down on hers.

Buffy managed to get out a squeak of surprise a second before Snape's lips met hers, her hazel eyes widening in shock. She hadn't expected him to do anything, except maybe glare at her for a little longer or make a wise-ass comment.

One of his hands slid from her arm, gripping her around the waist and she groped out for something to hold on to that wasn't somehow attached to Snape, but there was nothing there.

Somehow, he had gotten her away from the solid wall she had been leaning against and now, she only had him. She whimpered as she realised she was totally reliant on the dark man above her to keep her upright and she knew he knew it to.

A muffled gasp escaped her as his tongue brushed silkily along her lower lip and he took advantage of the brief parting of her lips to invade her mouth, his hand sliding over her hip to push against her tailbone, holding her hard against him.

The touch of his hand on the base of her back made her tremble, her eyes closing as he let his other hand rise to twist into her hair.

It was wrong.

It had to be wrong.

He was Snapey! Gross, bad hair, icky teeth, big nose, glowery, looming, bug-the-crap-out-of man-in-black Snapey!

But, oh God! He knew what he was doing. His tongue flicked sensually against the tip of hers, and it felt like an electric charge had just shot down her spine, making her shiver against him.

Grasping at his upper arms for some kind of stability, the robes coarse against her fingers, her legs shook beneath her, as she tried to work out just what the hell was going on, but all thoughts were blending together in a whirl of colour.

Her hands seemed to have taken a mind of their own and slid up to his shoulders, crushing him against her.

Thrusting a hand into his hair, which was a lot softer than it looked, she jerked his head back from hers, panting. Her lips felt swollen and she could barely breathe. It felt like the whole hall had suddenly got a lot warmer.

Snape was staring down at her, a wrinkle in his brow suggesting that he was feeling as confused as she was, his breath as raw as hers through his parted lips, his cheeks spotted with faint patches of pink.

"Just so you know," she panted, still holding onto him, knowing that - if she let go - she would slither to the floor in a heap. "I don't like you."

Drawing a long breath, he curled his upper lip. "I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual," he growled, before jerking her forcefully back into his arms and kissing her again.

This time, the Slayer didn't let him take the lead, forcing him back up against the portrait that covered his door, her mouth ravaging his, her hands wound through his hair, as they battled for dominance.

Neither of them even noticed the wand slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor, flickering out where it fell.

 

 

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