The Eighth Weasley

By Fyre

Chapter 46: Resolution

"Aggravating, frustrating, agitating, pernicious little trollop." Punching his pillow, Snape turned onto his belly and pushed his face into the deep green fabric, wondering if he would actually succeed in suffocating himself if he tried.

It had just past New Year and he had not left his room since the fateful Christmas evening that had concluded with him and Professor Summers making out in the Hall like two blushing teenagers.

For that very reason too.

They had only separated that night, when Summers had heard her sister calling.

Without so much as a word, she had vanished.

Groaning, he flopped onto his back, his sheets tangled around his limbs, wishing with all his might that he could get his mind off the infuriating little madam who had the nerve to accost and challenge him in such a way, right outside his own quarters.

It wasn't that he had minded shocking her like that, knowing that she had never expected to receive a kiss, much less a very savage case of necking and groping in the dark of the halls.

It was the fact that he had enjoyed it that was irritating him.

Obviously, he mused, his arms framing his head, his hands tucked under the pillow behind his head, he needed shag on a more regular basis so that sticking his tongue down the throat of the woman who irritated him more than anyone he had ever met - bar Potter and Black - didn't feel so bloody good.

Tossing the tangled black blankets off his body, he swung out of the bed, the stone floor cold against his feet, but he didn't care, reaching for his wand and illuminating the lamps with a gesture.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced towards his bookshelf that stood to his right, wondering if there was anything he could brew in those books that would make him forget the taste of the girl: spicy and hot, like cinnamon.

Not likely.

Raising a hand, he wearily ran it through his hair, more than aware that he seriously needed to get some sleep before term started in two days, or else, he knew, he was liable to poison a first year and 'accidentally' forget what the antidote was.

Going to the wall opposite the desk and bookshelves, he squatted down in front of the fireplace and blasted a ball of flame into the darkened hearth for the first time in weeks. Normally, he preferred the cold, but tonight...

No.

Crossing the room, he physically pulled his large, black, leather chair from the desk, settling it in front of the fire, which cast a warming glow up the dark walls.

His room was one of the few staff ones with no windows or direct way to look on the outside world, enclosed deep in the belly of the school, and it suited him perfectly.

A perfect square, one of the jet black walls was occupied by the grim-looking, black fireplace, one by the bed which currently lay in a state of tangled disarray, and one by the desk and bookshelves. The fourth simply served to hold the door.

There were no decorations in the room but for the gargoyles carved into the mantle, which he found oddly amusing. He hadn't even bothered to bring pictures to brighten up the room, which made Dumbledore shake his head and tut-tut whenever he visited the Potions Master in his room.

A single lamp stood on the desk, another on the small, grubby chest that served as a bedside table beside the bed, and one hung from the ceiling, none of them nearly strong enough to illuminate the whole room with more than a dull light.

Which also suited him fine.

Sinking down into the chair, the fabric of his dark pyjamas sliding against the seat, he rested his cheek on his right hand, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, as the warmth ebbed over him.

He couldn't say how long he sat there, but somehow, he managed to empty his mind briefly as he studied the flames dancing before him.

The fire crackled and snapped and he watched the deep blue heart of the flames, wondering what he was meant to do with the thoughts that were making it impossible for him to get some sleep.

His eyes felt heavy, but he kept thinking back to the days before...

It was driving him mad.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was seeing her face and he felt his fingers twitch at the thought of fastening around that pretty little neck of hers, even though he knew his arms would probably be broken before he got that close.

And, by Merlin! She was younger than some of the pupils that he had taught! She was more than half his age! It was ridiculous to even contemplate becoming involved with her.

NO!

He wasn't even going to follow that train of thought.

No involvement of any kind was going to come to pass between him and her.

Sighing again, he knew it was time to resort to desperate measures.

Raising his wand, he summoned a bottle of dark blue, thick liquid.

"The Draught of Living Death." He murmured, uncorking the small bottle, his nose wrinkling as the bitter scent reached his nostrils. "A sign of true desperation."

His fingertip covering the lip of the bottle, he tipped a single drop of the potion onto his skin, then recorked the bottle, standing to put it on the mantle. Returning to his bed, he lay down and closed his eyes as he smeared the potion on his tongue.

As expected, sleep came before he even had time to flick the lamps out.

They gradually faded into darkness and the Potions Master slept, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep by any means, as he tossed and turned in his dreams, haunted by the kiss of the most annoying little tramp on the planet.

***

"What is wrong with you?" Buffy muttered to herself.

Since Christmas night, she had avoided the Great Hall and places like that, in case she happened to run into the man she had ended up slamming against a painting and sharing smoochies with.

No, she didn't like him. Yes, he was depressingly dark and glowery and evil-looking with the cloak and the robes and everything. And big NO, she really didn't want to go anywhere near that road again. Hello pain and bad break-up.

NO!

She wasn't going to think about him in the sense of breaking-up-ness because that would mean there had been some kind of being-together-ness prior to breakage and that just wasn't what she wanted or needed, especially with Snapey, of all people.

But oh God...

The kisses...

They were like nothing she had ever had before.

Angel had always been so gentle and tender as if afraid that he would break her with a touch, then there was Parker who - looking back at it without the urge to hunt him down and rip his balls off - was exaggerating his nervousness, followed by Riley who was...Riley.

She didn't like to think it about him, seeing as he was a TA and a commander of a soldier-squad-thing, but he still was a farmer at heart and, apart from the one night when they were possessed, they would have a brief kiss and that was it.

She had often found herself wondering if he was thinking about potatoes when he was kissing her.

He was more about the sex, though, and even then, it was usually a one-time, quick hump in the blankets and then he would roll over and fall straight to sleep, leaving her bored and frustrated with him.

Snape, on the other hand, was savage.

Even Angel - a vampire, for God's sake! - couldn't compare to the ferocity of Snape.

Under the icy calm and quiet rage that always seemed to be simmering around him in her presence, he reacted in a way she had never imagined he could or would. He had been merciless, fierce, but oddly sensual and, she blinked at the thought, she had loved every minute of it.

Ick.

His tongue...her mouth.

Just ick.

Also, his mouth, her neck.

Ick.

She had managed to hide the vivid hickey that appeared on the right side of her throat, opposite the scars from the bite of Angel, with high-necked sweaters.

Seriously ick.

But that still didn't answer why she wanted to go and find him and do it all over again: the kissage, the gropage, everything.

Gyah!

"Buffy," she told herself. "You need to get laid, bad!"

Sitting upright in the massive bed, in the large room she shared with her sister, she crawled over to the nearest side, groping out blindly for the thick, dark drapes and almost plunging off the edge of the bed, when she reached them without realising.

Opening the drapes up a little, she glanced around the room, moonlight slanting onto the dark blue carpet on the floor through the lattice-worked windows. It sounded like Dawn was asleep at least...

Grabbing her dressing gown, she hauled it on around her, tying the cord at her waist, while her feet fumbled under the edge of the bed for her slippers, her toes hit by the chill of the air outside her snug, enclosed bed.

Standing up, she stretched and walked over towards the window, kneeling in the one window-seat they had, looking down at the grounds, which were sparkling as if they were sprinkled with diamonds, instead of frost.

Glancing up towards the night sky, she could see the gleaming crescent moon like a Cheshire Cat's grin, a small flurry of cloud skittering across the deep blue, stars spotted here and there.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she wandered across to her sister's bed, to check that Dawn was where she was meant to be, instead of sneaking off to meet up with Duncan, to get in even more trouble than they usually managed together.

Opening the deep blue and gold drapes, allowing a slit of moonlight to wash over her sister's face, Buffy smiled tiredly. Dawn was there and she was fast asleep, her dark hair spilling across the fluffy white pillows.

With a sigh, she made her way across to the portrait hole on the far wall, pushing the painting open and ducking through the low arch to step into the Hall, where she was unsurprised to find Dumbledore standing, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands.

"Good evening, Professor Summers," He held out the blue mug to her, which she accepted gratefully, then nodded to a couch that was standing just behind him, near one of the wide windows that looked out onto the hall. "Care to join me?"

Buffy stared at the couch. It was bouncing on it's feet...?

The stumpy wooden legs finished in little brass feet, upon which the brown, leather sofa was bouncing.

"Uh, Professor?"

"Ah, yes, this is one of my little...experiments. It follows me everywhere, when I let it out of my office, in case I ever have the urge to sit down," He smiled as the couch ran in an excited circle, the two Professors approaching it. "Sit!" he ordered.

Both Buffy and the piece of furniture obeyed.

"Now," Sitting down beside her, the moonlight pouring in through the tall, wide windows over them, he smiled. "Perhaps you would like to tell me why you had the urge to wander out of your room at four o'clock in the morning."

Buffy could feel the heat rising in her face. "Um...no reason...just couldn't sleep..."

"If you like," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "I could have Professor Snape brew a sleeping potion for you." Buffy's mouth opened and she went scarlet. The Head Master chuckled. "I would take that as a no."

The Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts pulled a face at him. "So you know what happened..."

"Know?" He shook his head. "Not in it's entirety, but considering that we have seen neither you nor Severus since Christmas night, it suggested that something might have happened to make you wish to avoid each other more than usual."

Taking a mouthful of the sweet, thick hot chocolate, Buffy pulled her feet up underneath her on the couch. Pondering for a moment, she looked at Dumbledore and asked, "Is he always such a jerk?"

"In what sense?"

Buffy shrugged. "The lurking, the black capey-things, the glowering, the sneering, the bad-moodiness, the eyes...does he do that all the time, or am I just lucky?"

"Only if you are special," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a little more vehemently.

"Special...?"

The Head master's amusement was palpable. "I have never seen Severus so innately frustrated by a single person as he is by you," he explained. "I have seen him when he despises people, such as Sirius Black and Harry Potter, but you...you bamboozle him because you are...different."

"Different in a good way?"

Professor Dumbledore considered it, sipping his hot chocolate. "Perhaps I should tell you a little about Severus," he said. "He is a solitary creature, a creature familiar with darkness, which he can not get passed. It still torments him, which is why he is fixated on taking your position." Stroking his fingers through his beard, Dumbledore sighed. "The people he despises the most are the ones who have been touched by the darkness and succeeded in drawing back, where he failed."

"But why does he hate me, then?" Buffy was genuinely puzzled. "I haven't touched the darkness...at least not that I know of."

"Firstly, Miss Summers, Severus does not hate you. He never hated you. There is a world of difference between dislike and hate," The Slayer nodded. "But, in a way, you have touched the Darkness, in a way he cannot. You have fought it, hand-to-hand and defeated it. He has never been able to. He wishes to make amends for errors he made in his youth, but he..." Dumbledore sighed again. "He seems to have a mental block and cannot see that he as more than recompensed for his offences."

"And me being able to fight annoys him?"

"Well, partially the ability to fight, but also because you are you."

"Huh?"

"You are as much a puzzle to him as he is to you, Miss Summers," Dumbledore explained. "You are both created by oppositions within your own natures. You are small, fragile in appearance, yet powerful and stronger that you look. Severus has similar oppositions."

"So under all those 'I'm-a-bad-ass' robes, he's wearing lace panties?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled at the dry tone in the Slayer's voice. "Of that I am not sure, Miss Summers, but it may be possible." Buffy went pink again. "However, his greatest irritation with you is that you took the position he desired," The Slayer felt heat in her cheeks at the thought of positions Snape might want. "That is the one he will maintain, no matter how well you perform."

"Um..."

"And yes, you look delightfully pink at the moment, Miss Summers," Patting her on the knee, Dumbledore gave her a twinkle-eyed look. "But, to be serious for a moment, Severus' dislike of you emerged from you acquiring his desired post. It was nothing to do with you as an individual. Now, he had seen a little of what you are like in both nature and character."

"Like it would make a big difference," Buffy muttered.

Blue eyes gazed at her passively over half-moon glasses. "It has, Miss Summers," he said quietly. "When you arrived, in his eyes, you were simply an apparently naive, helpless and strange girl. Now, he has seen what you have lived through to reach this place and understands why I believe you have the abilities to teach here."

"Ah...my not-so-happy-and-sunshine-filled life."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is a life he can understand in moderation," he continued, never taking his eyes off hers. "His life has been less than easy and to find someone like you, who has suffered as much as he, in such a short life time and yet, can remain entirely you...if I know Severus, I believe he will try and understand you."

Buffy pulled a face. "Like I'd want him to do that."

"Wouldn't you?"

She blinked at the Head Master, about to answer in the negative, but fell silent. If Snapey tried to understand her and work her out, would that mean he would be less of a cranky jerk around her?

That might not be a bad thing.

"You might," Dumbledore added. "Attempt the same thing."

"Me?"

"Of course. I believe it might be beneficial for both of you." The Head Master gave her a knowing look. "And I should warn you that if you keep hiding away, I may have to intervene."

"Intervene how?" Suspiciously eyeing the wizard, she had the oddest feeling he was about to giggle.

"By locking you and he in a room until you either kill one another or...find a way to overcome your difference."

"At this point, I wanna say that killing - definitely more likely than getting on with Mr. Cranky," Dumbledore smiled serenely and got to his feet, bending to take the mug from her hand. "Um...Professor, why do you have lipstick on your collar?"

Much to the Slayer's astonishment, Dumbledore's face flushed behind his beard. "I-I was...um..." Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, he cleared his throat. "I believe that someone must have borrowed these robes..."

Oh-ho!

He was sneaking around to see someone.

"What were you doing up at this time of night?" she inquired, grinning as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, just like she used to when her mother quizzed her about her love-life.

"I...I had an appointment."

"Mmm-hmm...where?"

Blue eyes looked at her over half-moon glasses. "The astronomy tower," he replied, his voice quiet.

Oh, so he had been at the star gazing-class thing up on the tallest tower of the castle. She knew there was...something about the Astronomy tower that she should really know. Something she couldn't remember.

"Oh well," Getting to her feet, Buffy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "I think I can get some sleep now, Professor." She glanced at the lipstick again. It was a shade of pink she only saw one person wearing, but that would be impossible...

"Good night, Miss Summers," he said, as she opened the portrait of an angel that covered her door. He tried to make it inconspicuous, but she saw one of his hands rise and rub at the lipstick stain.

"Good night, Professor."

***

Sitting in the small office, at the far end of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, a solitary candle burning on the desk in front of him, Rupert Giles was engrossed in the photographs that filled the book he was studying.

He had been sorting through the coursework that would begin as soon as the pupils got back, his organisational skills a little better than Buffy's, although she always did the majority of the work for the classes, based on his timetables.

However, as evening had descended, his thoughts had drifted from work and back to the book he was now looking at.

It had been many years since he had seen half the pictures in it, the album a surprise Christmas gift from Arthur and Molly.

It brought back so many memories.

Every page was jam-packed with both wizard and muggle pictures of them, of their small group of friends at various stages during their time at Hogwarts, so many long years before. Had they really looked so young and carefree?

Tracing the features of one of the girls in one of the pictures, he felt a sad smile lift his lips as she swatted at his finger, trying to push it away, while her two companions in the picture pointed, laughing.

Ginger.

The tall, beautiful blonde Scottish girl, Virginia McKinnon - Ginger to her friends - looked like the odd one out in their group of madcap nut-cases.

She and the veritable midget, Cathlee, had been Molly's best friends when they had all arrived at Hogwarts, in the same year. That was when Molly had still been known by her full name and when all of them had still been alive.

And had still been friends.

Yes, he, Arthur and Ethan had been...rather notorious, but that was only when they had tried to be.

Any other time, they were known for being a close-knit group of four Gryffindors - him, Ethan, Arthur and Molly - a Ravenclaw in the form of Ginger and a Hufflepuff in Cathlee's tiny figure.

Now...

How they had splintered.

Taking his glasses off, Giles wearily rubbed his eyes, trying to stem the grief that still rose, just as it had when he had first heard the news about Ginger, through the few wizard connections he had maintained after leaving the school.

One of the McKinnons, her family had been wiped out by Voldemort during his first reign. Her death had been the worst and Rupert was sure that he knew why she had been chosen.

For so many years, the only ones left had been Arthur, Molly and Cathlee, Rupert's own world so distanced from theirs, his guilt at his past compounded by grief at what had happened.

From what he had heard, Cathlee had acted in a way very similar to him, when she had heard of Ginger's death.

Instead of mentally shattering and going down the dark path, as he had at the age of twenty-one, she had bypassed the dark age, moving straight into the duties of 'hunter', a type of Auror with the authority to do whatever was necessary to bring down the Death Eaters.

So small and fragile in appearance, she had caught many Death Eaters off-guard with her section of the squad, who - for the most part - deceptively harmless. And yet, they had taken down many Death Eaters, due to being underestimated.

Nonetheless, Cathlee had never managed to capture the one Death Eater that she had longed to find. Even though evidence had been stacked against him, he had managed to slip the noose.

He had evaded their clutches, never to come to justice.

Replacing his spectacles, Giles drew a breath between his teeth.

The last he had heard about Cathlee was that she had suffered for the cause.

During her time as an Auror, she had lost the use of her left arm, had been blinded in one eye and was so badly-scarred by battles that even her best friends would never have recognised her.

If she had stayed in contact, that was.

However, her desire for vengeance still burned strong nearly three decades on and she had continued to fight until the bitter end.

In the final days of Voldemort's second reign, she had been killed in battle, leaving nothing but the travel-aged clothes she wore and the room she sometimes inhabited in the Leaky Cauldron.

Her life, he knew, had been almost as empty as his had for so many years.

So intent on her cause, she had ignored all chances to love, to live.

All because of one of them dying, so soon after they had parted ways.

Part of Giles was convinced that was the final straw for Ethan, when he had heard about their friend. Yes, he was a trouble-maker and a rebel to the extreme, but after Ginger had died, he didn't seem to give a damn anymore.

Before, he had always known when to pull back, but then...

The smartest and most sensible of their group had gone. The one who always told them that they were being idiots. The one who always made sure that their pranks were foolproof. The one who had been like a sister to all of them.

Shaking his head, Giles slowly turned the page over, forcing down the pain of the memories, a weary half-smile coming to his lips at the next picture. He could clearly remember the struggle to get it.

Severus had been a damnable little brat when he had arrived at the school and the picture was as good a piece of evidence for it as any.

In fact, it was the only photograph they had of him, partially because he had been considered Rupert's 'pet project' and mainly because he usually avoided the camera at all costs.

It was only because of rumours that Severus was a teenage vampire that Ethan had agreed to try and catch him in a photograph, to prove that he did show up on film and was, therefore human.

Although, both Arthur and Rupert had agreed that Ethan actually wanted to prove that the dark boy was not human.

Grappled by Rupert and Ethan, Arthur behind the camera, the scrawny, grim-looking first year in the photograph looked like he had been fighting to escape for some time, glowering up at the laughing Giles, who had him in a headlock.

"I pity you, Sev," he murmured, chuckling as the younger Severus bit his younger self on the arm, kicked Ethan in the crotch and made a break for freedom out of the frame of the picture. "We were awful to you..."

Another prickle of guilt struck the former-Watcher, recalling what had become of the boy he had taken under his wing and protected for two years, the boy who had lost his childhood, any innocence he had, thanks to...

Clenching his teeth together, Giles closed the book over with a thump.

Getting angry with the man who was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in their close group would not change things, not now, no matter how hot his hatred for that son of a bitch burned.

Soon, he would have the chance that Cathlee had longed for, that he had longed for, for so many years, and he would strike the blow with both Cathlee and Ginger close in his thoughts, but not now.

Now, he had more important things to consider.

One of them being the formerly tall and scrawny dark boy, his first charge, now an equally tall and almost as scrawny dark man and the other being his small, blonde and super-powerful blonde charge.

Severus, he knew, had shut himself off from emotion for so long already: People he had considered friends had left him to his dark ends. The new friends he had found had betrayed him as they lead him into darkness. It was little wonder that only now, with the peace following the storm, he was finally learning to be alive.

Or, at least, Giles hoped so.

Perhaps, Buffy could be the one person to break down the dam, which was holding back all the emotion.

It would take time, knowing Severus' instinct to fight against anyone who tried to get close, but - one brick at a time - Giles knew that his younger charge had the ability to remove that defensive wall.

She was the only person who would be fearless enough to risk the terrifying ire of the Potions Professor and was the only person who had seen things that were as bad as anything that Severus had seen.

That was, he told himself as he stood up, if they didn't kill each other first.

***

"Go away."

"Well now," Dumbledore chastised amiably, stepping across the threshold, into the gloomy little room, his robes rustling on the stone floor. "I would hardly say that is a warm welcome, Severus."

Black eyes rose balefully from the book that Severus Snape was reading. "You were expecting a welcome?"

Dumbledore beamed at him. "So you are quite well, then," he said cheerfully. "We were rather worried that something might have happened to you to prevent you from attending meals in the Great Hall. It is reassuring to see you are your normal, cheerful self, dear fellow."

Severus glowered down at the book he was reading. He was seated in the large chair in front of the fireplace, a dull flame flickering around a thick, solitary black log in the centre of the grate.

There was a moment of silence as the Head Master wandered around the room, as he seemed to amuse himself doing, every time he paid Severus a visit.

"Is there any reason that you have been evading the Great Hall, Severus?"

The hefty book was slammed closed and Snape rose to his feet, turning to glare at the old wizard, who smiled guilelessly back at him, as if he didn't have a clue what he had said wrong.

"I would rather have some privacy," Severus said, his voice cool.

Blue eyes blinked at him. "Is that so?" Dumbledore, inquired. "Because, you ought to know that it appears that you and Professor Summers have both found something that causes you to require more privacy than usual."

Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, like a man sensing a trap.

If he asked, he would place his head in the noose, but if he said nothing, his silence would be equally damning.

"You see," Dumbledore rounded the vacant chair, sitting down in it with a groan of relief. "Professor Summers has taken to eating in her room, avoiding all the busiest areas of the school. Perhaps," he added, that damned wicked twinkle in his blue eyes making Snape want to throw his book at the Head Master's head. "You have been... rubbing off on her."

A hoarse choking sound caught in Snape's throat.

"What was that, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired, beaming even more brightly.

"So you know..."

"Know what, dear fellow?"

Severus scowled at him. "I knew that there was a good reason that Lord Voldemort wanted you dead, Head Master," he muttered darkly. "Your cryptic routine is enough to drive the most patient man to kill."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, smiling. "So, do you intend to do anything?"

"About what? Killing you or otherwise?"

"And you claim that I am cryptic...dear, dear, Severus..."

Placing his book on the mantle, Severus folded his arms over his chest, pressing his lips together in a thin line. His eyes narrowed slightly in a way that would have most mere mortals cowering.

However, Dumbledore was no mere mortal.

He smiled.

"I trust you are, at least, a little more tolerant of Miss Summers."

Severus made a noncommittal sound.

"She really is quite the fascinating young lady, isn't she?" Dumbledore continued to talk regardless. "It's really rather rare to find such spirit, strength and power in one so young. And such wisdom. Very rare."

"Wisdom?" Snape echoed disbelievingly.

"Mmm," Dumbledore acknowledged, his eyes rising suddenly and locking with Severus. "You really ought to talk to her, if you do not believe me, Severus. She has a truly unique perception of the world. Anyone else in her position might have become disillusioned with the task that will be hers until the day that she dies, but she has accepted it and learnt to understand it in a way no one else could."

"While I am sure it would be very interesting to anyone who admires Summers..."

The Head Master stood up sharply, still holding Snape's eyes. "Severus, do not let your desire for that position and your initial perceptions of Miss Summers cause you to see her in the wrong light. She is more than she appears, as you already know."

"I am aware..."

"Severus," Dumbledore's tone gentled, one age-spotted hand rising to silence the other man. "Do not fear her." Snape gaped at him mutely. "I do not believe that she would intentionally cause harm to you, or anyone for that matter. She has suffered the same hurts as you, but she has learned to trust again. You fear allowing yourself to trust her. You fear her."

"Fear her?" Severus tried to sound incredulous.

"You heard what I said, Severus," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice, his expression unreadable. "One day, you will have to learn to trust."

"I do..."

An aged hand came to rest on Severus' thin shoulder. "Someone aside from myself and Rupert, Severus," Dumbledore said, his brilliant blue eyes holding Severus' black ones. The Potions Professor looked away, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Talk to her, Severus."

"I can not believe that you are encouraging this."

The smile on the Head Master's face positively glowed with mischief. "I have to do something to pass the time, Severus, and this is a good deal easier than learning to water-ski. Especially in these robes."

Leaving Severus with that rather...disturbing mental image, the Head Master walked to the door and let himself out, leaving Snape standing in the middle of the room, a peculiar expression on his face.

***

"What's all this for?"

It was late in the afternoon and the sunset, reflecting brightly on the dazzling snow in the grounds, sent a wash of gold, orange and red into the tower room, where Buffy Summers was standing in the doorway.

Sitting on the floor, a large and very full ice box in front of her, Hermione grinned up at her fellow Professor. "I thought we might have a girly ice cream party," she replied, nodding to scattered of cushions all over the floor. "Just us girls."

"Yeah," Willow agreed cheerfully, flopping down onto the heap beside her lover, giving Hermione an affectionate look. "We haven't done it for a kinda long time and we can talk about our love lives and things! Like we used to!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "You do know that normally, we don't have the subject of your love life chairing the meeting and providing ice cream, right, Will?"

"I promise I'll be completely impartial," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling.

Shaking her head, Buffy pushed her boots off and stepped into the room, joining them on the cushions. "So, is it just going to be us, or are we waiting for somebody else as well?"

"I asked Anya," Willow replied immediately.

"Getting on with her now, huh?"

The red head smiled slightly. "She's not so bad, once you get used to the bluntness and the rudeness and...well, everything," she answered, grabbing a spoon and holding out a hand to Hermione. "Give it!"

"In front of Buffy?" Hermione looked mortified and Willow went scarlet, the brown-haired witch immediately snickering.

"I thought you English ladies were meant to be all prim and stiff-upper-lippy," Buffy noted, pointing at Hermione with her spoon as she claimed a large tub of chocolate ice cream. "You're really...not."

"Happy to know I'm breaking free of the stereotype," Hermione replied amiably. "I have to admit, though, I expected you to be a normal American girl. I expected blonde haired, fashion-conscious...at least you weren't a cheerleader..."

"Um..."

"You were?"

"Well, I woulda been, if I got into the team, but Amy - Percy's Amy - had a psycho witch as a mom and she pretty much wiped out the competition to get into the team in her daughter's body.

"I'm beginning to understand that 'school' and 'normal' are two words that will never fit together in the same sentence, where you two are concerned," Hermione said with finality. "I'm very glad I only had to deal with a Dark Lord during my school years. Your school sounds like a place of unnatural evil. I mean, talent shows..."

"Seconded," Willow agreed shuddering. "That was super scary!"

"And here I was thinking that demons and apocalypses were the worst thing we had to face," Buffy remarked dryly, digging her spoon into the sticky surface of the ice cream with vigour. "And demons...did we mention the demons?

"Just once or twice..."

"You have a demon bias," Anya's voice interrupted, as she stepped into the room. "I don't like you making demons negative all the time. It's not amusing."

"This coming from our resident ex-demon," Buffy laughed. "So, Anya, if you had turned back into a human, if you were a vampire, would you be rooting for equal rites for the undead?"

Anya shot a glare of mock-irritation at the Slayer. "Don't be silly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I just think that your perceptions of demons leave a lot to be desired. Not all demons are bad."

"Let's look at you, An," Willow said. "You were a vengeance demon."

"Well, yes, I was bad," she admitted, as she sat down on the pillows. "But that's because of what humans wished for. I only made their wishes come true and that's not the... ooh! Rum and raisin! I love rum and raisin flavour!"

"When you say vengeance demon...?"

"For spurned lovers and people who had been cheated on," Anya answered around a mouthful of ice cream. "I let them get their revenge on people who had hurt them in whatever way they wished. It's all Xander's fault I'm mortal now."

"And you were going out with him? After he took your immortality?" Hermione's expression was one of confusion. "Wouldn't you have hated him for that?"

Willow raised her eyes ceilingwards. "You have to love the ex-demony logic."

"I did hate him for a while," Anya admitted candidly, licking her spoon. "And then I realised that he was well put-together and he had a large penis, so I decided that I should make the best of a bad situation."

"So didn't need to hear about Xander and his penis in the same sentence..." Buffy muttered, staring fixedly at her tub of ice cream.

"It was very impressive," Anya noted, beaming.

"I'm sure it was," Willow said, scarlet in the face. "But can we...kinda stop talking about best buddy body parts?"

Anya raised her eyebrows. "What do we talk about, then?"

"You two and what we're going to do about your single status," Hermione answered with a broad smile.

Anya and Buffy exchanged looks, then looked back at the two witches. "You're gonna try and match-make us?" Buffy hazarded.

"We just want everyone to be getting with the snuggly programme," Willow said, her fingers interlacing through her lover's. "I mean, you haven't dated anyone since Riley left, Buffy, and Anya..."

"I just broke up! I don't need a new orgasm friend right now!" Three faces turned to her sceptically. "All right, maybe I do like having an orgasm friend, but I don't want to upset Xander by having one when he doesn't."

"And I kinda don't have time for getting a boyfriend," Buffy added. "Like anyone would want to be involved with a Slayer with a short temper, a Hell-Goddess to fight and too much homework to grade."

Willow cast a small grin in Hermione's direction. "Well," she said. "We kinda... think there might be someone..."

"Oh?" Buffy looked genuinely surprised. "Who is it and why haven't you introduced us already?"

"You kinda...already met him," Hermione nudged her lover in the ribs and Willow hastily corrected. "Them."

Buffy's hand holding the spoon paused halfway to her mouth, chocolate ice cream dripping down onto her shirt, her eyes going round. "Them?" she uttered in a feeble squeak. "Them who?"

"Um..."

"Well..."

"You can't not tell me!"

Willow chewed on her lower lip. "Um...Ron...kinda likes you. And Sirius."

"Ron? And Sirius?" Buffy squeaked. "Omigod..."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Ron is just like Xander, with red hair, and Sirius...pfft," She made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Yeah, he is hot and he is nicely put-together, but his hair is too long and he's got a weird sense of humour."

"They both like me?"

"Yes," Hermione replied quickly, before Anya could comment. "We can barely shut either of them up about you when they're here. Surely you've noticed that they both like talking to you about everything?" Buffy went a little pink, making an odd choking sound. "Now, would you be interested in going out with either of them?"

"I-I-I don't have time for a boyfriend!" she exclaimed, poking at her melting ice cream with her spoon. "I have way too much going on right now and-and-and I have to look after Dawnie! And be a teacher! And the Slayer! I can't look after Dawnie, be a good teacher, a Slayer and have a boyfriend!"

"Why not?" Willow asked, raising her brows.

"Because I can't!" Buffy replied. "And I-I-I don't need a boyfriend."

"But don't you want an orgasm friend?"

"Or smoochies?"

"Or someone to cuddle?"

Buffy looked at her friends. "What is this?" she demanded, her face flushing. "Some kind of conspiracy to get me to go date someone?"

"You're saying you don't want someone to snuggle with?" Willow countered.

Buffy, her face going a deep shade of red, shook her head. "I-I don't! Whenever I get smoochy with someone, when there's a super-wiggy big bad around, I always end up getting in trouble because of them! Look at Angel with Spike and Dru! And Riley with the Initiative thing! I don't need that now!"

Willow and Hermione exchanged glances. "Well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head mournfully. "You can't say that we didn't try."

***

"I'm not intruding, am I?"

Motioning Giles into the sunny office, Dumbledore shook his head. "Of course not, Rupert," he said, smiling. The watcher approached the desk, where the Head Master was sitting, an elegant eagle quill in his hand as he wrote in a large book. "Is there something troubling you?"

Sitting down opposite the desk, Giles exhaled a breath. "A little, sir," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking about the past a lot, in the last few days."

"You have been remembering your friends?"

"Wondering how we could have let ourselves be...broken," Rupert said quietly. "We always vowed that we would never let anything come between us, and yet, when Gi... Virginia died, it was the thing that severed the connection. None of us were the same after that. Cath, Ethan...me."

"All people change, Rupert," Dumbledore said quietly. "You, of all people, should know that. Look at the direction your life has taken."

"But Cath...Ethan...they could have...I can't help but wonder if there might have been some way that I could have saved them...helped them..."

The Head Master rose from his desk, walking to a cabinet that stood in the wall and opening it to withdraw a deep, round bowl. Bringing it back to his desk, he placed it on the surface, he gazed into it.

A figure emerged from the bowl, floating just above the surface: a seventeen-year-old Ethan Rayne, his arms crossed angrily over his chest, an amused look on his face.

"Course it wasn't a curse, Head Master," the figure said, smirking. "I mean, just because the silly twat ended up bent over backwards for twenty-four hours doesn't mean it was a curse."

"Ethan was always closer to the darkness than anyone acknowledged, Rupert," the Head Master said gently, raising his eyes to Giles. "If Virginia McKinnon's death had not been the thing to push him over the edge, then it would have been something else. Just because he listened to you for the most part at school, does not mean he would have listened in the world outside."

Giles nodded reluctantly. "But Cath...she...she was the sweetest girl in the world. I don't understand what had changed to make her be so fixated on vengeance."

"You heard how Virginia died?"

A pained look crossed Giles' face. "Badly," he replied tersely.

"I assume you did not hear who found her."

The colour drained from Giles' face. "Dear God...Cath?"

Dumbledore's face tightened in pain and he closed his eyes, his hands tightening on the surface of the pensieve. Ethan's form melted back down into the bowl and a new figure emerged.

Small, wearing dark robes that were too big and hanging in tatters around a wiry body, jet black hair twisted into a tight braid, Cathlee Jacobs looked barely a shell of the bubbly, hyperactive girl Giles had known.

"She was still alive when I got there!" the figure was sobbing. "I-I-I had to take out three of them before I could get to her and she was screaming! She was screaming so much!" Tears were visible on the young woman's contorted face. "He-he-he killed her, sir! Right in front of me! Before I could stop him! I should have been faster... I should have stopped him..."

"Dear God..." Giles whispered, his eyes clouding. "And she never caught him."

Blue eyes held green and Dumbledore quietly answered, "She died by his hand."

"What?!"

"He was the one to kill her," Dumbledore said. "Though - by some manipulation of the system - he still managed to escape with only a slap on the wrists. He claimed it was imperius and, by some absurd reasoning, he was no longer seen as a threat."

"After all that he did...after what he did to Ginger...Cath...Sev..."

The Head Master nodded sadly. "He is very persuasive and has friends in all the places he needed, in order to acquire his liberty, while his former allies and associates were condemned."

Giles' expression darkened. "Before this is over," he said quietly, getting to his feet, his eyes on the kneeling figure of Cathlee, which was still floating over the pensieve, sobbing. "I will see that bastard dead for what he did to them. All of them."

"He is still powerful, Rupert. Do not do anything rash," Dumbledore cautioned.

"I can be patient," Giles said, with quiet determination. "And when he comes out of his viper's nest, I will be waiting." A hand reached out, tenderly touching the transparent figure over the pensieve. "He's going to pay." Giles said, in a tone, crisp with ice. "With interest."

***

"We have to talk."

"Agreed."

"Dumbledore caught you too?"

Snape nodded once, stiffly, motioning the annoying little hussy into his classroom and shutting the door behind her, making sure to slide the latch to make certain that they weren't disturbed.

The dungeon was cooler than usual, having been sealed up from Christmas, the air so frosty that it turned their breath into white mist. The torches were illuminated and crisp, bright sunlight filtered in through the narrow widows, high in the walls.

Still, he managed to pull the shadows at the furthest side of the room around him, crossing his arms, the darkness causing his eyes to almost vanish into the shadow, but for the malevolent glitter she recognised.

"So...what happened?" Buffy sat on the edge of the desk nearest them, folding her arms over her chest, gazing up at him. She was wearing his gifted robes once again, he noticed with irritation.

If she hadn't been so down-right annoying at this moment, she might have looked cute, the robes clearly too big for her small form, the fabric of her sleeves almost hanging down to her knees.

Still he forced his attention back to the question, resisting the urge to push some loose strands of blonde hair back, over her shoulders.

"You know very well what happened, Summers," he snapped. "You wanted to test me. I returned the favour."

"By sticking your tongue in my mouth?" She stood up, her voice rising.

"In case you had conveniently forgotten, Summers, I certainly wasn't the only one to partake in tongue-in-mouth behaviour," he hissed, taking a step towards her, his eyes glittering dangerously.

The small blonde took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed. "Well, Snapey, you were the one who started it."

"Which just happened to be because you accosted me outside my quarters."

"I didn't ask you to kiss me!"

"Actually, I beg to differ."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

With every word, they had been getting taking deliberate, angry steps towards one another, Buffy's head tipped back to glare at the man who stood head and shoulders taller than her.

Her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes flashed fire at him. "You really are the most conceited, arrogant, moody jerk that I've ever met. and since I know Spike, that's really saying something."

Snape glowered down at her. "I don't know how anyone can stand to have you around, you infuriating little hussy!"

"Likewise, Mr Eternally-Bad-Moody!"

"If you weren't a woman, I would..."

"Would what, Snapey? C'mon! Be a man!" She poked him in the centre of his chest.

"Desist," he snarled.

She poked him again. "Whatcha gonna do?"

"I said," He grabbed her by the upper arms, hard and tight. Buffy gasped, her heart skipping a beat, wondering if he was going to do what he had done to her several days previously. His voice was dangerous. "Desist."

She was released immediately and the Slayer scowled, pushing past him hard and stalking towards the door. "Get outta my way, you big jerk," she snapped. "I don't have to take your crap."

"Summers." The angry note was still in his voice and she stopped at the door, not even bothering to look back. "We're not finished here."

"Oh yeah?" She turned around to glare at him, only to be slammed up against the door, his mouth coming down hungrily on hers, her arms instantly sliding up and wrapping around his neck.

Breaking out of the hard kiss, he growled, "Yes." before claiming her mouth again.


Chapter 47: In With The New

Pulling the painting closed behind him, a candle in his hands, the canvas behind him thick enough to block out any light, Spike yawned as he made his way across the room. It was small, but a lot more comfortable than his crypt in Sunnydale.

Here, he had a bed, a chair to throw things over unceremoniously - which he did well, after years of practising the same because it had driven the neat-freak Angelus up the wall - and a chest of drawers, all a vampire really needed at all.

A lazy smile crossed his lips as he placed the candle he was carrying on the small chest of drawers that stood beside the four-poster double bed that took up much of the stone floor.

He had just been helping in a class full of fifth years.

They had been the first ones in the school, so far, to see him for what he really was and he honestly thought some of them had cacked their pants at the sight of his true vampiric face.

Apparently, most of them had assumed that he was just a random piece of eye-candy that the Professor had brought along to keep her company and who was also known for lurking around the classroom of the Deputy Head Mistress, who - everyone had believed - would never associate with a vampire.

Okay, he was a rude, foul-mouthed, leather-wearing, bad-attitude-bearing piece of eye-candy who was rarely seen to eat anything, but apparently they had all assumed he was human.

He smirked to himself.

One of the silly bints in the class had fainted when he had growled at her.

Humans were really just too much fun.

Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it carelessly over the chair that stood a foot from the end of the bed and it was rapidly followed by his shirt, T-shirt and jeans, leaving him clad in his boxers.

Yanking the dark blood-red - he chuckled at Dumbledore's quirky sense of humour - blankets and white sheets back on the bed, he flung himself down on the soft mattress and did something that no one in the Scooby Gang had ever or would ever see him do.

Withdrawing a pair of rectangular gold-rimmed glasses from a case on the chest of drawers beside his bed, he put them on and picked up the hefty book from the top of the cabinet that - along with the spectacles and the rather spiffy room - had been a gift from Dumbledore on his arrival.

He liked the old Wizard, he really did.

Dumbledore had qualities that no human he ever met had shared.

Except perhaps Minnie.

While Dumbledore was amusing and witty with an innately quirky nature, as well as having a mind that resided in the gutter, though very few people realised it, he had a side that Spike found fascinating.

The powerful side.

The sheer, undiluted power rippled from the wizard in throbbing waves, controlled and concealed under the mask of that gentle, rather frail grandfather figure which most people saw him as.

Along with the Slayer, her bratling sister, Dawn, and Minnie, of course, Spike could easily accept that Dumbledore would be added to his list of people that he would be willing to lay down his life for.

Stupid really, considering he was dead and all, but very few people stirred such an emotion in him.

Yes, it had taken a while for him to accept that he had grown to love first Minnie, his feisty witch, the Slayer and her squirt of a sister in turn, but now...

Dumbledore was like family, in an odd way.

He had all the qualities that Spike liked, except perhaps the compulsion to drink blood and kill things randomly. Dumbledore had control, which Spike knew he had a distinct lack of and part of him wished he had got to Dumbledore, when the wizard was younger and turned him.

He would have been perfect.

Which is exactly the feeling that the vampire had when he considered what he would have done with the Slayer and her sister, had he been given the chance.

Shaking his head, Spike grinned a little.

Yeah, the people he protected with his life were the ones that he would have wanted to turn the most.

Or keep as fiery partners for wild, clawing, rolling-on-the-floor shagging in Minnie's case, although now, he imagined her more as the tough bird he could get pissed with in a pub, before joining a riot.

It was still hard to believe she had been the strict, disciplinarian Deputy Head Mistress of a wizarding school for nearly forty years.

Life was funny that way.

Reaching behind his back, Spike yanked the thick pillows up against the headboard and settled back against them, the blankets and sheets strewn lazily over his hips, opening the book at the point where he had reached.

He had barely read a line when the candle sputtered out.

That - in itself - was very odd, because he was in a sealed box of stone deep inside the school and draughts were nigh impossible in the room. He jerked upright in the bed, his face shifting to stare around the darkness of his room.

A low chuckle from nearby made him look around suspiciously.

"Whose there?" he demanded sliding towards the edge of the four-poster bed, only to feel something press down on the other side. Whatever the something was, it was crawling across the bed to him.

"I think you know..." a reedy female voice whispered in his ear, a slender hand sliding over his shoulder and down his chest, nails ticklishly scratching against his skin. "My little pet..."

The blonde vampire's eyes grew enormous.

His Sire! His bloody Sire was in Hogwarts! Drusilla, the insane vampiress who had 'made' him over a century ago was here, in Hogwarts, in his room! Bollixed to hell didn't come close to describing this scenario!

Mentally, he was screaming all manner of rude things that would probably have had him kicked out the school if he said them aloud.

"You...you came back?"

"The little puppy didn't think mummy had gone away for ever, did he?" Cool lips stroked down his throat making him shiver. A second hand ran over his tousled hair and his face was turned towards his visitor. "Peekaboo."

"How...?"

A fingertip touched his lips. "Don't snap so, my Spike," the raven-haired woman breathed, her face nearly touching his. "I would be frightfully cross and would have to spank you..."

"But the school..."

"It's a reunion, all over again, mmm..." she purred against his ear. "Always welcome the naughty pupil, who used to hide in the clock tower..."

"You...you came here? You were a witch?"

"Ding dong, my little Spike. Mother would not have tolerated such naughtiness in the eyes of God. Magic....always whispering in my head...but no, my sweet. This was not my place. Mother told me no. The naughty snake opened the door to us," Her tongue curled around his earlobe. "I have come to play hide and peek...count to ten and I shall find what I seek..." Her teeth scraped over his pulsepoint making him shudder and it wasn't with pleasure.

This just wasn't what he needed.

Not now.

Not when he had formed a new family, a new allegiance.

Grabbing the vampiress' arms, he pushed her away from him. "What do you want, Dru?" he demanded harshly. "What are you doing here?"

"The gleaming one..." she said, her voice misty and dreamy. "She wishes to unlock the door, but she can do no such thing..." She pouted, making a strange whimpering sound in her throat. "Do you know why, my Spike?"

"No, pet. Why?"

Arching forward against his hands that were holding her upper arms, Drusilla's face was barely a breath from his. "Because," she hissed, craning towards him. "The bad slayer has stolen her key..."

"The key?" Spike's jaw felt like it had locked, a spasm shooting through his cheek.

"Mmm..."

"And you've come to get the key?"

The vampiress giggled. "Why, my Spike, I do believe you are thinking about being a tattle-tale!" she tutted, shaking her head, her hair swirling around her face. "I shall tell you no more."

"Dru, pet," he cajoled, releasing her arms. "When could I ever resist you?"

Drusilla pouted at him. "When you started to hide behind the Slayer's apron, my pet, you could resist..." Her right hand caught him in a hard slap that knocked him back with the force. "It is frightfully naughty."

Grimacing, Spike rubbed his stinging cheek. "Pet, please, tell me...are you going to kill her?"

A slim hand slapped against his chest. "My Spike," there was a note of reproving irritation in her voice. "You are asking all kinds of questions. You want to tell your fair lady with sunshine in her hair and dust on her fingers."

"Luv, if you're going to kill the Slayer and the niblet, I want to help," He grinned at her through the darkness, silently hoping and praying that she wasn't doing her mind-whammy on him. "Nothing quite as sweet as the young ones."

In less than three seconds, he was on his back in the middle of the bed, with his Sire straddling his belly, her cool, familiar hands spread on his chest. "If you can tell me the magic word that makes the angel fly away..."

"The painting password for their room?"

"That's my clever Spike..."

He shook his head. "I don't know it," he lied, gasping as her nails bit into his skin.

The irritation in her voice became a low growl of anger. "You are telling such filthy fibs, you naughty boy. I am displeased," He felt Drusilla's body pressing down against his and it wasn't in a pleasant way. "You will do what you are told, my wicked little pet. Mummy is home."

The savage gleam of the golden eyes, the only thing he could see in the dimness of his room, made the one hundred and twenty-eight year old vampire want to curl up in a ball and cry.

***

"So, how are you doing, Aragog?"

The spider clicked his pincers. "We are recovering, young one," he answered, as Xander continued to unwind the healing strips that Hagrid had placed on his arachnid friend's wounded limbs.

It had been weeks since the attacks had happened, when the demons that invaded the Great Hall had swept through the hollow where the majority of the spiders lived, a large contingent of their family wiped out.

Aragog had been badly injured when he blindly struggled into the fray to help his children and grandchildren. It had taken all his strength to drag himself to the edge of the forest to tell Hagrid of what had happened.

After filling in the Head Master and checking that everyone in the school had been all right, Xander had offered to help Hagrid to patch up Aragog's wounds, the spider forced to remain just inside the edge of the woods until he regained his strength.

A shelter had been built for the arachnid by the boy and the half-giant, to protect the blind old spider from the winter elements and, for the first time in his life, he had accepted the presence of someone besides Hagrid as a friend.

It had only been a few days earlier that Aragog had returned to the Hollow and, as Hagrid had his hands full with grounds-keeping, Xander had offered to go to check on the giant spider for him, to be sure that the wounds were healing.

While Willow and Buffy had both shuddered when he had informed them of what he was doing that day, at breakfast just an hour before, he couldn't understand why they were still terrified of the eight-legged creatures.

"And it looks like this leg is all right, as well," he noted, touching the healed patch on the limb gently. The tissues had knit together, although there was a bare patch, where savage claws had torn the spider's limb open.

"I am grateful to you, young one," the spider's voice was punctuated by the rhythmic clicks of his pincers. "There are very few of your kind who would treat my kind with such courtesy."

"If Hagrid likes you," Xander replied. "You can't be bad."

Aragog laughed, a deep, booming sound. "Many would disagree with you about trusting the opinion of Hagrid, young one," he said, painstakingly shifting a huge leg to allow Xander access to the bandages on it. "After all, he favours those that most would revile."

"He's a good guy. He knows that you don't have to trust appearances. I mean, you just gotta look at him to see that. Anyone would think he was some kind of monster, but he's a real nice guy."

The spider's head twisted and he nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed ponderously. "He is a rarity, indeed. As are you."

"Me? Nah. I'm nothing special."

Aragog studied him. "You are here, in our Hollow, young one," he said after several moments. "Very few would be and yet, you aid us. You aid the creatures that many of your kind hate and fear."

Xander went a deep shade of beetroot. "Well, I had to help," he said, blushing. "It's no big deal, really." He turned his attention to Aragog's bandaged leg, unwinding the healing linens.

"You have no wish to be with your friends?"

"They're all real busy right now," the boy answered. "I wouldn't want to get in their way and all the magic up at the school...I mean, I don't really mind magic, but in the school, there's just way too much. I don't feel comfortable with it."

Aragog made a sound of appreciation for Xander's words.

A clicking sound from nearby made Xander look up, as a fairly large spider dashed past, chasing a group of smaller ones, identical in shape and pattern. Charging into the middle of the group, the large spider's clicking grew more frenetic, as the little ones swarmed all over it.

"She is their dam, young one," Aragog said, clearly understanding that Xander's hand stilling meant that the boy was watching. "They are playing together. They are causing her no harm."

"I was kinda wondering," Xander admitted.

"Her lifemate was killed in the attack," the spider said, a tone of sadness in his deep, clicking voice. "She has many children and no mate with whom to raise them. It will be difficult for her."

Xander looked up at the spider. "Are they your grandchildren?"

"Many generations on, yes," Aragog said. "We are a close family. She will have help from our kind, but it is difficult when a lifemate is lost."

"Have you...did you have a lifemate?"

Aragog's head swivelled in Xander's direction. "You believe I was able to lay the eggs to produce a family as extensive as this one, young one?" He chuckled again. "I might be a rare breed, but I have not yet been able to reproduce myself." Xander had to smile at that. "But yes, young one, I had a lifemate. She died, many years ago."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because...she died..."

"You were not to blame, young one," Aragog countered. "There is no reason for you to apologise. We had many years together and for those years, I am grateful." Xander nodded, understanding. "And you, young one. Do you have a lifemate?"

"Me?" Xander laughed at the thought, returning his attention to Aragog's strips of bandage. "No. I...I've had girlfriends, but I've never found someone who would stay with me for life. I don't think I'm the settle down kinda guy, really."

"Your temporary mates did not satisfy you?"

"What's with the big curiousity in my private life?" Xander inquired, half-laughing.

Aragog cocked his head. "I have never understood human mating procedures, young one," he explained. "I am curious."

"In that case, yes, they satisfied me when were together, but we...grew apart. We changed. In a few cases, they changed big time," He shuddered at the memory. "A preying mantis and a mummy were two of the worst."

"You have chosen mates outside your kind?"

Xander pulled a face. "Not by choice," he replied. "They were both dark magical beings or something like that. Not of the good. All of the others I was involved with were human."

"You have a temporary mate now?"

"I did, until a few weeks ago," Xander replied, checking the wound, which was in the same condition as the one on Aragog's forelimb. "This leg is healed as well. Got any more?"

A third leg was shifted and Xander ducked around Aragog's body to reach it, leaning against the spider's shaggy side, avoiding the largest patches of sticky webbing around his feet.

"This mate was not to your liking?"

"She was great," Xander replied, speaking up a little, as he unbound the next strip of bandage. "But she...we were way too different to stay together much longer. I always end up picking people who are nothing like me."

"You see good in them."

"I guess so," Xander agreed pensively, wadding the pile of healing strips together then ducking under Aragog's massive foreleg to reach the patch of padding on the spider's side.

The spider was silent for a moment, but for the steady clicking of it's pincers. "You say you have changed, young one," he finally remarked. "If you have changed, then would you perhaps be more suited to one of your previous temporary mates?"

Xander's hand stilled on Aragog's side. "I guess..." he replied. "But I don't know what the deal is with them. I mean, one of them has...well, I'd guess Hermione would be Will's lifemate...but Cordy..."

"Cordy?"

"My first girlfriend," Xander answered. "We hated each other for years and then we ended up together. We argued all the time, even when we were together, because it was a normal thing for us to do."

"Humans are very strange," Aragog decided. "I do not understand your kind."

"Gotta agree with the strangeness of us," Xander laughed, removing the last patches of wadding from the healed wounds. "I'm a human and I don't even understand us and..." He paused, looking around. "What's that noise?"

Aragog's massive body heaved up. "One of my grandchildren...with word..."

The young man looked around at the rapid approach of one of Aragog's smaller kin, the foot-long spider scuttling over logs and branches towards them, its pincers clicking wildly.

"What's he...er...she...um...what's the news?"

"New creatures have arrived at the school," the small spider chittered nervously. "A demon and a vampire..."

Before the smaller spider had even finished talking, Xander had dived out from beneath Aragog's body and was sprinting, at full speed, through the Dark Forest, back towards the castle.

***

It was pitch dark.

That should have made it intolerable.

It didn't.

Oh, God, it didn't!

The Slayer groped out behind her, a low shelf stabilising her until her assailant jerked her sideways, making her lose her footing and stumble back, his rough hands the only thing keeping her from falling.

Buffy released a grunt when she was slammed back against the brick wall, the tall, dark figure descending on her and crushing her mouth was his.

Harsh fingertips bit into the small of her back and she released a sharp gasp as a stinging bite was placed on her throat. "Don't you dare give me another hickey, you moody bastard," she hissed.

"Wouldn't dream of it, impertinent tramp," Snape's voice was a low hiss against her throat and she moaned as he nipped under her jaw, then somehow managed to find her lips in the darkness.

Thrusting her hands into his hair - which really felt incredible, like cool strands of silk against her skin - she twisted to force him up against the unseen wall, breaking out of the kiss, panting. The air was stuffy, scented with preservative fluids, but that didn't stop it feeling so damn good.

"You really are a stuffy Goth, y'know."

Their lips clashed again, harder, his callused hands pinning her slim upper arms by her sides, knowing full well that she could break his grip, but pulling her forcefully against his chest.

One hand slid down and under her robes and she shuddered in pleasure at the feel of his fingers scraping her knee-length skirt up her thigh, every callus and ridge of his hands rough against the smooth skin.

His lips touched her throat and she jerked against him when he lightly bit the scar on her throat, then flicked his tongue over it, tracing the outline.

"Holy..."

"Sh," His mouth silenced hers briefly. "No such language, you avaricious trull."

"Mmm...nice one, Snapey..." She chuckled at his low, throaty growl of aggravation at the nickname. "Trull...are you...oh God..." Whatever she had been considering asking trailed off as his body was pressed flush against hers.

His hand gripping her thigh, he jerked her leg up to the level of his hip, coarse material of his robes making the sensitive skin of her inner-thighs tingle. His mouth continued to ravage her throat, her little moans growing louder.

"Professor Snape?" a voice called, muffled by wood and stone.

"Dammit!" Snape hissed.

Buffy couldn't help it.

She released a giggle.

A dry hand pressed over her mouth, Snape's other hand on her back, holding her firmly against him. "Shut up, you silly girl," he whispered, sounding more than a little frustrated with her.

Sniggering behind his hand, she listened intently, but apparently whoever was in the classroom had departed and the Potions Master released her, leaving her ready to drop on her ass on the floor.

Nothing like being interrupted to ruin the mood.

Although, there wasn't really a 'mood' for what they were doing.

Random groping and smooching sessions in various places were hardly the means that lead to a happy and fulfilling relationship, although it had been happening on a regular basis for nearly two weeks.

A blaze of light filled the supplies cupboard and she squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes. She could see Snape silhouetted in the doorway and wondered briefly why he had stopped short.

Straightening up, she smoothed her skirt back down to it's proper level, adjusting her robes and hurrying forward, smoothing her hair until she reached Snape's level and also stopped short, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Omigod..."

"I do prefer Albus, Miss Summers," said Dumbledore, sitting on the edge of the desk in front of them, smiling.

"Head Master," Snape side-stepped a little way away from the Slayer. "I'm afraid you caught us at a rather...bad moment."

"Yes," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at them both and Buffy wished the floor would open up beneath her. She couldn't remember being so embarrassed about anything, ever! Her lips were swollen, her hair and clothing mussed and she knew that he knew exactly what they had been doing. "I'm sure you were simply having a very close inspection of the interior of the supplies cupboard."

"Well, yeah! Of course!" she exclaimed. "What else would we be doing?"

Dumbledore looked at her and she was sure, absolutely without a doubt certain, that he was smirking!

Snape was scowling at Dumbledore and seemed to be sharing the Slayer's present desire to smack the old wizard over the head with something big, heavy and hard to get that smirk off his face.

It wasn't right!

Dumbledore wasn't meant to smirk like he knew exactly what was happening.

"If you're so good," she said, remembering something that she had discussed with him several days before, pointing at him. "Why were you sneaking to the astronomy tower at four o'clock in the morning?"

She felt more than saw Snape's eyes flick to her, then to Dumbledore, who had gone a rather fetching shade of pink beneath his beard.

The Head Master got his feet much more quickly than the Slayer believed he could move and sniffed. "I had to be certain that no pupils were utilising the tower for... inappropriate behaviour. Although," he gave her a shrewd look. "I hear cupboards are far more fitting this year."

Beside her, Snape growled.

Dumbledore chuckled, smoothing his robes. "As it is, Miss Summers, I did actually come down here to inform you that you have a delivery awaiting your inspection in the Entrance Hall," he said.

"You came down here instead of going to my classroom?"

"It was rather fortunate, that I had such foresight, was it not?" The twinkle was back in his eye and he smiled. "And I didn't even have to resort to locking the pair of you in a room together. The Potions cupboard served quite well enough, I see."

Buffy went shocking pink again, while Snape's face seemed to develop to very red blotches on his cheeks, his fists clenching by his sides in a manner that made the Head Master chuckle.

"I'll go and get my delivery," the Slayer announced firmly, squeezing past Snape to get to the door of the class, deliberately rubbing against his body and earning another low growl from him. "Oh and I think you made 'trull' up, you...uh...big jerk."

Black eyes flashed at her. "Oh, very imaginative, you incorrigible reprobate."

"Are you sure that's a real word?" she asked, pausing at the door. "The incorri-one?"

"Of course it's a real word," he snapped, huffing a breath out of flared nostrils.

She grinned at him and she could see his fingers twitch like he wanted to grab her by the throat and shake her. "Just checking," she said, before striding out of the room, leaving Snape scowling after her and Dumbledore chuckling.

"You are a most fascinating pair to observe," the Head Master remarked cheerfully. Snape said nothing, his lip curling in distaste. "I assume that you will shortly be following her upstairs, to see what her delivery is?"

Snape glared at the old Wizard. "I wouldn't waste my time," he spat.

Dumbledore looked towards the ceiling, the impish twinkle back in his eye. "Just as you said you would not waste your time enclosed in a potions supply cupboard with the Slayer, doing that which I have no idea about?"

"Oh..." Vivid blotches of colour reappeared on the Potions Master's face. "Shut up!"

Still chuckling to himself, the Head Master got to his feet, smoothing his robes down, and made his way past the glowering Potions Master, convinced he could hear a low growl emanating from him.

Like Buffy, he paused in the doorway. "If I were you," he said with a small smile. "I would make my way up to the Entrance Hall now. After all, there may be something dangerous awaiting her."

A thump sounded from the desk, when Snape slammed his fist down on it.

"I suppose that is a 'maybe'," Dumbledore said jovially, before exiting the room.

***

"Luce, babe, there's a big old owl outside the window."

Lucius Malfoy looked up from the immense book of spells he had been perusing, searching for a way to break past the protective barrier that had surrounded Hogwarts, with his lover's additional power.

At the massive windows, a dark smudge against the backdrop of the pale, cool grey January skies, his own owl stood patiently. The sun was visible only as a marginally paler smear against the overhung sky outside, even though it was near noon.

So...there was a mid-day delivery, which meant it could only be from one person.

"Ah, Lucifer," he murmured, rising from the desk and approaching the window. He opened it to allow the owl to present him with a scroll bound with a black ribbon. "It appears that your young lady has deigned to correspond with us, my dear."

Lazing on the couch, one fingertip thrust through the head of an unfortunate muggle, to draw the power from it in slow, satisfying sips, Glory glanced at him over the back of the couch. "In English, baby?"

"Your pet vampire has sent a report," he replied, opening the scroll. "She wishes you to know that she is about to make her play and will shortly be able to deliver your gift to you, with or without her...sweet's aid."

Withdrawing her fingers from the brow of the muggle she had been feeding from, the Hell Goddess rose to her feet and luxuriously stretched her body, the red dress riding up her thighs.

"I kinda get the feeling things are goin' our way, don't you, baby?"

Rolling the scroll up again, Lucius turned to the woman. "I would certainly be prone to agree," he murmured, depositing the letter on the window sill and turning to face her. "One might even consider celebrating this step forward."

"Mmm-hmm..." Glory purred, strolling towards him and sliding her hands up the folds of his loose, white shirt and over his shoulders. "So, baby, how'd'you..."

The door opening interrupted any question she might have asked.

Draco Malfoy looked into the study and, more importantly, at the scarlet-clad Hell Goddess, who currently had her arms draped around his father, both of them standing in front of the windows. His eyes flicked to the babbling muggle rocking on the floor, his lip curling.

"Father," he acknowledged.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius replied, one arm snaking around Glory's waist and caressing her back. "This had better be important, my boy."

Youthful grey eyes flashed at Glory, who smirked and spread her hand on Lucius' chest. "I have to agree with your daddy, Draco, honey," she cooed. "Me and him...we have some celebrating to do and you're kinda a bit too...well...not invited."

"Father," Draco repeated, his expression hard. "Mother wishes to see you."

"Your mother understands the need for patience. I do not answer the immediate whims of a woman," Lucius said, waving his hand dismissively. "I will be with her shortly. Now, off with you."

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously and he stalked out.

"Now, my dear..." Lucius turned his attention back to his lover. "Something is troubling you?"

Glory's eyes lingered on the door of the study. "I don't like your boy, Luce, and the feeling's mutual," she replied, her expression darkening. "If you don't warn him to mind his manners, I won't be blamed..."

Lucius caught her chin, turning her face back to his, grey eyes meeting blue-green, a slight smirk on his lips. "My dear Goddess," he said softly. "What makes you think I would desire to warn him?"

Her brow furrowed slightly, then she beamed at him. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Luce," she said, before kissing him.

***

"Will you let me out of here?"

"All right, already! It's not like you haven't been locked in a box before!"

The sight that greeted anyone passing through the entrance Hall was certainly absurd to say the least: a gorgeous, well-endowed brunette struggling with the lid of a large, sealed box that looked like it was made of lead, yelling at it in frustration.

It was about seven feet long and three feet deep and wide. And it was rocking on the floor, as if something was battling to get out of it.

"Cordelia?" The young woman struggling with the lid looked up. "Cordelia! Oh my God! Cordy!" A small blonde flew across the checked black and white floor, hugging the brunette. "What are you doing here?"

Cordelia pulled a face. "Had one of those wonderful vision things and, I have to say, not getting any funner." She studied the Slayer. "And what the hell are you meant to be, all robey and badly-dressed?"

"Would you believe I'm a teacher here?" Buffy gestured around them, at the marble staircases, moving paintings and students who were lingering as they passed on their way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Teacher? You? Puh-lease!"

"Uh...hey, Buffy..." a sheepish voice spoke from the box on the floor and the Slayer looked down, eyes widening.

"Oh yeah," The brunette nodded towards the box. "Angel."

"Why is he in a box?"

"Sunlight."

The Slayer nodded, bending and easily ripping the metal lid off the box, her former boyfriend erupting from the box, gagging. He looked even paler than usual and his eyes were burning gold, ridges and fangs visible.

"Don't ever let me agree to that again."

Buffy stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm guessing you're here because of one of Cordy's visions?"

Angel nodded, leaning heavily against the side of his travelling case, taking deep gulps of air, even though he didn't need it. "And Dru..." he said. "She's back and she had Darla. Darla...she disappeared, but Cordy saw Dru here...near you."

"Darla? But you poofed Darla..."

"Long story..."

"Bad guys brought her back from the dead and made Dru vamp her," Cordelia said helpfully.

Angel raised his eyes ceilingwards. "Okay, maybe not so long."

"Any chance of you..." Buffy waved a hand in front of her face, her eyes on Angel's features. "You might scare the kids..."

Nodding, Angel shifted his features back into the human planes. He gazed down at her for a long moment. "How are you?"

"Okay. You?"

"I've been locked in a lead crate for the last three days, to get here, so I'm not exactly at my best."

"God, can you feel the tension?" Cordelia interrupted, rolling her eyes. "And, hey, Buffy, you might wanna look into getting your Slay-sense checked," She nodded in the direction of one of the doors that opened into the hall. "Vamp at two o'clock."

The Slayer was already reaching under her robes for Mr. Pointy as she turned, then laughed aloud at the sight of Snape standing in the shadows of the stairs, arms folded over his chest, regarding the scene through half-closed eyes. "Him? He's not a vamp."

"Looks like one," the brunette muttered. "Evil enough for it."

"I wouldn't even both trying to stake him, if he was a vamp," the blonde said, her eyes twinkling, when Snape's black eyes narrowed at her. "First I'd have to get through fifty layers of clothing and then actually have to find where his heart is, if he actually has one."

"Who is he, if he's not the big evil?"

Buffy, still chuckling, turned to him. "He's a teacher. Snapey, come on over! Got some people who wanna meet you."

He seemed to glide forwards without moving at all - a trick Buffy had only ever seen Dracula using before and hot damn! It still looked just as impressive, even when it was Snapey doing it.

"You are aware, Summers, that you have just invited another vampire to enter the school?" he said, in his lowest murmur, black eyes locked on Angel's face as the vampire climbed unsteadily out of the crate and stood up.

"Don't you get all moody on me," she replied. "If you must know, it wasn't me that did the inviting. It must have been Dumbledore."

"If you mean that old guy with the big beard, yeah," Cordelia added. "He told me to bring the box in while Lorne unloads the carriage."

Angel had straightened up to his full height, which brought him level with Snape, and he was suspiciously regarding the Potions Master, who was gazing coldly back at him, his eyes black and emotionless.

"So who are you?" the vampire demanded.

"Oh, yeah!" the Slayer interrupted. "Introductions. Snapey, meet Angel also known as Angelus, one of the Scourge of Europe before getting souled up," Angel flinched at the description. "Angel, meet Snapey, Potions teacher, King of the Bad-Mood, former evil-guy-supporting Death Eater and spy for the good guys and all around bad-ass."

"Summers," Snape growled.

"Don't you 'Summers' me, Snapey," she shot a look at him.

Turning his attention to the vampire, Snape's face was as emotionless as it had ever been seen. Angel, throwing his shoulders back, stared determinedly right back at him, his jaw tensing.

With the revelations that Angel was a former blood-thirsty vampire psychopath and that Snape was previously an agent of the Dark Lord, there was clearly going to be little good feeling in the room.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to introduce them?" Cordelia asked in a whisper, to Buffy, who was standing back and snickering. "I mean, big, brooding-in-shadows-super-bad-tempered-I'm-gonna-fire-my-employees-and-go-off-on-a-personal-vendetta vampire against big, mean-looking bad-moody guy."

"Just watch," she suggested in a lowered voice. "It'll be...interesting."

The power and dislike radiating from the two men was practically palpable, Angel's eyes flaring into gold as they faced off. However, unlike most people, Snape didn't back down in the face of a growling vampire.

His upper lip curled. "Most impressive."

"I could rip your throat out."

"Really?" Snape's voice was dry. "Oh, I do believe I just pissed myself with terror."

"So you should."

Snape's brow lifted marginally. "Indeed." He looked bored, not at all like he was about to wet himself with fear.

Angel appeared both angry and confused. For the first time in his life, as a vampire, he was dealing with someone who didn't seem the least bit afraid of him, even when in vamp-mode.

And something told him that if Angelus was in control at the time, he would actually like the man he was facing.

For some reason, Angel didn't like that thought any more than he liked the man standing before him and, with a growl, his hand locked around Snape's throat, jerking the Potions Teacher towards him and lifting him off his feet.

"Angel!"

"Shut up, Summers," Snape rasped, glaring down at the vampire.

He hadn't even raised his hands to try and pry Angel's fingers from his throat, as so many people did when caught like this, dangling inches above the ground. His arms were by his sides, hands clenched in fists.

The vampire couldn't help staring at the human. He wasn't even afraid now. Those eerie black eyes were staring at him with contempt as if he were an example of the lowest scum of the earth.

"So, what do you intend to do now?" he asked, his voice choked, mainly by Angel's hand around his throat. "Kill me?" He made a gagging noise, when Angel tightened his fist, lifting him a little higher from the floor. The Potions Master's face was going ashen, but it wasn't from fear. He definitely was anything but afraid. More than likely it was the lack of oxygen.. "Must say... Dumbledore won't...be pleased..."

"Angel! Will you drop him!" Buffy actually sounded angry and worried. Snape felt his lips rising in a smirk, as spots of black started to edge in on his vision, something that seemed to infuriate the vampire even more.

Casting the black-clad human aside, Angel snarled.

Snape staggered against the crate, almost falling to his knees, his hands grasping the metal to hold himself upright. Blinking to clear his vision, he slowly straightened up again, turning his chalk-white face back to Angel, his sneer still in place.

"Such a temper," he whispered dangerously, his voice hoarse. His black eyes were glittering in warning. "You ought to be careful who you use it against. Some people may not... appreciate it."

The vampire - much to the surprise of the two girls - back-stepped. He actually looked almost...scared?

"Now, Summers," the dark teacher growled, still glaring at Angel, his upper lip curling. "If you have any of your former lovers, who wish to threaten me in a more professional fashion, I will be in my classroom."

Despite the fact he was as white as a ghost and looked a little unsteady, he pulled himself up and strode off, his black cloak and robes flaring around him in a way that reminded Buffy of Angel's 'King of Pain' look.

"Are you sure that guy is normal?" Cordelia asked, leaning sideways to watch him sweep out of sight.

Buffy smiled weakly at the brunette, although she couldn't help wondering if Snapey was all right. He had looked paler than usual and that was saying something. Still, she was also fighting the absurd urge to giggle.

The face-off between the pair was just how she had imagined it.

Correction, it was even more entertaining.

"Not many people around here are what you can call normal, Cord..." her voice trailed off at the sight of the figure who had just staggered into the hall, laden down with bags.

"Cordy, sweetie! I know you told me to bring the luggage, but honey! Twenty bags has to be overkill!"

The...it had to be a demon, dropped the bags on the floor. He was either a demon, or very green in the face with horns. Yep, definitely demon, but he wasn't acting like the demons she was used to.

"Lorne! Be careful with those!"

Smoothing down his vivid silver-blue suit, the demon gave her a pointed, red-eyed look. "Sweetie, you want a bellhop, check in to the Hilton." He breezed over to the startled blonde. "Oh hey! You must be the Slayer!"

Buffy stared at the hand that was offered to her, then to the demon. "Uh...hi."

"I'm Lorne," Ignoring her lack of hand-sticking-out, he grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "Enchante, if I may say, and cute! Tall, dark and broody over there never mentioned just how cute you were, cupcake."

"Huh?"

Cordelia swatted the demon-guy away from the Slayer. "Lorne helps us out sometimes," she explained. "He runs a demon karaoke bar in L.A. and he was told by his source to tag along with us."

"Demon karaoke...?"

"Singin', sweetie!" Lorne said enthusiastically. "Food for the soul, even if tall-dark-and-cranky-pants doesn't agree." He nodded to Angel. Buffy choked back a laugh at the description, then looked around the hall. "You know, I bet the acoustics..."

"No!" Angel snapped. "No singing!"

Lorne threw a look at the vampire. "One day, mister-I'm-cranky-because-I-travelled-in-a-box, you too will understand the joy of music."

"Music yes, you singing, never."

Buffy couldn't help laughing as Angel sent his glare at the green demon. It was obvious that the vampire was feeling a bit...irritated thanks to his confrontation with Snapey and needed someone to take it out on.

"Look," she stepped between them. "You came here because of one of Cordy's visions. Maybe we should find Dumbledore and the others and see what we can make of it, right?"

"Cute and smart!" Lorne smiled at her. "Honey, I think I'm going to like working with you." He offered her an arm. "May I?"

"Buffy!" a yell rang in from the grounds a moment before Xander ran into the entrance hall, face flushed. He stopped short at the sight of Buffy in the process of looping her arm through the demon's, then appeared to notice the two dark-haired individuals. "Oh...right...you know already..."

"Know what?" Buffy asked, concerned, as Xander doubled over, panting.

Xander motioned to Cordelia, Angel and Lorne.

"Was out in the Dark Forest, seeing Aragog," he replied, panting. "Spider showed up... told us that a demon and vampire just arrived...thought you'd wanna know..." He grinned weakly. "Shoulda known you guys would...actually," He straightened up, still breathless. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Vision thing," Cordelia replied, hurrying towards him and grabbing his arm. "You okay, Xander?"

"Yeah...yeah..." He nodded, blinking as she pulled him up and let him wrap an arm around her shoulder to keep him upright. "Just need to...not die...that'd be good..."

"Always the wannabe hero, huh?" She gave him an affectionate smile. "You're just the same old Xander."

"Hey, I got you in my arms again, didn't I?" he retorted.

"Like you wanted," She rolled her eyes expressively.

"As if I wouldn't want that," he replied.

Cordelia stared at him.

"Not to be the one to break up the uber-cuteness of this Hallmark moment," Lorne interrupted, waving a hand. "But we do have a reason for being here and personally, I wanna explain, so I can get to the exploring this fantabulous castle!"

"You'll love it," Buffy said.

"I bet, sweetcakes," Lorne winked at her. "Angel, you big, brooding hunk of grumpy vampireness, you coming?" Angel growled and Lorne laughed. "I'll take that as a big old yes, then. Lead the way, sweetie!"

***

"You saw what?"

Duncan drew a quick cross on his chest with his finger. "I saw a demon on the way up from the entrance hall, Dawnie," he replied. "Cross my heart. A green bloke with horns and red eyes and everything!"

Grabbing Duncan by the arm, Dawn hauled him into her room, pulling the painting shut behind him. "Okay...let me get this straight," she said, pointing at him, a look of concern on her face. "You saw a demon? Walking into the entrance Hall?"

"Aye!" he exclaimed. "With a big fella with dark hair and a woman with dark hair and big... er... eyes!"

"Eyes?" Dawn gave him a look.

"Aye?" he replied, taking a careful backstep.

"Okay...I'll ignore you being such a boy and you'll tell me what else you saw."

"Yer sister."

"Was she kicking the demon's butt?"

Duncan considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "She was holding his arm and they were laughing about something," he replied. "It was well weird, but I think the big blokey was growling at them."

"Hold on a second...did any of them call each other any names?"

"Er..." The boy paused, scratching his head, his brow wrinkling in thought, then he nodded. "Aye. The green bloke called one of them Angel and the dark-haired woman was hugging Xander."

"Angel?" Dawn squealed. "Omigod! I haven't seen him in, like, forever!"

"We know him, then?"

"Know him? Duncan! He's only the vampire my sister dated for nearly three years!"

Duncan's face went from one end of the colour spectrum to the other, his mouth opening and shutting several times. "He-he's that Angel?" he whispered. "Big? Sticky outy forehead? Spiky hair?"

"Omigod! This is so cool!"

"Aye, but ye said he only shows up when there's trouble..."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "No biggie! Danger comes, Buffy and Angel kick it's collective ass!" She bound over to her side of the room, kneeling down and hauling out a drawer. "I have to give them a welcome surprise."

"No! Dawnie, that's not very nice of ye!"

Dawn pulled out a few T-shirts from the drawer, revealing a stash of bottles. "Who told you I was nice?" she asked with a grin. "So, Duncan, you gonna help me out with this or not?"

Duncan pulled his righteously indignant face. "Yer a terrible influence on me, Dawn Summers," he sighed.

"Which means...?"

"Of course I'm gonnae help ye!" he replied, grinning. "Ye think I'd want tae miss out on all the fun?"

Dawn smirked at him. "You're so predictable."

"Yer such a daft cow," he retorted. "Dae ye see me complainin'?"

They exchanged grins and she tossed a bottle to him. "This is gonna be our best yet."

***

The Great Hall was alive with chatter.

Rumour had it that the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts had some friends visiting and that one of them might be a demon of some kind, but the teacher had yet to arrive in the Hall.

However, her sister, the muggle boy, Anya Emerson and the youngest Weasley were already sitting at the table near the end of the Gryffindor table. There was a distinct absence of the glaring, blonde-haired man that many of the Gryffindor girls thought was cute.

When Summers Junior had been asked about him, she had looked confused.

Apparently, he hadn't been seen anywhere in the school by any of the Gryffindor pupils at least since the previous day when he had been in attendance at one of Summers Senior's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

Someone said something about going to check on him, but at that moment, all thoughts of checking on the blonde hunk fled.

The doors at the head of the hall swung open and an instant silence fell, several people rising in their seats to see who was entering, more than a dozen mouths falling open in shock at the...thing with Professor Summers.

Whatever it was, it was tall, striking and green-skinned with a long nose and chin, as well as green-tinted sandy hair that stood up in a highly-fashionable style. Horns were visible on its forehead, just at the hairline, and its eyes were a brilliant shade of ruby. It was wearing a very bright silver-blue suit.

It really was a demon!

And it was arm-in-arm with the Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor...

Why wasn't she killing it? That seemed to be the question that was being pondered by many of the pupils, as Professor Summers cheerfully lead the green guy into the hall, where he stopped short and stared up.

As usual, the bewitched ceiling matched that of the sky outside, the fading gold of the sunset shooting strands of fire through wispy puffs of gold, purple, rose and silver cloud, against a falling backdrop of deep, misty blue.

Candles bobbed between them and the ceiling, but it did little to obscure the view of the winter sky.

"Oh my God!" he gasped. "Oh, honey, this is beautiful! I have to get one of these! Only, kind of without the L.A. sky, cause hello! Ew!"

"That's what I thought when I saw it for the first time," Summers said, laughing. "I mean the wow-ness of the roof, not the L.A. sky thing."

"Oh God...oh, honey, I have to..." He gave the Professor a hopeful look and she nodded with a broad smile.

In the dead silence of the Hall, the demon's voice soared out into the most exotic acapella rendition of 'Somewhere over the rainbow' that any of them had ever heard, the acoustics making it ring around them to perfection.

Any jaws that hadn't been sagging moments before, certainly were now.

When the song finally ended, there was an even deeper, awe-struck silence, during which the Professor took the demon's arm and they continued to walk down the central aisle, between the two rows of tables.

"Wow!" A Ravenclaw girl nearby was the first to speak, as the pair passed. "You... wow! Your voice!"

The demon gave her an amiable look. "Glad you liked it, sweetie," He smiled and mussed her hair, as he was dragged onwards by the blonde Professor, the two people following behind them barely even being noticed. "Someone hereabout told me that music is the greatest magic and you know, sweetie, I gotta agree!"

"Professor Summers," Snape stood up at the head table. "What is that...thing?"

Everyone in the Hall saw the icy glare that crossed the young Professor's face in the direction of the Potions Master. If looks could have killed, Snape would have dropped dead ten times over.

"I don't know how you did it, petal," the demon bent closer to whisper. "But it looks like we've finally found a real rival for the King of tall-dark-and-moody." He shot a look over his shoulder at the dark-haired man walking behind him. "What's got his panties in a bunch?"

"Guilt, again."

The demon sighed. "Ain't it always the way?"

Professor Summers chuckled, then smiled sweetly up at Snape. "This is my friend, Lorne, Snapey," she said in a voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "And if you so much as look at him the wrong way, I will beat you senseless. If you're real lucky, I'll use the axe."

A few pupils chuckled at that. Summers was tiny. So tiny that she didn't come close to reaching Snape's shoulder when she was standing at her full height. Her beating him senseless was an absurd image to say the least.

Only a few of very observant pupils noted that Snape's face went a shade paler than usual and he sat down quickly, a muscle in his cheek twitching. His lips were pursed and he was glaring.

Summers paused right in front of Dumbledore, who nodded, and she turned around to face the hall, clapping her hands for attention.

"Everyone," All eyes turned to her and her demon friend. "This guy here with me is Lorne and he's from Los Angeles in America. Yes, he is a demon," Gasps rippled around the Hall. "But he's one of the few decent ones, so I don't want any of you trying spells on him or offending him. He's a friend of mine and if anyone tries to hurt him or upsets him in any way while he's here...well, I might be small, but I can still bite a mean ankle!"

A few laughs rippled around the hall and she gave the demon a smile.

Leading Lorne up to the head table, where one extra seat had been placed for him, she hadn't anticipated the delighted squeal from her sister, when the two people behind her moved into the Gryffindor table's line of sight.

"Angel!"

"Omigod! Angel! Cordelia!" Willow was fast to echo it. The red-haired witch and the younger Summers sister practically tackled the startled dark-haired pair, Dawn latching onto Angel like a limpet, while Willow hugged the startled Cordelia.

"Hey...Willow...and you..." Cordelia was studying Dawn in confusion.

"Dawn," the girl replied.

"Buffy's sister?" Willow offered, hoping the two new arrivals would take the hint.

"Oh! Right!" Cordelia threw her hands up. Having been away from Sunnydale when Dawn, as the Key, had arrived, Angel and Cordelia's memories had not been altered to fit the Slayer's little sister in. "God knows where my memory is today, Dawnie! Great to see you."

Angel was looking down at the dark girl - who had locked her arms around his waist and was cuddling against his chest - as if he had never seen her before. Slowly, a smile came onto his face and he returned the hug.

At the Head table between Lorne and Hermione, Buffy blew out a sigh of relief, as she watched her sister drag the vampire and the seer towards the 'Sunnydale' table, where extra spaces seemed to have miraculously appeared.

Xander was smiling at Cordelia, as she sat down next to him. Anya actually glanced in their direction with a knowing look, then her eyes darted to Dumbledore, who nodded, but the Slayer's attention was elsewhere for the time being.

The whole scenario with Dawn as the Key, Glory and everything else being so hectic had been detailed in the brief meeting they had had with Dumbledore, before their guests were shown to their rooms.

It made her feel a little better to see Angel accepting it.

It had startled her how easily everyone at Hogwarts had taken the news as well.

It wasn't every day - at least not that she knew of - that a key made of supernatural energy was mutated into the human sister of the vampire slaying Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Every member of the teaching staff had listened to the explanation Dumbledore had given, detailing what they had learned about Dawn, and accepted it instantly.

Even Snapey.

Him and Angel had been the two people she had been most dubious about.

"Don't worry, sweetie," Lorne murmured to her. "He may be a big grump, but his heart is in the right place."

"Angel...?"

She turned to find the demon gazing at her, a strange smile on his lips. "I wasn't talking about Angel," he said enigmatically, before turning to Hagrid, who was seated a short distance away from him and offering an introduction.

Shaking her head, confused, Buffy risked a glance along the table to where Snape was sitting. She felt a pang of guilt when she spotted dark bruises at the top of his throat, granted to him by Angel's hand.

Mind you, she mused, it wasn't exactly your fault they hate each other.

She glanced at his neck again. The bruises were almost hidden by his high-necked collar. Flicking her eyes up his face, a flush of crimson rose from her chest upwards as she realised that he was watching her from beneath half-closed lids.

It almost made her chuckle to notice he was glaring, again.

He always looked so grumpy when he looked at her in public...

Omigod...

Flashing an agonised look at Lorne, Buffy felt her cheeks burning.

Surely he didn't know...

Red eyes turned to her briefly, as if aware of her watching him. "Like I said, sweetie, heart in the right place."

The only sound the Slayer could think to make was a whimper.

Of course, that was seconds before Angel foolishly accepted an offer of a chip from Dawn, with her own special variety of flavouring added to it.

It proved slightly distracting for the Slayer.

Somehow, the thought of being glared at by a grumpy potions Professor was pushed from her mind due to the fact that there was a vampire porcupine making a rapid waddle for freedom up the middle of the Great Hall, while Cordelia and Xander fell against one another, laughing.

"It looks just like his hair," Cordelia gasped, clutching onto Xander's arm.

Xander's face was split by a wide grin. "You know, I never thought there would be a day I'd be so happy to see the soulman," he laughed, as Buffy went racing past, trying to catch the porcupine, in case it wandered into danger.

There were few serious faces left by the time the fleeing porcupine was caught under a quickly-emptied soup tureen which was quickly sat upon by the slayer, to prevent it making another break for liberty.

Glaring pointedly at her snickering sister and the dark-haired boy next to her, Buffy folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "How long does this one last for, Dawnie?" she asked.

Dawn shrugged, unable to respond for giggles.

"He's gonna be so pissed when he changes back to his normal self," Cordelia noted, but it was punctuated by giggles.

"Yeah," Xander agreed, giving her a knowing look. "But it'll be worth it for all the jokes you can make about his hair."


Chapter 48: Seeing Things

A class of unfortunate fourth years had just climbed in Professor Trelawny's tower room, the dense curls of pink fumes swirling around them, already triggering intense head-aches and feelings of dizziness.

If any of Trelawny's pupils were going to die, it would be because an overdose of lavender incense that killed them.

Like a human-sized, glittering, bespectacled Preying mantis, in search of a victim, the Professor drifted around them, her many gaudy bracelets and necklaces jingling together around her scrawny neck and wrists.

"Sommerset..." she began, only for a voice to interrupt from outside the trapdoor.

"Hey up there!" It was a female voice. Not British, so probably one of those odd, travelling muggle-groups. "Yeah! You at the trapdoor, wanna throw a ladder down so I can see what all this divination stuff is like?"

A visitor interested in divination? Trelawny's bug-like eyes lit up eagerly behind her spectacles. "Do enter, dear."

Immediately, the ladder rolled itself out, the pupils all turning to see if this new adult, who apparently WANTED to know about divination, bore any resemblance at all to the rather frightening, glittering bag of bones that called herself a Professor.

Her head and torso came into their line of sight.

Thuds came from the boys, the sound of their jaws hitting the floor.

A few of the girls reacted the same way.

She most definitely didn't look anything like Trelawny, especially the generous amount of cleavage that was showing as she scrabbled about to try and climb through the hole, without anything to hold onto.

The woman swung precariously up through the trapdoor, landing in a heap on the floor. "Okay, lady...I can understand how that might be fun for the kids," she panted, sitting up. "But word to the wise. Get an elevator."

"Welcome, my dear," speaking in her mistiest voice, Trelawny motioned one of the empty seats nearest her own. "Perhaps you could introduce yourself, for the children, who do not yet know who you are." Her words suggested that she had been expecting this guest all along.

"Me?" Straightening up, the young woman dusted her hands down on jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on, her cream vest-style shirt smoothed back down and adjusted so there wasn't nearly as much breast on display. "I'm Cordelia Chase, American muggle in with the trio who just arrived."

"Do you know that green bloke with Professor Summers?"

Cordelia looked around for the one who had spoken, but all the faces seemed to be asking the question. "Lorne? Sure! He makes my life Hell, when the PTB don't bother sending me a vision."

"A...vision?"

The class groaned.

Their guest had just said the magic word.

"Yeah, vision. You know, vision? V.I.S.I.O.N?"

Trelawny's eyes were narrowed to crusty black blobs of mascara behind her thick, round spectacles. "You have visions?"

"God, yes! On a regular basis," The woman shuddered. "Someone up there decided that I was going to be Angel, my boss' link to the PTB...uh...that's the Powers That Be, so yep. I'm Vision-Girl."

Trelawny pulled a face that made her look like she had been swallowing rusty nails.

"You...are a Seer?" She studied the young woman dubiously.

Hovering towards the younger woman, Trelawny's puckered lips pursed further. She was around twenty-years-old, with far too much glamour, decent make-up and well-styled hair to be a real Seer.

"My dear, I'm afraid you must be mistaken."

One dark eyebrow arched up in a way that suggested the woman didn't like being told that she was wrong. "Mistaken?" she asked, her voice calm, the brow still held up. "Because I don't dress like the stereotype of a gypsy?"

"The art of seeing is..."

"Don't lecture me, Miss I-need-tacky-jewellery-to-make-me-look-seerish!" Perfectly manicured hands came to flawless hips. "For your information, I have mind-splitting, brain-numbing, head-crunching visions on a regular basis."

Trelawny sniffed. "I'm afraid you find me rather sceptical," she remarked with a air of one who knew everything there was to know. "After all, there are so many frauds in the subtle art of Divination."

"Yeah, and I think I might be looking at one," Cordelia Chase narrowed her brown eyes. "Tell me, Professor, if that really is your title, how many of your premonitions have come true?"

"I need not answer that question," Trelawny replied rather indignantly.

"Uh...huh..." Her voice dripping implication, Cordelia smiled. "I think that says it all, Professor Trelawny." She took a step towards the Professor.

Every pupil was on the edge of their seat, watching with excitement.

This was just too good to be true!

"You know what I think, Miss-I-have-to-jingle-to-be-a-seer?" Cordelia's voice wasn't the least bit warm. "I think that..." She swayed a little on her feet, one shaking hand coming to her forehead. "I think...omigod!" Her voice was rising in pitch and intensity. "Great timing!"

Several of the girls shrieked as the brunette woman seemed to be thrown backwards, her hand on her forehead. She crashed down on one of the tables, her face contorted in pain, then she rolled and smacked down on the stone floor, hard.

The boys at the table leapt up to go to her aid, reaching out and stabilising her, every face in the room suddenly as white as chalk.

"Oh God! Spike!" Her voice hoarse with pain, she hunched up on her knees on the floor, her left hand pressed in a fist to her stomach, the other one still clamped hard against her forehead.

Shudders were rocketing through the brunette's body and it looked like she was in the middle of a seizure.

Even Trelawny looked a little frightened by what they were all seeing.

"You..." One of the boys supporting Cordelia's arm leaned around to be in line with her face. Her voice was rasping, barely recognisable as a voice at all. She looked like she was in agony, her face contorted in pain, blood trickling from one nostril, her eyes filled with tears. "Yeah...you...go...Professor Summers...tell her to get to Spike...his room... tell her now!"

The boy was on his feet and down the ladder in a heartbeat, despite Professor Trelawny's cry to ignore the hoax.

Cordelia was panting and shivering. "Oh God..." she whispered weakly. "Oh God..."

"I think you ought to leave my classroom now," Trelawny said in a voice none of them recognised. It was at least an octave lower than usual and was shaking with fear combined with anger.

The girl on the floor turned her head to look over her shoulder at the Professor, an expression of contempt on her face. "Yeah..." she muttered, her long hair sticking to the blood trickling down her chin. "If I could..."

That said, her brown eyes rolled up in her head and she flopped onto her side on the floor in a dead faint.

Her left hand fell away from her stomach.

A deep red stain that could only be blood was spreading rapidly through the creamy cloth that covered her abdomen.

***

"What the Hell has he done this time?"

Having left Giles in charge of her first year Defence Against The Dark Arts class, Buffy was storming down the corridors towards the hallway, where Spike's hidden chamber was.

"Buffy."

"Angel."

"I just heard that something was up," He looked down at her. "Mind if I join you."

Buffy's eyes flicked up to her former lover, a weary smile reaching her lips. "Well, it is kinda your fault," she said. "You brought Cordy and apparently she went to the Divination class and showed them what a real vision was."

Angel's face twisted in horror. "Oh God..."

"Angel?"

"It's Cordy," he looked torn between going with the Slayer or running to Cordelia's aid. "Her visions have been taking physical manifestations...where are you going? Do you know what the vision was about?"

"It was about Spike."

The dark vampire looked down at her. "Spike? As in Spike-Spike?"

"Yes, Spike-Spike," Buffy sighed, rubbing her brow as they walked. "He's been helping us lately and now, you show up with the news that Dru might be heading here..." A frightened look crossed Buffy's face. "Oh God! Angel! Spike knows about Dawn! He knows the password to our room! What if Dru...?"

Before she had even finished speaking, she was running, the vampire having to put on a burst of speed to keep up with her, down several long corridors and a flight of stairs into a windowless passage of dark grey stone lit only by torches.

Dark paintings lined the walls and Buffy started scanning along them urgently, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she looked for the right one.

"Is it this one?" Angel nodded towards a fairly large painting further down the hall, a mirthless smile on his face, as the painting smirked down at him.

Buffy looked up to see Spike's features grinning down at her from the painting, only he had long, sandy-brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and was wearing clothes that looked like they were from a hundred years before.

The setting of the painting looked like it was a study, but the vampire represented in it was leaning back in a chair, which was tipped at a precarious angle, his booted feet propped against the frame, his hands folded behind his head.

The small brass plaque on the frame read 'William The Bloody'.

"All right, Slayer?"

"William."

The figure in the painting looked from her to the other vampire. "Where'd ya dig up the poof?"

"No time, William," she said. "We need to get in."

"In that case, pet, you'll need to give me a password."

"Shit!"

The vampire chuckled. "Close, pet."

Buffy stared at him. Surely even Spike wouldn't be that obvious.

"Bloody hell?" she offered.

"What can I say?" the vampire in the painting called as the painting swung open to reveal a small, dark doorway. "I have a God-awful memory."

Ducking into the doorway, Buffy immediately gagged at the scent of blood and burnt skin. A rasp behind her told her that Angel had matches and the light flickered as he lit a candle sitting on a chest of drawers to the right of the door.

"Oh my God!"

Spike's bloody, burnt face turned weakly in the direction of her voice, the flickering flame making it look even worse. "She wants to know...she wants niblet... I... didn't... couldn't tell...she's..." he coughed, blood splashing down his chin. "She's safe... the Niblet... safe..."

His words almost didn't make it past his lips, trailing off in a gurgle, blood rippling out of his mouth in a torrent, his body limp on the blood-splattered bed, illuminated by the candle-light.

Clambering up onto the bed, Buffy slid an arm under Spike's shoulder, lifting him up against her, trying not to hurt the barely conscious vampire any more than was utterly necessary.

It was virtually impossible not to hurt him, every inch of his body a mass of burns and slashes.

It looked like someone had tortured him with something sharp and possibly Holy Water, as well as a nasty wound to his gut, the perpetrator of which was still sticking out of his stomach. Deep, bloody lacerations visible on his wrists and ankles that suggested he had been bound up tightly, with wire or something similar.

"We need to get him to the medical wing!"

"And they'll do what?" Angel demanded. "He's a corpse, Buffy."

The Slayer shot an anguished look at him. "You don't know the stuff they can do here," she whispered. "I'm taking him to Madam Pomfrey." She swung off the bed, a moan slipping past Spike's slack lips as she lifted him up in her arms. "Get something to cover him with."

Reluctantly, Angel pulled the sheet off the bed and draped it over the blonde-haired vampire, who was limp in his former lover's arms.

In a heartbeat, she was gone and Angel sighed.

Why couldn't she understand that Spike was just a demon? That he couldn't be trusted, because he simply didn't have what it was to make him a good person? That it was only because he couldn't be bad that he was being good?

He would never understand her, he knew, starting to walk after her.

His foot crunched on something and he looked down, startled. Bending, he picked up the pair of glasses and that was when he saw the large, ancient book lying - blood-spattered - on the floor, just under the bed.

Withdrawing it, he carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hands, a frown marring his brow.

Since when did Spike read again?

Ever since Drusilla had turned him, he had pushed his bookish roots as far away from himself as possible, probably because they had done nothing but humiliate him throughout his human existence.

Closing the book over, Angel's eyes caught a glimpse of the title.

His mouth fell open.

The most eloquent thing he could think of to say came in the form of two words:

"Fuck me!"

***

"Sir!"

Snape looked up from the scrolls he was marking in irritation. "Yes, boy?"

A sandy-haired boy, who looked like he was one of the fourth years, was standing at the door, white in the face. Out of habit, Snape's hands flicked down to the hands that were shaking in front of the boy's chest, coming to his feet instantly.

Very few fourth years dared to intrude on him.

Even fewer did so with blood smeared all over their hands and chest.

"What is it?"

"M-M-Madam Pomfrey, Sir," the boy stammered. "She n-n-needs s-s-sanguine potion. As much of it as-as-as you have to spare."

Snape mentally groaned, knowing that he had sent the last he had to her the week before and would have to brew a fresh batch quickly and - even if it only took a few moments - it still might be too late.

"Does she have any left at all?" he demanded, summoning various substances with rapid-fire gestures of his wand.

"She-she-she says she can cope for about fifteen minutes...at most."

"Very good...very good..." Snape muttered, already starting to heat up the larger cauldron, filling it half full of water. His eyes went to the boy. "Tell her I will have it to her in five."

"Y-yes, sir."

"And boy?"

"Y-yes?"

"What is it for?"

The boy looked even whiter. "The S-S-Seer, Sir. She-she had a vision...it m-made her bleed."

Snape's jaw locked. "Tell Madam Pomfrey that I will be with her shortly," he ordered, his voice clipped. The boy nodded and fled, leaving Snape rapidly brewing up the potion as fast as he could.

Fortunately, he had all the ingredients ready.

After the fiasco with Summers, when he had been forced into working with youngest Weasley, who babbled with the same consistency as a boiling cauldron bubbled, he had kept a supply ready, just in case the potion would be needed again.

It was out of sheer instinct that he knew Summers' group would be the one to need it on every occasion it was called for.

So, he would have it ready in minutes and then, he could get back to his work.

***

"C'mon, Spike, dammit..."

Professor Summers' voice reached the Matron of Hogwarts seconds before the small blonde woman kicked open the door of the infirmary and stormed in, a limp, sheet-decked bundle in her arms.

"Professor Summers!" Madam Pomfrey cried out, already bent over a patient, who was bleeding profusely from a wound to the stomach, that had no source other than a vision she had apparently had.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey. Got a patient."

"Take that bed." The Matron nodded towards the bed on the opposite side of the room, where six empty, sun-drenched beds lined the wall but the blonde Professor shook her head.

"I need one in the shady side of the room," Summers answered tersely, stalking up the middle of the ward to the further bed, which was deep in the shade in the far corner of the room.

Madam Pomfrey muttered something rude about impetuous young tramps under her breath, returning her attention to the wound in the dark-haired girl's belly. Using her healing jelly, she laid some of it on the wound in a solid mass, which fused to the open tear.

If the Matron hadn't known better, she would have claimed for a fact that the young woman had been stabbed by something blunt but with enough force to rip through several internal organs.

She had already forced several potions down the young woman's throat to slow the bleeding and heal what she could, but she was still waiting for the Potions Master to deliver the sanguine potion, a substance which would generate a fresh supply of blood to replenish that which had been lost.

Having done all she could until the potions arrived, she turned her attention to the other patients. A young Hufflepuff was in with a broken leg from the flying lessons, but other than that, there was only Professor Summers.

Sitting at the far end of the ward, the small, blonde Professor was sitting on the final bed, nearest the large fireplace, where a fire crackled in the grate and had a limp body lying in her arms.

The body was mostly covered by a sheet that looked like it was a deep red colour. It was only as Pomfrey neared that she realised that it wasn't red.

It was blood-stained.

"Professor Summers?"

Tear-filled hazel eyes looked up at the Matron. "Someone hurt him," she whispered softly. "We found him...you have to help him..."

Bending down beside the bed, Madam Pomfrey pulled back the blankets from the face of her latest patient, hissing in shock. She had seen the handsome blonde around the school, but now she barely recognised him.

Laying her fingers against his throat, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Summers..."

"He-he's doesn't have a-a-a pulse..." the blonde whispered. "H-he's a vampire..."

Madam Pomfrey recoiled in shock. "What?!"

The Professor's hand was cradling the man's cheek. "He-he's a good vampire...well, not good, but he-he-he helped us..." Tears were spilling down her face and she pulled the sheet further down his body. "You...you have to help..."

Madam Pomfrey wasn't listening any longer. She was staring at the vampire's flat stomach in shock. A poker was sticking out of the flesh, exactly corresponding with the wound on the brunette Seer.

"Good God..." she whispered, then shook herself. "First, we have to get that thing out of him." Maybe that would stop the seer's internal bleeding and allow the wound to start to heal - if the source of the injury was removed.

"Take it out."

"It'll cause him pain, if we don't drug..."

"Take it out! He's a vampire! He can tolerate pain!"

Gritting her teeth, the Matron nodded and gripped the handle of the poker. "You will have to hold him, Professor Summers," she snapped, bracing one foot against the edge of the bed, then yanking.

Both the unconscious vampire and the seer at the other end of the room released a loud groan and Pomfrey dropped the bloody poker to the floor, running back up the room to her other patient.

With one leg tucked up under her on the bed, Buffy couldn't bring herself to let go of Spike, where he was half-seated, half-lying in her lap, his head lolling limply back against her shoulder.

He looked so much paler than usual.

Swallowing a sob, she shifted her arm under his shoulder to support his head. She could feel his blood soaking through the sleeves of her robes, but didn't care, as long as he was all right.

"C'mon, Spike," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't you dare un-die on me just when I start liking you, you asshole..."

The vampire made no response.

He was limp, utterly limp.

Buffy whimpered in her throat. She didn't know how to tell if a vampire was so weak that it was undeader than usual, or if it was just unconscious and Spike didn't look like he would be talking for a while.

Madam Pomfrey bustled back up towards her with some bottles and jars of pastes and lotions that she started smearing on the burns and cuts, tapping them with her wand, but they didn't seem to work.

"What are they meant to do?" Buffy demanded.

The Matron frowned. "They should close up the wounds. Even if he is undead, they have been tested," she answered. "But..."

"They're not working..."

"No, Professor, they're not..."

Hazel eyes stared at her frantically. "What does that mean?"

"I...I'm afraid it means that he's too weak to survive," Madam Pomfrey reluctantly said, looking down at the wand in her hand as if it hand betrayed her. "If the wounds cannot be closed, it is because the body knows there is no point."

"No..." Buffy shook her head, crying in earnest, hugging the vampire's limp body to her chest. "No...you can't die, Spike...Dawn would kill me... don't you dare die... don't you dare..."

Madam Pomfrey worried her lower lip for a moment. "There is only one suggestion that I can make and that is to use Professor Snape's sanguine potion, when he gets here. It is a blood substitute..."

"Will he be in time?"

"I...I..."

"WILL HE?"

The Matron avoided Buffy's eyes. "I'm afraid it may already be too late. I am sorry, Professor Summers..." Lowering her head, the Matron turned and walked away, to attend to her living patients.

Buffy could feel Spike's chin rubbing against her shoulder as she rocked him, her sobs shaking her body. His lips were practically brushing against the scars left by the Master, Angel and Dracula and she wished that, right now, he could bite.

If it would save his life, she knew she would let him, like she had with Angel, but even if he had been conscious enough, she was sure the chip in his head would fry his mind before giving him a chance to drink.

"Oh God...Spike..." she whispered. "I-I...wait here...I need to get something..."

As she darted out into the main medical area, ignored by Madam Pomfrey, she almost laughed at the stupidity of her comment. Of course he wasn't going anywhere right now, but if she didn't hurry, he wouldn't be going anywhere ever again.

***

"So what kind of demon are you?"

Sitting in on the Slayer's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes had actually seemed interesting to Lorne, but his presence had only served as something of a distraction, so the classes had rapidly developed into a question and answer session with him.

Sitting on the Professor's desk, Giles watching from the windows, where he was perched on the deep sill, Lorne pulled a face. "Not the kind of demon you'd normally wanna meet, sweetie," he replied.

"Does it hurt having horns?"

Lorne reached up and tapped them. "Not at all," he replied genially. "They came with the package, along with the emerald look and red eyes. Its kind like asking you if it hurts having ears."

"Where are you from?"

The demon beamed at the boy. "Los Angeles, city of the stars."

"No, I mean really from? I mean, were you born in Los Angeles?"

A pained look crossed the demon's green face. The boy who asked the question was immediately punched on the arm by his neighbour for being insensitive. "Lemme just say it's a bad place and leave it at that, okay?"

From that point on the lesson was a little more subdued and Giles could see that the demon was visibly relieved when the pupils trailed out of the room, leaving him sitting on the desk.

"Are you all right?"

"Me?" Red eyes looked at the Watcher. "Oh, sure. Fine and dandy."

"Lorne..."

"Okay, so I'm not," he sighed heavily. "Home was a bad place and I really don't like to think about it unless I really have to. Usually, I make pretty darn sure that I don't really have to..."

Giles flashed a half-smile at the demon. "Believe it or not, I can appreciate the sentiments," he said. "My home wasn't exactly my idea of a happy place, although I would imagine a-a-a Hell dimension is something worse."

"I'll say!" Lorne exclaimed. "I mean, there's no music!"

Giles raised his eyebrows. "That's your reason for hating your hell dimension?"

"That and the clothes. I mean, ew!" He gestured to the brilliant, bright red suit he was wearing. "Looks good on me, right? Now, imagine me in sackcloth and without hair gel. You starting to see why home is my own personal hell?"

"I'm getting the picture," Giles was hard-pressed to smother a chuckle.

"The lack of music was the worst thing, though," Lorne pushed himself to his feet and joined the watcher as they made their way towards the door. "I mean, before I got here, I didn't even know what music was and you only imagine how bad that was! I just knew I could hear this sound and that I couldn't be crazy if my mind was telling me that something so beautiful could exist." He shook his head, a faint smile coming onto his lips. "There's something about music that is so magical that nothing could ever take it away."

"Dumbledore often used to say that," Giles agreed.

Lorne laughed. "Somehow, hearing that about him doesn't really surprise me, y'know. Rainbow-Santa looks like he's got the right idea about the world and how we should live in it."

"Rainbow-Santa?"

"Hello? Have you seen the clothes that guy wears? Sweetie, I've seen less colours in an Eighties fitness video!"

Unable to help himself, Giles burst out laughing.

***

With half a dozen large bottles of sanguine potion in a small crate, Snape swept up the long flight of stairs towards the medical wing, the afternoon light cutting in through the high windows and over the white marble.

It had taken him less than five minutes to brew the potion, then it had taken another agonising two minutes for it to cool enough to move it into the bottles which he had waiting, before placing a charm on the crate and leading it to Pomfrey in the wing.

His footsteps sounded deafening on the white stone. Everything seemed to be too quiet, but that was always the case when something had happened of this severity. It seemed that even the birds had stopped singing.

Reaching the top of the staircase, he directed the hovering crate into the medical room, to find Madam Pomfrey waiting for him and taking a bottle straight to an unconscious brunette girl, who was lying on the bed nearest the door.

She looked almost deathly pale, her lips barely having any colour at all, her dark hair spread around her on the white pillow.

"What happened?" Snape demanded.

"She apparently reacts to the visions she has," the matron answered, attaching a drip to the girl with a wave of her wand. "This one was a particularly nasty one, that had a poker rammed through her gut."

"Good grief..."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes lifted to him, a strange expression in them. "How much of that sanguine potion have you got?"

"Six large bottles. Why?"

"We have another patient in dire need of blood. Professor Summers is waiting with him," She nodded around the drapes, towards a curtained-off bed at the far end of the ward. Snape returned the nod, taking one of the large bottles and walking swiftly down the ward.

He pulled the curtain open.

There was a crash of the bottle slipping from his hands and smashing on the floor.

"What the HELL?"

Madam Pomfrey must have sprinted the length of the ward because she was by his side before he even finished the wild yell of shock and outrage, her own mouth dropping open.

Buffy Summers had her head tilted to one side, a bloody scalpel gripped in one hand, and blood was trickling from a cut on the left side of her neck, which was pressed against the mouth of the barely-conscious Spike.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" Snape gasped.

"Can it, Snapey," the girl sighed, stroking the vampire's hair. "He's a friend and he needs it."

Spike's lips were twitching weakly, his throat's movements suggesting that he was trying to swallow, but the quantity of deep red staining his swollen and bruised face suggested he was having difficulties.

Shifting a little, she lay the vampire back and leaned over him, the cut on her neck dribbling blood straight onto his parted lips, her hair pulled back from the wound by her right hand.

"Professor Summers!"

"I know, Madam Pomfrey, I know," a faint smile was flashed at the Matron. "You can lecture me when you give me some of that sandwichy stuff."

"Sanguine solution," Madam Pomfrey corrected faintly.

"Poppy, go and see to your patient. I will see to Professor Summers," The Matron nodded, letting the drapes slide back into place, as Snape folded his arms over his chest, gazing down at her.

"Don't even think of lecturing me, Snapey," the blonde sighed, still looking down at Spike's face as best she could. "Its not like I haven't given blood to a vampire that I care for before."

She physically jumped when one of Snape's hands caught her one that was tangled in her hair. To her utter shock, her was holding her hair back for her. Lowering her hand, she raised her eyes to him.

There was an odd expression on his face.

"What? Do I have dirt on my nose?"

"You are feeding an unconscious vampire your own blood from an open cut on your throat inflicted by your own hand," he remarked dryly. "And you can't imagine why I would be staring at you?"

"That's not why you're staring and you know it."

The Potions Master released a sigh. "I think I understand you, Summers, then you go and do something ridiculous and idiotic like this," he replied, his fingers brushing her neck as he gathered loose tendrils of her hair back.

It didn't go unnoticed that the Slayer shivered at the contact.

"He...he's a friend, Snapey," she murmured, her eyes returning to the vampire. "I-I couldn't face losing someone...not this way...not when I had something that could save him...I couldn't ignore it...it's not like I haven't done it before..."

"The scar on your throat..." he whispered. "It was Angel?"

"The clearest, deepest one, yes. He had been poisoned. My blood was the only antidote," she said, then laughed, although it was a tremulous sound. "I hit him...kept hitting him...told him to drink... he tried to fight, but he was so weak..."

"And he drank."

"Yes," The muscles in Snape's cheeks contracted. He decided, right there, that he liked the obnoxious dark vampire even less than he had before. "And don't you pull your growly face."

"I am not."

"Snapey, I know you were and I made him drink to save him, so don't you get any ideas about hurting him," she said, her voice sounding sleepy. "And...I...I think I should stop now..." Sitting up, she fell back against Snape's chest unsteadily. "Oh, God... dizzy..."

Bending, Snape lifted her easily up in his arms, reminding her that he was actually a lot stronger than he looked in his dress-like robes, and carried her through the drapes to the next bed, laying her down on the white sheets and dark cream blankets.

Using his wand to pull the drapes closed, he looked down at her with an expression that wouldn't have looked out of place on a very exasperated Giles. He withdrew a white handkerchief from his robes and pressed it on the wound on her throat.

"Summers," he said, shaking his head, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You are going to be the death of me, one of these days."

Her shaking hand rose to his neck, where dark bruises where still visible over the edge of his high collar. "Same here," she whispered. "Sorry about Angel. I didn't know he... he's been in a bad place lately..."

"And yet," Snape replied quietly. "Something tells me he would have done exactly the same thing, had he been himself."

"You got that right," Buffy mumbled, wincing as he lifted handkerchief away from her neck, looking down at the wound that was still oozing. "So what's the diagnosis, doc? Will I live?"

"Unless I wring your neck first."

Foggy hazel eyes squinted up at him and she smiled weakly. "That mean you're not gonna kiss me better?"

"Good God, woman!" he almost laughed, unable to help himself. "You've just been feeding yourself to a vampire and you still want..."

"Hot lip service," she replied, that sleepy smile still on her lips. "Give it."

"I think no..." Her hand was in his hair and yanked his mouth down on hers before he could finish the sentence. He tried to pull away, but the Slayer growled in her throat in caution, initiating a punishing kiss. Breaking apart, panting moments later, Snape fingered the back of his neck, wincing at the bruises that he could already feel forming. "Still as strong as ever, I see..."

"Oops..." Buffy mumbled, her eyes a little glazed. "My bad..."

Her eyes closed and a squeak of a snore escaped her.

"What am I going to do with you, you absolutely nutty little tart?" he sighed to the girl, unheard, as he rose to his feet to call Madam Pomfrey. "You are impossible... utterly impossible."

***

"Hey..."

With a grimace of pain as she struggled into a sitting position, Cordelia turned to look in the direction of the owner of the very familiar voice, smiling weakly up at him. "Hey, Xander."

She was still tucked up in the bed in the medical wing, pale as the sheets that covered her. Sanguine potion was still replenishing her blood supply, but she looked a lot better than she had only an hour earlier.

"Mind if I hang here and bug you?" he asked, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking one of her cold hands between his. She shook her head, her eyes closing briefly. "Is that a yes you mind or yes I can stay?"

"Yes, you can stay and be your annoying self, dorkbrain," she whispered the old nickname with a stronger smile. Her fingers squeezed his gently and she looked down at her stomach with a wince. "Why is it that whenever I think I'm in love with you and nothing can go wrong, I end up impaled on a spike?"

"I don't know," Xander chuckled, then froze. "Um...did...what...huh?"

Brown eyes glinted at him. "Nice to see I can still scare you," she murmured, a tired grin on her lips. Xander blinked at her, mouth hanging open. Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "Is it that bad?"

"You mean when we...back then, when you and I...you loved me?"

Patches of faint pink blossomed in her cheeks. "Um..."

"You did?"

Cordelia nodded, averting her eyes awkwardly. "Yeah," she replied quietly. "You were the only one who didn't seem to notice it, though."

"I always have a talent for screwing things up, don't I?" Xander ran one of his hands through his hair, exhaling a sigh. Waiting until she lifted her eyes, he gave her a lop-sided half-smile. "Is it too late to say I'm sorry and that I was an idiot?"

"Probably," she smiled slightly. "But don't let that stop you."

"Want me to beg and crawl on my knees?"

A wicked glint that he remembered well appeared in the brunette's eyes. "I think I could deal with that," she replied, laughing aloud as he dropped off the bed and knelt, trying to look as sincere as possible, while grinning like an idiot. "Don't make me laugh, you dork!" she exclaimed, one hand going to her stomach. "It hurts!"

Immediately returning to his position on the edge of the bed, he flashed a concerned look at her stomach. "You want me to get someone?"

One hand spreading over place where the healing wound was located, she shook her head. "Nah," she replied. "I'm okay." Patting the edge of the mattress, she sighed as he sat back down. "I've missed having you around to make me smile."

"Or to bust a gut?" he offered, then ducked a swat. "HEY!"

"What? Are my slaps more manly than you're used to?"

"That's unfair!" he exclaimed, then flashed his familiar half-grin at her. "True, yeah, but unfair!"

"You still fight like a sissy-girl, huh?"

"Unashamedly," he replied, grinning. "You wanna see manly, hand-to-hand fighting, you ask for Buffy or Wills or even Dawnie. You want someone who punches like a girl, you ask for me."

Cordelia couldn't smother a chuckle. "Is that how you try and impress me, Xander Harris?" she inquired.

"Nah," he answered cheerfully. "This is how I impress you."

Leaning in, he kissed her.

One of her hands came up to rest on his shoulder, neither drawing him closer nor pushing him away, and he pulled back, staring at her apprehensively, as if expecting to receive a slap across the face for being so presumptuous.

"Hmm," Cordelia delicately licked her lower lip. "I dunno."

"Dunno what?"

"If I'm impressed," she replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Her hand slid up to his face, fingers tangled through his hair, as she raised a brow in challenge. "You up to refreshing my memory?"

Xander's grin could have lit up the room and he moved closer, kissing her again.

***

Professor Trelawny was more than a little irritated.

It was several hours since that rather over-dramatic American girl had entered her class, performed her over-acted rendition of what a vision was like, then got the whole school in a furore.

They had believed what the young muggle had said, when they never believed her, the teacher of Divination! It was ridiculous!

Bustling around her tower room, she tidied up some of the tea-leaves scattered here and there. She would never let the filthy little house elves into her classroom, because they upset the psychic vibrations.

Moonlight was glowing mistily through the gauzy drapes that hung over the small windows, giving the dim little room a mysterious shine, with just enough light to make it look suitably supernatural.

Trelawny sniffed.

How dare they say she was a fraud!

She picked up one of the incense sticks, long since burned out of any scent, and dropped it into the small, round red canister beside her large chair, the one with the winged back.

Adjusting her silvery shawl around her shoulders and over the pale green dress she was wearing, she sat down in the chair.

She would show them!

She would have a vision!

"Buzz, buzz, buzz...busy like a little bee..." a lilting voice sang from somewhere in the room, making the Divination Professor's eyes pop open behind her glasses and look around. "You can't see for the swarms in your mind..."

"Whose there?" Trelawny demanded, a little startled.

No one was meant to be able to get into her room without her knowing.

There was a giggle. "You'll see...see in pretty colours...right...now!"

Had any of her pupils been in attendance, not a one of them would have recognised the Divination Professor.

Rigid in her chair, her eyes were wide open, her lips slack. She was shaking and the colour had washed from her face, even beneath the thick crusts of make-up. When her voice did escape, it was octaves lower than her usual one.

"The dark seer will fall and the second will come," There was another giggle from the shadows. "The old one, slayer of the untrue child. She will take the false believer by the hand and teach her to see visions of glory. Together, they will do great things... terrible... but great..."

Her head drooped forwards on her necklace-covered breast and she snorted, shaking herself, her head coming up sharply. She clearly remembered nothing of what she had just said.

"Who was that?"

"The one who writes the songs that sing in your mind," an eerie voice whispered a moment before a waif-like figure drifted from behind the drapes that were rustling in the light wind, long dark hair swaying around an elfin face.

Trelawny came to her feet, more than a little concerned. "I'm afraid the lessons are over, dear. Perhaps tomorrow..."

"You don't remember what you saw...oh...next time, the melody will be different..."

"I beg your pardon?" There was nothing remotely misty about Trelawny's voice now, her already wrinkled brow furrowing in confusion and consternation. "What on earth are you talking about, young lady?"

"Young...like a babe...naive...like a child in the dark...scared and lost and wanting her mummy..." The mysterious young woman, whose frighteningly slim form was emphasised by the tight black gown she wore, was drifting around the room, tracing her fingertips along the drapes and over the moon-shined tabletops. "I am old as the ages, Sybill..." Her fingers brushed along her temples. "Well secluded...I see all..."

"It's just a jump to the left..." Trelawny shook herself. What the devil had possessed her to say that? Before she could consider it further, an arm wrapped around her waist from behind, the girl - who had been in front of her a second before - gone.

A cool cheek pressed against her neck. "Are you frightened, kitten?"

"H-how?" The girl had been on the other side of the room was now right behind her, gripping her tightly around the waist. There was a humming sound as if the girl was waiting for an answer. "Y-yes..." she said, quite honestly, terrified.

"You're not nearly frightened enough," the voice breathed in her ear and she as convinced she felt a tongue brush against her neck.

"That is enough!" She jerked forwards, turning to face her assailant.

The girl stood there, pouting at her. "Someone else who doesn't see..."

"Wh-what?"

The woman's head oscillated from side to side in a strange, reptilian fashion, her blue-grey eyes on Trelawny's constantly. Very unusual eyes. Like a cat's. "I seek one who sees what I can't..." she whimpered softly. "No one sees..."

"But I see!"

Oh!

At last!

A kindred spirit.

A slightly insane and scary one, but a kindred spirit none-the-less...

Suddenly, that slim, frail-looking arm was around her waist again, in a vice-like grip that she had no hope of breaking, the girl's other hand catching her chin and jerking her head up.

"Good kitten..." she purred.

Trelawny saw a flash of molten gold eyes - gold? - then released a scream of pain as fangs plunged into the flesh of her throat.


Chapter 49: Death Becomes Her

“Where is he?”

Minerva McGonagall looked like the proverbial raging bull, strands of hair breaking free from the constraints of her bun, her robes flapping around her legs as she strode imperiously into the medical wing.

Evening had come and the small collective of Sunnydale patients were surrounded by their various guests.

At the far end of the ward, a curtain shifted slightly. “I’m here, Minnie,” Spike’s voice was weaker than usual and before he could fully rise from his bed to greet her, the Deputy Head Mistress was storming towards him.

“I’d say run, Spike,” Buffy noted dryly from her bed, where she was still hooked up to a line of sanguine potion.

“Um...”

“Billy, you pillock! How dare you almost get yourself killed off without telling me!” The vampire’s squeal of shock when she caught him around the middle and hugged him made everyone in the medical wing crack up.

“Minnie!”

Pulling back, she shook him by the shoulders. “Don’t you dare do that again or I’ll have to kill you myself, you irritating, obnoxious twit!” She hugged him again, then pulled away and straightened her hat and robes. “So...”

“Feeling better, Spike?” Buffy asked drowsily, giving him a half-smile, as he and McGonagall approached her bed, his arm looped around Minerva’s shoulder to keep himself upright.

The vampire gave her a glare. “You know I’d bash you senseless for doing that, you dozy bint,” he said, his eyes fastening onto the patch of bandage at her neck. “I’m just a vampire. I didn’t do anything to earn a nibble, like Peaches.”

“You’re a friend,” she countered, smiling wanly. Her face was still pale, but she looked like she was improving by the minute. “And Dawn woulda killed me if I’d let you die on us.”

“Uh-huh!” Dawn agreed vehemently. “We need our Spikey goodness around.”

“Spikey goodness?”

Dawn grinned. “What?

“While this is all very well and good,” Giles cleared his throat. He was sitting on Buffy’s bed, which was surrounded by Dawn, Willow and Duncan, while Angel and Xander were sitting with Cordelia. “Spike, could you tell us what happened?”

Looking down at his bare, marked chest, Spike’s hands rose and touched the healing wounds on his cheeks. They were almost entirely gone, thanks to the combination of Slayer blood and Madam Pomfrey’s solutions.

“Dru was looking to do something,” he finally said, a pained expression crossing his face. “Said something about having to get the picture right, so she could get everyone in the right place. I was the picture...”

“The picture...?”

Cordelia groaned. “I knew there was a reason I hated that bitch,” she growled. “She knows that I’m a Seer and she knew that if she put someone from your side in enough danger here, I’d see them...and feel it.”

“Sorry about that, ducks,” the vampire offered, grinning a little.

“And yet again,” Cordelia gave him a look that one of her vintage ones. “In a round about way, I end up bleeding from the gut because of you and that crazy bitch you called a girlfriend.”

“Nice to know we’re consistent, eh?”

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “Uh... huh...”

“Yes, yes, but that raises the question about she got in here,” Giles interrupted. “If you recall, we have had the protective barriers up for weeks now and nothing could get in through them.”

“Unless she got in before them,” Buffy murmured. “Giles, that night the demons got into the Great Hall... since that night, I’ve been having the same dream... something walking around the halls, waiting to be found... what if it was Dru?”

“That would kinda make a lot of sense,” Willow agreed, looking up at Giles. “She could have used the craziness that happened as a distraction and hidden until she was ready to make her move. The castle’s big enough to hide in.”

“Except Albus would know,” Anya added, pacing the middle of the ward, twisting her hands together anxiously. “Albus knows everything that goes on in the school. He has a watching bowl. He let me look at it.”

Furtive, uneasy looks were exchanged.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she added. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything about what I saw in it.” She beamed around in a way which did nothing to allay their suspicions. “And anyway, he would see her.”

“Not if Dru’s in with Glory,” Spike countered immediately. “If she’s got help from a Hell Goddess, something tells me she’d be able to stay hidden if she wanted to.”

“Were they looking for Dawnie?” Buffy asked.

Spike nodded. “But not because of the reason we expected,” he replied, giving Dawn a reassuring look. “I think they were looking for the most obvious piece of blackmail material, especially with her being your sister and all...”

“So they’re going to do it the old-fashioned way, huh?” Cordelia remarked, leaning against Xander, where he sat on the edge of her bed, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. “Kidnap and blackmail... not exactly what you’d expect from a Dark Wizard and Hell Goddess.”

“Yes,” Giles said dryly, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “What happens to the good old-fashioned standards of charging in, wands blazing, and killing us all? I must say I find myself disappointed.”

“Giles,” Buffy chastised with a chuckle. “Sarcasm is nobody’s friend.”

The Watcher gave her an affectionate look, then turned his attention to the rest of the group. “That does beg the question, though, where is she now? We know that she doesn’t have Dawn and no pupils have gone missing recently...”

“And she can bypass some of the paintings, somehow,” Spike added grimly. “She was in my room, waiting for me.”

“Then why didn’t she just come and get me from our room?”

“I’m not sure, Niblet,” the vampire replied honestly.

Minerva raised a hand. “I believe I know the reason for that,” she said. “There are additional protection charms on the Summers’ painting, as the Head Master believed it better to be safe than sorry.”

“And suddenly I’m feeling so very neglected,” Spike groused, receiving a slap across the back of the head from the deputy Head Mistress.

“Does that mean the common rooms...?”

“They would be accessible!” Giles surged to his feet. “I’ll go and warn the Head Master and make sure that the pupils are safe.”

Minerva nodded. “I’ll join you,” she said, helping Spike to sit down in the chair that Duncan had just vacated for him. “And you, Mister T. Bloody, you better be in one piece when I come back, or I’ll be rather annoyed.”

“I’ll try, Minnie,” Spike chuckled. “You have fun with Tweedman, superhero to old-aged pensioners and protector of the teabags.”

“Spike, you may be ill, but that won’t stop me staking you,” Giles said pointedly.

Leaning back in the seat as Minerva grabbed the watcher by the arm, the vampire licked the inside of his cheek. “You could try it, Watcher,” he drawled. “And Minnie could shove her wand somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Hiding behind a witch, huh?” Buffy laughed at the glare on Giles’ face, as he was hauled away by the Deputy Head Mistress.

Spike grinned broadly. “If it keeps my pretty white arse intact, hell yeah!”

***

“We have to ask you all to remain in the Great Hall, until we are sure the threat has been taken care of,” Standing on the platform at the front of the hall, Dumbledore looked around at all the upturned faces, his hands folded in front of him.

Worried looks were exchanged amongst the pupils, the Head Boy and Girl moving to the fore of the group along with the Professors to receive instructions for themselves and the Prefects.

“Hey,” Lorne eased into the group in spite of some of the wary glances from some of the Professors. “Want me to hang around in here and keep the kiddos occupied until we know the place is safe again?”

Dumbledore gave the demon a grateful smile. “It would be a great help,” he replied honestly. “We need as many Professors available as possible to sweep the school and see if any trace of this vampire can be found.”

“So, who else is with me, here, then?”

The Head Master’s brow furrowed. “I think it may be safer if I remain here, lest she manage to access the hall,” he said. “While I know the school well, I believe that this is the room that will be under the greatest threat.”

“Well, isn’t that just the most comforting thing you couldn’t have said,” Lorne rolled his eyes expressively, nodding towards the Prefects, who were suddenly looking very nervous and pale.

“They have to know the circumstances that we are in,” Dumbledore said softly. “I doubt that softening the truth will help in circumstances such as these.”

Lorne nodded in agreement. “I guess that’s kinda a smart move to make,” he agreed, glancing towards the door. “Better get your boys and girls out and searching. We want those doors shut before something nasty sneaks in on us.”

Drawing the rest of the teaching staff closer to him, Dumbledore gave them their instructions, then motioned for them to depart, all of them filing out silently, their wands in their hands.

The immense doors of the Great Hall were closed behind them and the pupils looked with nervous expectation to Dumbledore and Lorne, the two most brightly-coloured characters in the hall.

“Well,” the Head Master said with a show of joviality that was almost convincing. “I believe it is rather early for bedtime, so I would suggest that if any of you still have homework to be done...”

Several groans sounded around the hall.

Dumbledore winked at Lorne, who couldn’t help grinning at the Head Master.

The tables were still lining the halls, so the assembled pupils split into groups, some in their houses, some with their friends, many of them in casual clothing and only the very few actually armed with their homework.

Moving to sit at the end of one of the tables, Lorne was caught by surprise when a petite brunette third year stepped in front of him, backed by a small knot of teenagers, who looked about the same age.

“Can I help you, cutie?” he inquired.

The girl looked to her friends for support, then nodded, blushing furiously. “We... um... we were wondering if you could tell us about demon things... for Defence of the Dark Arts... that is, if you’re not busy...”

Over their heads, Lorne saw Dumbledore spread his hands in a gesture that clearly said ‘This is nothing to do with me’, the twinkle in the Head Master’s bright blue eyes suggesting otherwise.

“Sure I can help you,” he replied, beaming at them. It was so strange to be accepted by this large a number of humans, something which rarely happened in Los Angeles, his face too much of an obstacle for many of them.

One of the girls, who looked like she might be a bit older than the others, touched his arm. “You can sit at the Ravenclaw table,” she said, nodding towards the table with a number of spaces at it.

“Thanks, hon,” Patting her hand, Lorne looked around at his group. “And you’re all wanting to hear what I have to say?” There were eager nods. “Well, I do know this absolutely fantastic story about...”

As the demon trotted off with his little entourage, Dumbledore smiled indulgently, his hands folded in front of him as he paced around the pupils and tables in the halls, taking in all of the children, some playing chess, some talking, some working.

They, he knew, were the things that made his job worthwhile.

***

“Is this everything you require?”

Sitting up in her bed, Summers nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Snapey,” she said, hauling the trunk that he just delivered to the in the medical wing closer. He had shrunk it to carry it from her room, expanding it as soon as it was on her bed.

Her sister and Cameron were still sitting by the bed, the boy looking utterly amazed by what he was seeing. Meanwhile, Weasley was pacing, the power crackling around her in a near-palpable cloud of energy.

On a nearby bed, the Seer was sitting with the muggle, half-observing, half-wrapped up in their conversation, holding one another’s hands. The former-demon was sitting at the foot of their bed, anxiously looking at the door, as if she expected someone to enter at any moment.

Summers reached for the catch, groaning in irritation when she noticed the padlock on the trunk. “Crap... forgot about that...” she muttered, wrapping her hand around the padlock that had a link as thick as Snape’s finger.

With one swift jerk, she snapped it free.

No doubt a shoddy make, Snape decided.

“Buffy!” Weasley chastised. “I coulda summoned your keys!”

“And half of the doors, locks and chains in the castle with them, Will,” Summers retorted, grinning, as she opened the hefty trunk up. “I know how reliable you are at the charmy things.”

Weasley pulled a face, but stopped pacing, coming to the bed as the contents were revealed to them all.

Full to the brim with weapons, the objects in the trunk had the effect of stunning the Potions Professor into silence, the concept that a girl as tiny and dainty as the one before him had so many tools of battle absurd.

“What’s the plan, Slayer?” the vampire asked, leaning against the wall by her bed.

Picking up an axe and stake, Summers tossed them to the vampire without even looking and he caught them just as easily. “I was thinking we mount up,” she replied. coolly. “And kick your undead bitch’s ass.”

“Sounds good to me, pet,” the vampire grinned. “I owe her a gesture of my affection and I’m thinking decapitation will be the best way to show that I care.”

“Buffy,” the darker vampire interrupted. “You don’t know that she’s alone.”

Another stake hurtled through the air and was caught by him. “That’s why we’re all going in there, full force,” the blonde replied grimly. “No undead ho messes with my place of work.”

“Scoobies reunited,” the muggle said, grinning. Rising from the Seer’s bed, where he was sitting, he approached and peered into the trunk. “Ooh! My favourite!” Grabbing a mace, he hauled it out, noticing the shell-shocked look on Snape’s face. “What?”

Snape looked around the group, as the deadly weapons were distributed in a way that seemed more like sweets being handed out to children. “You are all aware that this is unusual behaviour?”

A stake in her belt, a cross in one hand and an axe in the other, Weasley looked at him with an amused expression on her face. “I guess you’ve never seen the Scooby gang in action before, Mister.”

“Scooby gang?”

“Slayerettes, if you prefer,” Harris replied. “We’re helpers to the almighty Slayer, which means we get to...” His eyes lit up and he beamed. Summers rolled her eyes and handed him a wrist-crossbow. “We get toys!” he exclaimed.

“You trust these... people with such weaponry?” Severus couldn’t help noticing the familiarity with which they gathered their arms, stakes and crosses handed out to everyone, along with the blades and bows.

Summers flashed an impish grin up at him. “Snapey, this is what we do. This is what we’ve been doing since we were sixteen-years-old,” She looked proudly around at the group. “This is the first time we’ve been altogether in nearby two years...”

“Not all!” Weasley protested. “Oz! Oz is part of the altogetherness and he isn’t here, so we’re not all!”

“Okay, almost all,” Summers corrected herself and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Snapey, when we were at school, we stopped the world from ending at least a dozen times. I couldn’t have done it without these guys.”

“That’s really nice to hear, but...” The dark-haired Seer’s words trailed of as she touched a hand to her forehead. “Oh...”

“Are you sure you...”

Summers pushed herself onto her feet, crossbow slung on her back, stakes in her belt and a cross at her throat. “We know how to fight as a group,” she said. “And we’ll do what we have to, to get rid of Dru and make this school safe again. We’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

“Not to interrupt the big speech, but...you...uh-oh...” The Seer’s body jerked back, almost hard enough to give her whiplash, her spine arching up off the bed, as Harris dived in a grabbed her, before the dark vampire could.

“What the hell...?”

Summers moved forward. “Vision,” she replied tersely, suddenly making the Potions Professor feel a lurch of sympathy for anyone who was cursed with being a true Seer, as opposed to the over-acting Professor Trelawny.

The dark-haired girl on the bed had a hand pressed to her forehead and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Words broke from her lips in staccato bursts. “She’s here...” great hall... the kids... and another one...”

“Vampire?” the dark one demanded sharply.

“Yeah... just one... and ick on the clothes...” Gasping, her body went rigid, then she slumped back against the pillows, her eyes widening. Panting for breath, she stared wildly up at them, giving Harris a push. “She’s there now! Go! Run!”

“Albus! Albus is there!” the former demon gasped, grabbing Summers’ arm. “You have to save him!”

The look on Summers’ face was one of cold determination as she stalked towards the end of the ward. “Don’t worry, An,” she said coolly, her friends falling into orderly ranks behind her. “I intend to. Snapey!”

“Summers?”

“Stay here,” she called back, flashing a look at him. “If anything gets through here, you keep Dawnie safe.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” he snapped.

Before she disappeared from view, she turned and flashed that irritating grin at him again, then vanished from sight, leaving him alone in the medical wing with her sister, Cameron and the Seer.

The Seer struggled into a sitting position, pushing her long hair back from her face and smirking at him. “Slayer-whipped much?”

Snape growled, slowly and deliberately folding his arms and glaring at her.

It only made the Seer grin more widely up at him, Summers Junior snickering behind a hand, while Cameron tried to pretend he wasn’t present, muffled sniggers escaping from him.

Having met the group, he was becoming increasingly grateful that he had never been made to teach any of them, none of whom seemed to realise that they were meant to fear and respect him.

Bloody Americans.

***

Surrounded by a contingent of teenagers from all the houses, Lorne’s ability to read a person’s future aura when they sang had been brought to light and the students were taking it in turn to regale him with their voices.

His group had expanded rapidly, once people had started singing.

Even those, who had decided to try and sleep, when it had grown late, were half-listening to what was going on.

The tables had been piled away against the walls, leaving Lorne sitting on a sleeping bag with dozens of the wide-awake students around him, some sitting, some lying, all of them intently focused on him.

The only light came from above, from the candles bobbing peacefully between them and the ceiling. All in all, it was a peaceful, comfortable scene and the American demon was loving every minute.

Curiosity piqued, other students had filtered over to see what was going on and had been drawn into the increasingly large circle around the green-skinned demon, who was both entertaining them and teaching them at the same time.

“How does it work?” one of the Ravenclaws inquired.

“The reading thing?” She nodded. “Who knows, sweets? All I know is that I get a look in on what’s coming up... kinda glad it doesn’t work when I sing, cos hello! I would know everything about my life and then some!”

“You like singing, then?”

“Like it?” Lorne clapped a hand to his chest, a blissful look crossing his face. “Kid, you don’t know magic until you’ve heard music.”

“I know a song,” a reedy female voice said, soft, but carried by the acoustics of the Great Hall. Lorne stiffened, looking towards Dumbledore, whose face had suddenly got pale. “Do you want to hear it?”

Rising from his place at the table, Lorne motioned for the students to remain seated.

“Run and catch,” the voice started to sing softly. “Run and catch...”

Clutching at his temples, Lorne squeezed his eyes shut in pain, as the visions started crashing in on him, his head spinning. “Stop...” he moaned, staggering, stumbling down onto one knee. “For the love of...”

At the dais where the High Table stood, a slim sylph-like figure drifted out of the shadows, licking the index finger of her right hand. “But you said that music is special and now, when it rings in your head...”

“Halt!” The fire in Dumbledore’s voice surprised even the demon, the old wizard’s wand raised and directed at the vampire.

Drusilla’s blue-grey eyes found the Head Master, her lips curving in a lazy smile. “I know you won’t spank me,” she purred. “Not when I am keeping your pet with the magic eyes in my hold.”

“Pet?”

The vampiress, her face in it’s human planes, beckoned to someone in the shadows, a shaking figure staggering forward. Drusilla grabbed the woman’s arm, as several of the pupils gasped in shock.

“Sybill!” Dumbledore’s furious expression was tainted with shock.

The Divination Professor’s face was white, her notoriously bad make-up smudged beyond recognition. Staring around wildly, she seemed unsure of her surroundings, a panicked look on her face.

The vampire pulled Trelawny’s body in front of her, the Professor’s gaudy dress and shawl stained with crimson.

“I had a little nibble,” Drusilla cooed, running her fingers down Trelawny’s neck, her eyes never leaving Dumbledore’s face. “I was hungry and the stars wished that I would eat her all up, but I said no! No to the naughty stars. I must wait until I find the sister of the shining one.”

“You will not find her here,” Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes flashing.

The vampire made a whining sound low in her throat. “But there are so many other naughty little boys and girls,” she murmured, still stroking Trelawny’s neck, dark hair matted with blood and clinging to the skin. “I could eat them all up...”

Lorne, still clutching his head, scrambled back onto his feet and started motioning the students towards the doors of the Great Hall, while the Head Master advanced on the vampire and her hostage.

“All locked in, like mice in a cage,” Drusilla giggled, her head swaying from side to side, as Lorne tried to force the door open. “Nowhere to run... no where to hide...” A chorus of terrified screams rang out when her vampiric features came forth. “Oh, it’s like singin’ in my ‘ead...”

“Head Master...”

Whirling, Dumbledore fired a spell at the doors, but they remained tightly closed and the pupils starting massing towards them, the scent of fear and confusion filling the Great Hall.

“Nowhere to run... nowhere to hide... the eyes are all-seeing...” Trelawny moaned, Drusilla still gripping her throat, her voice lower than any of them remembered it being. “Blood washes the floors... the walls are licked with scarlet...”

“My pet sees such pretty pictures,” the vampire grinned, showing all her fangs. Her golden eyes flashed with mirth, her oddly-reptilian features highlighted eerily by the torches on the wall. “She sees the magic that I can’t, so pretty, singing and shrieking in her head...”

Suddenly, she froze...

“My bad daddy...?” she whispered, uncurling one hand towards the ceiling. “Is he coming here to me...?”

Lorne’s red eyes darted towards the door, then the pupils blocking it. “Out of the way, everyone!” he cried, motioning the pupils into the corners of the room as a blow was struck on the opposite side of the door.

Drusilla’s hands ran down her body, a moan escaping her. “Come and spank me all better, daddy...”

A crash sounded and the doors of the Hall exploded inwards, showering the students with splinters, revealing the tiny, blonde Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, smiling broadly. “Hi! Mind if I gatecrash the party?”

Drusilla’s lips curved in a grin. “Slayer... the one with sunshine in her hair...” Her eyes went passed Buffy to the tallest figure behind her. “And my bad daddy... playing with the little ones again... tuttut... grandmum will not be pleased...”

“Like she’d care,” Angel growled, a stake gripped in his right hand. “You shouldn’t have come here, Dru.”

Drusilla mewed in her throat. “My bad daddy will come back,” she cooed. “I was dreaming it, daddy...and then, you’ll chain us all up and play such naughty games... and spank us all...naughty, bad daddy...”

“Uh-huh... nice to see you haven’t upped that sanity quota yet,” Buffy Summers said cheerfully, stepping into the hall, a group spreading around her, every one of them armed to the teeth. “So... do we fight yet?”

Clapping her hands, Drusilla called out,” Come out and play my pets!”

From the shadowy end of the Great Hall, through the side doors and from behind Drusilla, a pack of demons swept out, the Slayer’s eyes widening.

Every single one of them was at least seven-foot tall with scaly grey-white skin and deeply-sunken red eyes. Fang-filled mouths and claws were bared, spikes running from their foreheads and down their spines.

“Lorne! Get the kids out!” she called, running forward, whipping the crossbow off her back and firing a bolt before she even finished speaking, one of at least two dozen demons smashing to the floor, shot through the eye.

“Scoobies spread out! Take ‘em down!” Xander yelled, charging into the fray, mace in one hand, axe in the other. “Get the kids out safely!”

The green-skinned demon started rushing the hoards of panicking children out as the Scooby gang ploughed into the demons, Willow lashing out with an axe and catching one of the demon’s in the chest, casting whispered charms to direct her aim.

Drusilla threw Trelawny to one side, the Divination Professor colliding with the wall and collapsing. The vampire leapt from the dais, gliding towards Buffy, who hefted her sword and stake, striding determinedly towards the dark-haired vampiress.

Angel, meanwhile, tackled one of the larger demons, Anya - howling blue murder and a string of obscenities in a dozen languages - hitting anything vaguely non-human that crossed her path with a curved knife.

The pupils were being ushered out by Lorne, Giles and McGonagall barrelling into the battle as soon as they reached the hall, the number of demons not seeming to fall in spite of the strikes being landed on them.

“You stole my Spike from me,” Drusilla growled, as Buffy approached her, a demon between them taken down by a blast from the Head Master’s wand. “Filthy slayer, stealing my Angel and my Spike...”

Lunging in with a volley of blows, which Drusilla blocked in rapid succession, the Slayer laughed mockingly. “Proves how good you are at keeping a guy, doesn’t it, psycho-girl?”

Drusilla hissed, striking Buffy in the centre of the chest, knocking the Slayer back, into a backflip. Whirling, the small blonde swung out her right leg in a roundhouse kick that would have taken a human’s head off.

The savage kick caught Drusilla across the head, the vampire whipping around from the impact, striking out at the back of Buffy’s other leg with razor-sharp claws, the Slayer stumbling.

Unfortunately, Buffy was still weak from loss of blood and she didn’t quite have the edge over the powerful vampire that she would usually have.

One of Drusilla’s hands locked around her throat and she choked, her eyes widening as she felt the nails biting into her skin.

A flash of a pale arm dashed down in front of her eyes, connecting with Drusilla’s arm and breaking her grip. Something hit the dark-haired vampiress and she crashed down onto the floor.

“Hello, luv,” Spike grinned nastily down at his sire, who was staring at him with an expression of confusion and horror. “Miss me?”

“My Spike?” she whispered.

“Gotta say I don’t appreciate being left for dead, sweets,” he drawled, hurling his knife, his Sire too surprised by his appearance to avoid it, the blade lodging deep in her stomach, cool blood gushing out over her hands. “All right, Slayer?”

Buffy nodded, rubbing her bruised throat. “Yeah... I’ll be fine...” Regaining her breath, she snatched an axe from the back of one of the fallen demons. “Giles! These things won’t die! What do we do?”

“Decapitation!” Giles bellowed back.

“Spike?”

The blond vampire smirked. “I’ll be fine, ducks,” he said, his eyes on his sire at his feet. “You go and kill things.”

Scrambling backwards, away from him, Drusilla stumbled to her feet, yanking the blade out her body and staring at him. “You were to be dust, my wicked boy,” she gasped, shaking her head.

“Well, yeah,” he grinned at her, circling her slowly. “But you didn’t count on me having a mate like the Slayer.”

Drusilla hissed, then froze, staring beyond them at the door. “The key...” she gasped, pushing Spike aside with more strength than she appeared to have. “It calls...”

Startled, Buffy spun to see Dawn and Snape race into the Hall. “Buffy!” Dawn shrieked. “Cordelia! Another vision! Demons!” Then, the teen appeared to notice the ongoing battle. “Oh... you know... right...”

“Get her out of her, Snapey!” Buffy howled, running towards the demons that were charging in the direction of her sister. One of them received an axe solidly to the back of it’s head, crashing down less a foot from the girl, who yelled and kicked out at it.

Snape grabbed the teenager around the waist, hauling her back out of the hall, his wand blasting several of the demons backwards as they backed out into the open Hall, the head Master moving to block the demons from exiting the Great Hall.

“The key!” Drusilla growled, smashing Buffy to one side and charging at Dawn, a punch across her face sending her reeling. Standing over his sire, Spike glared down at her. “My Spike!”

“You left me for dead, you miserable bitch,” he growled, his own features flaring into vampiric ridges. With a vicious back-hand, he sent her scudding across the floor, tackling her, the two vampires grappling, clawing and biting one another.

“Get her to safety!” Buffy yelled to Snape, rapidly fitting another bolt into her crossbow and catching a beaten demon through the back of the skull. It fell, bloody goo spilling from a hole in it’s forehead.

Running forward, Buffy slammed the axe down on the demon’s neck, but the neck was at least two feet in circumference. “Oh... crap...” she groaned, hacking wildly at the neck, until it parted from the body. “Giles! Make my axe bigger!”

“And you girls say that size doesn’t matter,” Xander jibed, as Buffy’s axe expanded in her hands.

“Funny, Xander,” Buffy retorted, joining her dark-haired friend. “Okay...” Xander launched a bolt from his wrist bow, which hit one of the demon’s harmlessly in the chest, but made it look down.

In that split-second of distraction, Buffy swung her new and improved axe, taking its head off completely.

“Heads up!” Buffy gave Xander a disbelieving look. “What?” he demanded in an injured tone. “It was funny!”

“Guys!” Willow yelled. “Um... HELP?”

Buffy sped to her friend’s side, tackling the demon away from Willow, the head of the axe plunging into the demon’s chest as she crashed down on top of it. Leaping onto her feet, she yanked the axe free and swung it down, cleaving the demon’s skull in half.

“Oops!” She winced. “Neck...”

“Again we see why Buff would be a bad vampire,” Xander laughed, catching one of the demon’s over the back of the head and smashing it to the ground.

“You want me to use the axe on you, Xan?” Buffy demanded.

Xander turned to respond, yelling in fright as Buffy dived towards him. She hit him in the belly, knocking him to the floor and out of the path of the claws of one of the demons, landing on top of him.

“Enough talk,” she panted. “Time to fight.”

“Agreed,” Xander nodded.

“Buffy!” Angel tackled a demon away from them, pinning it down. “Axe!”

Spinning, Buffy hurled her axe to him and there was the squishing sound, like a piece of metal hitting an overripe pumpkin with force enough to burst it. A demon’s head bounced away across the floor.

“Thanks,” Angel panted.

“No problem,” Buffy replied.

The trio were on their feet in a heartbeat, back into the fight, Xander providing the core distraction, Angel providing the muscle to hold them, while Buffy plied her axe to the demons’ necks like a professional lumberjack would a tree trunk.

Willow and Giles were working together, using the combination of freezing spells and axe work to take some down, the Head Master and Anya making sure that the demons didn’t escape the hall, while McGonagall and Spike had teamed up again.

“The floor’s rather dusty,” Minerva noted, ducking under an axe swipe.

“Sire had a run in with a stake,” Spike answered matter-of-factly.

“Thought as much,” Minerva glanced at him. “You all right?”

Gold eyes darted to her face. “Can we talk about it after?” he asked.

“That bad?”

Spike said nothing, tackling a demon and landing his axe on it’s throat.

It seemed like an eternity before the demons were defeated, blood, ichor and slime splattered all over the floor and walls. Bodies lay in pieces all over the floor, the little group standing in shaky pairs around the hall.

“Well...” Xander panted. “Never imagined a Scooby reunion being so much fun...”

“Tell me that’s a good enough excuse for me to kill him,” Angel muttered darkly., peeling sticky wads of slim off his face and neck.

Dumbledore, though, seemed oblivious to the chaos, hurrying across the hall to the place where Professor Trelawny had fallen, her body limply sprawled on the floor, against the wall.

Kneeling, he gently touched her throat. “Sybill?” he asked softly, his face going pale at the lack of a pulse. “Oh no...”

“Is she...?”

Cradling Trelawny’s body reverently, her head lolling back, Dumbledore looked up at Minerva sadly. “She’s dead,” he said.

Buffy limped over, pushing her hair back from her face with a dripping hand, her face bloody and streaked with slime. “I-I’m sorry, Head Master,” she whispered. “If we had known that she was in danger...”

“It wasn’t your fault that this happened, Professor Summers,” Dumbledore replied, giving her a reassuring look. “Perhaps you had best go and see that your sister is all right... and your seer friend. I... I would like a moment.”

“Cordy!” Xander dropped the axe he was still holding and sprinted from the room, skidding several times on slimy patches.

“I’ll just go... with him...” Buffy added, her head bowed in sympathy, as she slipped out with Giles, Angel following. McGonagall and Spike withdrew equally quietly, leaving the Head Master to mourn briefly on his own.

Willow was met at the doors by Hermione, who had just come racing back through the halls from searching the castle, the red-haired witch practically collapsing in her lover’s arms, allowing Hermione to lead her away.

The Great Hall was silent, the Head Master kneeling where Sybill Trelawny had fallen. He held her slight body in one arm, closing his eyes and bowing his head, allowing himself a moment of quiet memory.

While never the brightest and best of the Professors, she had been a decent woman and he knew that he would miss having her interesting variation of conversation at the staff meetings.

“I am sorry you came to this end, Sybill,” he said softly. “You deserved so much better than this.”

“Oh, don’t be too upset about my demise, Albus,” a voice said cheerfully from his arms. Opening his eyes, Dumblecore started in shock as Sybill Trelawny lifted her face and grinned at him. Her features shifted, sharp fangs emerging, golden eyes fixed on him hypnotically. “You’ll sour your blood.”

Dumbledore’s hand went for his wand but - due to shock delaying a reaction - the vampire formerly known as Hogwarts Divination Professor was faster, slapping it aside and grabbing a handful of his hair to jerk his head to one side.

“Vintage wizard,” she purred. “Delicious and powerful...”

“Hey!” a voice yelled. Trelawny looked up and an axe cleaved straight through her neck, her head bouncing once on the floor before exploding in a cloud of dust. Anya slapped the handle of axe against her palm. “No one bites Albus’ neck, except me!”

Blinking, looking from the dust that had been about to bite him moments earlier, to Anya, Dumbledore exhaled a breath. The ex-demon tossed the axe to one side and knelt, flinging her arms around him so tightly he uttered a gasp.

“I thought you were going to die!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t want you to die! I don’t like it when people die, because it’s depressing and people cry and fight and I didn’t want to cry...”

Patting her back gently, the Head Master returned the embrace gently. “Thank you, Anya,” he said. “I have never been more relieved to see you. You knew?” He looked down at the dust pile again. “I never suspected...”

“Duh,” Anya sighed, pulling back a little and giving him a patient look. “You’re not very experienced, Albus.” He raised his brows. “You haven’t lived on a Hellmouth. You don’t know that you’re not meant to trust anybody, even if they’re dead.”

“She... Sybill...”

“Was a vampire and she was going to kill you. I hit her with an axe and now she’s dust,” Anya elaborated, pointing at the pile. “See?”

Massaging his forehead with his fingertips, he could feel an impending headache, on top of the shock, grief and confusion. “I think,” he said slowly. “That we had best go to my office. I need to sit down...”

“And chocolate?”

“Yes... that would probably be a good thing as well.”

Helped to his feet by the former demon, he smiled wanly as she took his arm and lead him out of the Hall, trusting that the house elves would clean it all up, including the rather numerous corpses littered everywhere.

***

“I killed her.”

Sitting on the couch in Minerva’s private chambers, Spike was staring blankly into a mug of rapidly-cooling blood. His hands were wrapped around the mug and he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

Using her wand to send a ball of flame into the crate, casting a warming, gold-red glow over the room, Minerva returned to the deep green velvet-covered couch, where he was sitting.

“She left you for dead yesterday, Billy,” she said, raising a hand and stroking his hair. “You had every reason to be willing to kill her and she would have killed you, if you hadn’t.”

Tear-filled blue eyes rose to her. “But she was my Sire, Minnie... my bloody Sire...”

“I know,” Minerva acknowledged quietly.

Looking back down at his mug of blood, the vampire sniffed, swallowing hard. “I-I loved her, y’know... no one ever believes that a soulless vampire could love anything, but me and her... what we had was special. I would have done anything for her.”

“Even when she would have killed you?”

Spike nodded sadly. “That used to be how it was,” he said, stirring the blood with the tip of his finger. “I would have let her decapitate me, if it made her happy... I dunno where we went wrong...no... I do... the first time I helped Buffy... that’s where it all went downhill...”

“You could have turned on Buffy, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Spike replied, looking up at her again. “You’ve seen what the Slayer and her sis are like. Her mum’s the same way. Mum and Nibbles treated me like a normal person and...” He laughed a little. “It’s funny, but I actually wanted to be treated like that. I liked just chatting with people, not killing all the time, even though it was fun. Angelus, Angel, what have you, he was all for ending the world when he was about. I didn’t want that. I liked doing things with mortals, like just talking or having hot chocolate...”

“So you stayed with Buffy?”

Spike grinned weakly. “Not by choice at first. I hated them all because they saw me as nothing more than a demon to be chained up and kept captive, but they started growing on me...”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighed. “I’d rather die to protect the Niblet, the Slayer and everyone than let anything happen to them.”

Shifting on the couch, to lean back against the arm, Minerva gazed at him. “I knew you were an unusual vampire, Billy,” she murmured. “But I never realised just what a rare one you are. You actually care...”

“Yeah...” He stared down into his blood. “I care enough to do in the one who made me... no vampire is ever meant to do that... not unless the Sire has done something unethical in vampire eyes... and, well, you can imagine that not much is counted as unethical by vampires.”

“I’d say torturing you to the point of death and leaving you to drain of blood for eight hour would classify as a good enough reason.”

“We used to do that kind of thing for fun,” he muttered. “Without so much blood loss, though...”

“Ah...”

The mug slipped from his grip and shattered on the stone floor, his shaking hands rising to cover his face as he started to sob. “I killed my Sire... I-I-I killed her... I still loved her and I-I-I killed her...”

“Billy,” Minerva sat up, wrapping her arms around the vampire and cradling his head against her shoulder. Spike wriggled closer, clinging to her, as he wept, one of her hands smoothing his hair as she murmured reassuringly.

Gradually his sobs quieted and he fell silent.

Minerva tilted her head to one side to look down at him and his head where it was resting on her chest. The vampire was fast asleep, tears drying on his pale cheeks, his arms around her waist.

“Oh, marvellous,” she murmured, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Spike mumbled in protest, nestling closer. Minerva sighed and started to smooth his hair again, her own eyes heavy with exhaustion.

A soft, thrumming growl sound vibrated from Spike’s body, almost like the sound of a satisfied lion at rest and Minerva had to smile, when she realised that not only was Spike entirely comfortable where he was.

He was also purring.

“Sleep well, Billy,” she said softly, her hand resting lightly against his neck as she gave into the need to sleep with the vampire formerly known as William the Bloody using her as a pillow.

***

“I can’t believe she died.”

Giles was sitting on the window ledge in the medical wing beside Buffy, moonlight washing in on them, and gave her a look. “You should know by now that you can’t be expected to save everyone, Buffy,” he said.

On the other side of the ward, Cordelia was fast asleep, curled against Xander’s chest, the dark-haired youth half-asleep as well. Dawn was curled in a sleeping ball on one of the other beds, having been delivered back there by Snape.

After the debacle in the Great Hall, he had made sure that all of the America group were al right, provided some energy supplementation potions and given the Slayer a look, before sweeping away.

On last sighting, Willow and Hermione were sharing a post-battle smooch session against one of the walls outside the Great Hall, both liberally smeared in slime and goo, which would inevitably lead them to the bathrooms.

The only people left awake, it seemed, were Giles, Buffy and Angel.

“Yeah, but still... great start to the new year... three weeks into the term and we have death and destruction already...”

“You saved all the kids, Buffy,” Angel added. He was pacing the centre aisle of the wing, his hands interlocking and unfolding rhythmically. “It’s amazing that there was only one death.”

“Almost two,” Anya’s voice said from the door.

“Huh?”

The sandy-haired girl entered the wing, carrying one of Buffy’s smaller battle axes, a grim look on her face. “You said you were going to save Albus and the vampire almost ate him! That doesn’t classify as saving him.”

“Vampire? But Spike killed Dru...”

“No,” Anya gave her an impatient look. “That weird teacher who died. She was a vampire. She was going to eat Albus, so I cut her head off. Albus was emotionally affected. I made him eat chocolate and he’s resting now.”

“Trelawny...”

“Was a vampire,” Anya repeated. “With teeth and the grr and fangs and everything. I thought you were the Slayer and there I was, slaying! I had to cut off her head and I got a splinter in my hand!”

“You slayed a vampire?” Buffy stared at the former demon.

“What? Like I couldn’t? She was going to eat Albus! I like Albus and I couldn’t let her do that!”

“I-I didn’t think to check,” Giles said, shaking his head. “We knew she had been bitten, but assumed that she...”

“Was still a human,” Anya interrupted. “Yeah, so did Albus and he almost got eaten! Did I mention that he almost got eaten? I wasn’t pleased and he was shocked about it as well!”

“Is he all right?” Buffy asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Anya replied. “But he wanted me to ask you if Drusilla works with other demons a lot?”

Giles frowned, removing his glasses and pointlessly polishing them on the gunk-covered lump of fabric that was his tie. “Not-not on a day to day basis, no. I would say that she gathered those ones...”

“Mercenaries,” Angel said quietly.

The Watcher’s brow furrowed pensively. “I’m not t-to sure about that,” he said. “I noticed that she was in charge of them... she was looking for your sister and they were with her... perhaps they were all in the employment of...”

“Glory!” A look of horror crossed Buffy’s face. “It makes sense!”

“It... does?” Giles looked somewhat flummoxed.

Buffy nodded, pushing herself off the window ledge and pacing across the stone floor, her expression fraught with concern. “I had that dream, way back, and there were two sides lining up against each other... there were a helluva lot of people on her side of the line, Giles...”

“And you now know what it means?”

The Slayer nodded grimly. “I know.”

“Then what...?”

Turning to look at them, Buffy’s voice was strangely calm, but was belied by the fear in her eyes. “Glory’s gathering an army,” she replied. “She’s preparing for war.”


Chapter 50: Personal Demons

“You’re sure this is going to work?”

Standing in the middle of the medical wing, Buffy nodded, looking up at her former lover. “If the Head Master said it would work, it’s going to work,” she replied. “And it’s a lot quicker than flying or going by ship.”

It was the morning after the demon fiasco in the Great Hall and, after a long night spent in careful deliberations and planning with Buffy and Giles, Angel was departing for America immediately.

If they were to gather all the help they would require to help Buffy in the battle against Glory, they knew they had to leave as soon as possible, so they could join forces with several of Angel’s allies in and around Los Angeles.

Angel dubiously looked at the necklace lying in his hand. “But...”

“Magic, Angel,” the Slayer reminded him. “Makes anything possible.”

The vampire nodded, replacing the narrow, silver chain with an ornate cross on it in the box and tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t end up in the wrong hands,” he said. “You’ll be all right until we can reassemble?”

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy answered, her arms folded over her chest. She glanced past him to the bed where Cordelia and Xander were still asleep, the Seer’s head resting snugly on Xander’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of her for you.”

“You won’t,” the vampire observed, turning to look at the dark-haired girl. “But I’m pretty sure that Xander will.”

Shaking her head, Buffy smiled slightly. “I never thought I’d see the day when those two got back together again,” she remarked, stepping alongside Angel. “Especially in circumstances like these.”

“I don’t like the kid,” Angel admitted. “But if it makes Cordy happy...she’s had a hard time, the last couple of years. It’s a good thing that she’s finally getting a break from all the bad.”

“A poker through her gut and you say there’s no bad here?”

“Better than being impregnated by a giant demon,” the vampire said dryly.

Buffy’s face twisted in a nauseous expression. “Well... yeah...” she agreed. “And, for the record, ew.”

Angel laughed softly. “You know,” he said. “I think it’s really helped both of us, coming here. Not just because we killed some demons, although that was an added bonus, but just to get away from L.A. for a few days...”

“It is kinda nice to see you as well.”

“In spite of everything?”

Buffy turned to look up at him. “Angel, in spite of everything, you know I’ll always be happy to see you. You’re the first guy I loved and I do still love you. I’m just not in love with you anymore.”

“Or with that brain dead commando,” he noted with a touch of glee.

“You leave Riley out of this!” Buffy couldn’t help laughing. “Just because he almost beat you up...” Angel gave her a look. “Okay, just because he picked a fight with you and you kicked his ass doesn’t mean you can insult him.”

“He wasn’t right for you, Buffy. Even thought he knew about the Slayer lifestyle and fought demons... he was just too much of a regular kid.”

“I know.”

Both of them sighed, looking towards Cordelia and Xander again.

“Think they’ll make it this time?”

Buffy nodded. “I’d bet on it,” she replied quietly, pushing the sleeves of her robes up her arms. “Seeing them like that... it does kinda make you think it would be nice just to have someone to... I dunno... be with.”

“From what I hear, you’ve got a few guys lining up to do that with you,” Angel remarked. Buffy looked up at him in surprise. “I listen, remember,” he said by way of explanation. “And lurk.”

“I don’t know why,” she replied, raising a hand to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been uber-cranky lately and I’m always working and hey! Slayer - not exactly good for a normal life, even with a wizard-guy.”

“You’re you,” Angel answered for her. “And you look as good as you ever did.”

Punching him on the arm, Buffy went a deep shade of red. “Stop that!”

“I’m not joking,” he said sincerely, then winced and rubbed his arm. “And did you have to hit me quite so hard?” Buffy smirked. “You know, you actually look right in this place, as well.”

“So I suit living in a castle?” She grinned. “Told you I should have been a Princess.”

“Or a witch,” He blocked another slap on the arm, nodding down at her. After the battle, she had run back to her room to change out of bloody robes and was wearing her midnight blue, silver-lined ones. “That look suits you.”

Looking down at the robes, she fingered the silver buttons. “I like these ones,” she admitted. “I got ‘em from Giles after a potion went wrong... I think. I just woke up and they were there.”

Angel looked her up and down. “They look good on you,” he said. “Some day, some guy will see just how beautiful you are and...”

“Lemme guess,” Buffy interrupted, blushing. “We’ll live happily ever after.”

“You never know,” Angel replied, reaching down and taking one of her small hands in his. Squeezing her fingertips, he smiled slightly. “That’s the one thing I would wish for you. Happiness.”

“Let’s just get me past this summer with my friends and family intact and we’ll aim for big happies next.”

“One step at a time,” he agreed.

***

“Oh, this is just perfect.”

Lucius spread his hands elegantly. “I wish I had better news for you, my dear,” he said, approaching the pacing Hell Goddess, who glowered at him, her arms folded over her chest.

As usual, they were in his study, the morning light washing in through the tall panels of glass that lined the wall.

Word had just arrived, from one of the demons that had survived the massacre at the school, that their vampiress had been dusted and the Slayer had saved her sister, as well as wiping out a vast contingent of their brute squad.

“Wishing doesn’t bring me the Slayer’s brat sister or the key, Luce,” Glory growled, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Grey eyes met hers coolly and she had to admire his spunk as he faced her down. “I sincerely doubt that losing your temper will achieve either of those ends, Glory,” he said, his voice crisp with ice. “Stop behaving like a petulant brat.”

“What did you call me?”

He raised his chin in defiant silence.

One of Glory’s hands locked around his throat, yanking him close. Staring him in the eyes, she grinned cruelly at him. “You gonna tell me what you called me, Luce?” she asked. “Or do I gotta choke it out of you.”

“You think this will help?” He gagged as she gripped tighter.

“Sure as hell’ll make me feel better,” she retorted darkly. “I wonder if I squeeze hard enough, will your head just pop right off?”

“Do it,” he wheezed. “And I won’t be able to tell you what I found.”

Blue-green eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing.”

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

Tightening her grip, she could see colour spreading in his cheeks, trapped blood darkening his usually-pale skin, his hands gripping at her wrist. “You gonna share the news, Luce?”

“That depends,” he croaked.

“Oh yeah?”

“I doubt I’ll be able to... if you throttle me.”

Glory’s expression hardened irritably and she threw him back, away from her. The wizard smacked against the side of the desk, his legs buckling under him, his vision blurring slightly.

“Spill it, Goldielocks,” she snapped.

Stabilising himself against the side of his desk, Lucius straightened up, shaking hair back from his flushed face. One hand rose to massage his throat, which was darkening with bruises. “We don’t know all the details,” he rasped.

“Details?”

“The one that escaped,” He gave her a pointed look. “He had to escape through some opening in their defences.” Glory seemed to catch up. “He also may provide some information about the Key...”

“My key...”

“If your vampire saw it...”

Glory’s face creased into a rapturous smile. “If she saw my key, she’ll know what it is and where to find it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. Rushing towards Lucius, she caught his face between her palms and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. “You are so smart!”

Still breathless, Lucius allowed one side of his mouth to rise. “I do try,” he replied.

***

“You’re sure about this?”

“Positive.”

Lorne stared at Dumbledore in amazement. “But I... I’m a demon,” he stated bluntly, spreading his hands. “I dunno if your pupils’ parents are gonna be too pleased to find out that you got a demon on staff. Especially one as obvious as me, cos hello! Horns and green skin - dead giveaway.”

Picking up a crystal bowl off his desk, Dumbledore leaned forward and offered it to Lorne. “Peppermint?” Taking one, the demon looked confused. “I know it is rather short notice, Lorne, but we are in need of a divination teacher and the children appear to like you.”

“But I...”

Dumbledore raised a hand. “My dear fellow, at this school, I have employed a rather charming werewolf, we have a vampire who is a personal friend of the deputy Head Mistress and a Vampire Slayer as a Defence Against Dark Arts Professor.”

“And having a demon as a Divination teacher would just complete your matching set of weirdness, huh?”

The Head Master chuckled. “Your ethnic origins make no nevermind to me. All I am concerned with is that you will prove a good teacher in Divining and,” His voice saddened. “As our previous Divination teacher was hardly an expert in the subject, despite her credentials, I do believe you may actually teach them something. Also, you are already present and accounted for. I would rather not risk bringing in anyone new and unknown in, lest Glory has reached them first.”

“You... you honestly think I’d be up to the job?”

“I would not ask, if it were any other way, although,” He leaned forward slightly. “I do have one additional duty that you would have to perform, which I would hope would be less of a chore...perhaps even an act of love...”

Lorne tilted his head suspiciously. “What would that be?”

“I have often longed,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his seat and interlocking his hands, a pensive look on his face. “To teach the children to appreciate the wonder of music and you... you seem to understand the fundamental power of it.”

“Absolutely!” Lorne agreed. “Nothing in this world can compare to... hey...” A green finger pointed at Dumbledore, a broad smile lighting up his face. “I know you’re not asking me to be a kinda music teacher for your crazy kids...”

“Of course not!” the Head Master retorted. “Would never dream of such a thing.”

“I do have to think about Caritas, though...” Lorne frowned gravely. “After all, it’s my baby and I wouldn’t give it up for anything, y’know. Old-fashioned guy, I am, loyal to my roots and ori...hell, what am I saying? I’ll take the job! If only for the fab-u-lous acoustics you have in this place!”

“Is that the only reason?”

Leaning forward a little, the demon added. “Plus, I always had this thing about living in a castle... kinda wanting to be Prince Charming... but without the pantyhose and cod-pieces, cos major ick!”

Despite the melancholy lingering over him at Professor Trelawny’s death, the Head Master had trouble concealing a small smile. “I can assure you that cod-pieces are certainly not part of the dress code, although, should you wish to acquire one, I am certain Professor Flitwick could provide you with one.”

“Charmed ones, huh?”

“Actually, I think they may be from his personal wardrobe...”

Scarlet eyes widened. “Okay... I kinda wish I had never been to that visual place.”

“If I may ascertain, does this mean that you are willing to remain and begin teaching as soon as possible?”

“Is the Pope a Catholic?” There was a pause. “Actually, is he? I never got a chance to ask.”

“That would be a yes... and I believe it will only be until this summer, then you will be completely free to return to your bar, should you wish to.”

Lorne beamed at him. “Sounds great to me, bright eyes,” he replied cheerfully. “But I do have one eensy, weensy little thing I gotta have changed, if I’m gonna teach these kids how to see the future and the magic of music.”

“And that is...?”

“You gotta get me outta that tower room. I’m no Rapunzel and that tower is just way to out of the way for the social butterfly that is me. And I kinda wanna have a room that’s actually got some of those acoustics that I was talking about.”

“I’m sure we will be able to arrange that for you, Lorne.”

The demon looked delighted. “This is so exciting! I always wanted to be a teacher, y’know! I adore kids, but no school in the good old U.S. would ever have a demon on the staff... I guess I’m a bit too ethnic for them to deal with, huh?”

“Rest assured that you will always be welcome here,” Dumbledore rose from his seat and rounded the desk. “Perhaps we could find a suitable room for you to base your teaching in?”

“If it’s not too much trouble...”

“Do you have anything particular in mind?”

“Big, round, high ceilings, lotsa light, plenty of room...” Lorne marked them off on his fingers as they approached the door. “And I mentioned big, right? And those high ceilings - pretty much a must.”

“I think that we will be able to find you somewhere in the castle to fit all those requirements,” Dumbledore said genially. “And if we can’t, I’m sure we can adjust one of the rooms to suit.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course, but only if we ask the castle nicely.”

Lorne gave the Head Master a strange look. “Of course...”

***

The corridor was as dark as it had been the day before, but this time, it wasn’t silent.

A male voice was cursing loudly and proficiently, his words reaching the ears of the only vampire in the vicinity, as Angel walked along the gloomy hall, where one of the paintings hung open.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Whipping around, Spike stared wildly up at the dark vampire. “Oh! It’s just you.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Angel said sourly.

Spike rolled his eyes, shaking his head impatiently and returning his attention to his previous activity, digging through the ruined furniture and mess that littered the floor of his room.

“It’s not here,” the older vampire said.

“You what?”

Angel withdrew an object from behind his back. It was a hefty, ancient book, with thick parchment pages bound in knobbly black leather. The blond vampire’s eyes went wide at the sight of it and he scrambled to his feet. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Licking his lips, Spike nodded, reaching out for it. “I-I thought she’d nicked it,” he whispered, taking the book reverently and cradling it against his chest, his hands spreading shakily on the cover.

“How did you get it, Spike?”

Blue eyes rose. “He gave it to me,” the younger vampire replied, his voice trembling with emotion. “He... he thought I could use it... I told him I didn’t deserve it, but he said I... do you think I could, Angel?”

The darker vampire started at the use of his name. More often than not, Spike had produced a new nickname for him every time they had bumped into one another, after he had been cursed with his soul.

“Do you want to?”

Pressing the heel of a hand to his forehead, Spike shook his head uncertainly. “I-I dunno,” he replied honestly. “I... I have the chance... and I know I... well, anyone would be interested... not many would be willing, but I... with things the way they are, I wonder if maybe I’d be better that way...”

“And if things weren’t the way they are now...?”

Spike pressed blood-shot eyes closed. “My Sire and the first person I loved is dead, dusted by my own hand. I’m best mates with the Slayer and her happy band of fruit loops. I’m the snuggle-pet of the Deputy Head Mistress of a wizard’s school... I-I can’t even try to imagine what it’d be like, if it wasn’t like this...”

“You happy?”

Looking at the floor briefly, nibbling on his lower lip, Spike slowly raised his eyes and nodded. “Never been happier. Crazy, eh? Can’t feed, can’t hardly fight, can’t do anything vaguely useful and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my unlife.”

“You know what the legends say about it, don’t you?” Angel murmured, looking at the book.

“Who doesn’t?” the blond admitted. “Only one ever managed... it’s for the ones who have been around so long that what they are doesn’t matter... or those ones who miss what they had... if you’re a sap like that, how’re you meant to get through it?”

“Are you asking me or are you wondering if you’d be strong enough?”

Spike shrugged. “A bit of both?”

Raising a hand, Angel squeezed the younger vampire’s shoulder. “Spike, after seeing what Dru put you through... after seeing what you suffered to stop her getting to Dawn, I think you could.”

“Hey, now! Don’t you be getting any ideas that I’m turning into a righteous old poof like you!” Spike exclaimed, although it lacked the venom that was usually directed at the older vampire.

Angel grinned a little. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “And if you do decide to go through with it...”

“You’ll be the first laughing, if I fail?” The older vampire gave the younger one a look. “Okay, maybe not, but it was worth a guess, eh? You’ll be wanting all the gory details, won’t you?”

“I’m curious,” he admitted.

“You got a deal,” Spike agreed, smiling genuinely.

Angel nodded, turning to walk away, then seemed to remember something. Pausing, he dipped his hand into his pockets. “I found these,” he said, withdrawing an intact pair of glasses. “I thought you might want them repaired...”

Taking his spectacles back, Spike nodded gratefully, pressing his lips together, unable to form a verbal response.

“You’re welcome,” Angel said softly, then walked away.

***

A quiet tap on the door caused Severus Snape to break off on his tirade about the stupidity of the third year class he was teaching, the Ravenclaw girl taking the chance to scuttle back to her place, her head down.

“Enter!”

The door opened, a small, slim figure standing in the frame, blonde hair highlighted by the flickering torches. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Snape’s brows beetled. “Summers?”

The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor nodded. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, Professor Snape,” she said quietly, so formal, so serious, so unlike her normal form of address.

Apparently most of the pupils noticed and thought it strange as well, a flurry of whispers only silenced when he turned a dark look on them, all faces bowed over the simmering cauldrons.

She spoke, then withdrew into the hall, as if expecting him to just drop everything and talk to her, as if she were more important than anything he had to do at present.

“Continue with your work,” he snapped briskly, stalking towards the doorway and out into the hall, where Summers was waiting, her arms folded over her chest, gazing up at a gargoyle on the wall.

It was pulling faces at her, but her expression remained serious.

“What is it, Summers?” he demanded irritably, closing the classroom door behind him.

Hazel eyes lifted to him. “I wanted to thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“Everything you’ve done for us in the last few days. You didn’t need to help us, but you did it anyway. You made that potion to help Cordy... and me. You got Dawnie out of the way of those demons. You looked after her for me.”

“I did what any other teacher in this school would have done, Summers.”

All right, that was generally true for most of the staff, but he had also received several blows in the process of dragging Dawn Summers from the Great Hall, but surely, she didn’t know about that.

“Dawnie told me you got hurt when you were getting her out.”

Bugger.

“A bruise or two. Nothing serious,” he replied stiffly.

“Still,” She stepped a little closer to him. “You did more than you had to.” One small hand rose and centred over his breastbone, her touch so light that he could barely even feel it. “Thank you.”

Hazel eyes held black, the Slayer wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Summers started to rise as he bent towards her, one of his hands cupping her face.

She was shaking slightly, as he came closer, eyes fluttering closed. Their lips were barely a breath apart when a deafening gong sounded and they jerked apart, staring at one another warily.

Snape stepped back a moment before the students started pouring out of the class.

“I-I better get back to my room,” Summers mumbled, clearing her throat. “Got a class to take...”

Turning, she marched away up the corridor, leaving Severus Snape puzzling over what had just happened, that didn’t involve throwing her up against a wall and kissing her like it was their last minute on earth.

Very strange.

For the first time, they had almost shared a kiss that didn’t involve bruises, scrapes or virtually dislocated limbs.

How very odd.

***

“Is your life normally like that?”

Sitting in front of the dressing table in her room, brushing her hair, Dawn glanced at Dunca, who was sitting on the edge of her bed. “That?” she replied. “That’s pretty much normal. Demons, vampires, oogy monsters. Actually, normally, it’s worse.”

Duncan shuddered. “And I thought facin’ Snape was bad...”

“Now d’you get why I’m not scared of the guy?”

The Scottish boy nodded. “One, ye have a vampire for a virtual big brother. Two, ye live where monsters are everyday things you see in the streets. An’ three,” He flashed a grin at her. “Yer a freak of nature.”

A hairbrush sailed through the air and smacked him on the head.

“Oi!”

“Don’t call me a freak, you freak!”

“Yer sayin’ bein’ normal is a good thing?”

Dawn turned on the stool she was sitting on, pushing her long hair back over her shoulders. “I guess not,” she admitted. “If I was normal, I’d never have come here and met you and everybody else.”

“Everybody else bein’ the Weasley twins, Snape an’ Harry Potter?”

“Um...”

Duncan grinned at her. “Yer so obvious, ye know, Dawnie.”

“Well, is it my fault that I’m good at making potions that Fred and George think will be good for making prank stuff? And is it my fault that Harry Potter is super-cute and that Snape is way cool?”

“Snape and cool... two words that never ever belong in the same sentence...”

Dawn reached over and slapped Duncan’s knee. “Don’t be mean,” she chastised him, frowning. “Snapey saved my life yesterday, when those demons tried to grab me, so he’s... pretty much a big dork who thinks I can’t look after myself.”

Smothering a grin, Duncan shook his head. “Ye are such a girl...”

“Observant much?” Standing up, Dawn smoothed her Gryffindor robes and dusted her hands off on her trousers. “Come on. We have to go and see Angel leaving. He’s taking a portkey out.”

“I thought he was here tae help yer sister...”

Dawn beamed at her friend. “He is. He’s going to get help for her. He’ll be back.”

“Will there be more demons an’ monster an’ things comin’ back with him?” Duncan asked warily. “Not that the one he brought was bad, but if there are dangerous things, I don’t think I wanna be nearby when they get here.”

The dark-haired girl shook her head. “I’m not gonna tell and ruin the surprise,” she said, a naughty glint in her blue eyes. “And I like seeing you freaking out.”

“Has anyone ever told ye yer mean?”

“Only you and since you’re as bad as I am, I don’t think you count as a good judge of it,” Dawn replied, looping her arm through his. “C’mon.”

***

With the evening meal in progress and the sun just disappearing over the horizon, Angel was preparing to depart, the portkey arranged to deliver him straight to the Hyperion Hotel, where he lived in Los Angeles.

Dumbledore had arranged it so that the defences of the school that protected against Portkey invasion would only be open for a split second. In that semi-heartbeat, the vampire would be instantly transported from Hogwarts to Los Angeles.

Walking down the steps of the castle with Angel, as twilight descended rapidly around them, Buffy looked out around the grounds. “You won’t take too long, will you?” she asked.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Angel replied. “I spoke to the Head Master about it and he said that the Portkey will be powered to bring us back in twenty-four hour intervals, so if I’m not back in twenty-four, I’ll be back in forty-eight...”

“We better just hope that Glory doesn’t try anything in the next couple of days, then,” Buffy murmured, shivering slightly as the air of the early Spring evening seeped through her robes.

“She lost a squad of her boys last night and they’ll take some replacing,” Angel reminded her gently. “I don’t think she’ll be ready to do anything yet and the defences around here seem to be holding.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Standing in the middle of the lawn, both of them glanced back towards the castle when someone yelled their names.

A slender figure with robes hiked up to her waist, over her jeans, was sprinting down the castle steps and onto the open lawn, with another, stockier figure running behind her, tripping over his robes.

“Dawnie!”

“I wanted to say bye, Angel!” the teenager panted. “You can’t just disappear without saying bye!”

“He’s coming back, Dawn,” Buffy said, laughing.

Dawn nodded, gripping Angel’s arm as she tried to catch her breath. “I know,” she breathed, her other hand on her chest. Duncan was bent over behind her, gripping his knees and panting. “But I had to ask... can you bring... some Hersheys chocolate back with you?”

“So you only love me for my chocolate-buying abilities?” Angel tried to look hurt.

“Uh huh?” Dawn grinned at him, blowing out a breath. “Man, there are a lotta stairs in that castle... and is that a yeah?”

“Why would you want Hersheys?”

Nodding towards Duncan, who waved his fingers, Dawn replied, “He’s never tried it and he wants to taste it.”

“I guess I could manage that,” Angel sighed with the expression of a martyr.

Dawn threw her arms around him with a squeal. “You are so great!” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “And...” Stepping back, she looked over at Duncan, who nodded nervously. “Can you do me a huge favour?”

“That depends...”

“Duncan’s never seen a vampire all grry... can you?”

“Dawn!” Buffy exclaimed.

“What? It’s not like it’s a big deal!” Dawn pouted, her hands still latched securely onto Angel’s arm. “Please, Angel?”

The vampire looked down at her, then at Buffy, who shook her head, rolling her eyes expressively. Turning his attention back to Dawn, he grinned a little. “You’re just like your sister,” he said, tutting. “I can’t resist you either.”

“Cool!”

Angel gestured Duncan forward, the boy looking apprehensive. “Don’t be afraid of me, kid,” he said. “I don’t bite...” His face morphed, fangs glinting in the evening light, his eyes glowing gold. “Much.”

Duncan uttered a faint squeak, then keeled over, only to be caught by Buffy before he hit the ground.

“He fainted?!?!” Dawn stared down at her friend.

“Well, he’s not used to seeing demons, Dawnie,” Buffy remarked, swinging the boy up in her arms. “And you better let go of Angel, so you don’t get sucked in with the Portkey as well.”

Stepping back, Dawn nodded. “We’ll see you soon,” she said.

“You can count on it,” Angel agreed.

There was a whooshing sound and a pop and the vampire was gone.

“C’mon, Dawnie, let’s get your boyfriend back inside.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

Buffy gave her sister a look. “He’s a boy, he’s a friend, so he’s a boyfriend.”

Dawn pulled a face, trailing after her sister as they made their way back up the lawn and Buffy jogged up the long staircase, Duncan’s head bobbing against her shoulder with every step.

Stopping at the top of every flight of stairs, the dark-haired teen was out of breath by the time they reached the door that lead into Great Hall, where Duncan moaned pitifully and opened his eyes.

“You okay, Duncan?” Buffy asked.

Placed back on his feet, the boy swayed unsteadily, then nodded. “Aye... I-I think I’m gonnae be fine,” he replied, Dawn holding onto his arm as she tried to both hold him upright and catch her breath. “Thanks.”

Buffy looked him over, then nodded. “I’m gonna head to the teacher’s entrance. See you inside,” she said, before hurrying off down one of the side passages and leaving the pair of them standing at the door.

“I can’t believe...” Dawn panted. “That you fainted... you wuss...”

“Fainted?” Duncan smirked. “Who said anythin’ about me faintin’?”

“I... saw you...”

The Scottish boy assumed his most innocent expression, blue eyes round. “Dawnie, lass, what ye saw was me hitchin’ a Slayer-shaped taxi, so I didnae have tae run up all those stairs all over again... an’ if ye want tae see why, just look at us. Which one is out of breath and which one looks like he just had a nice wee rest?”

Dawn blinked.

Duncan grinned. “And ye thought ye were the only one who would be sneaky around here, eh?” he laughed, looping an arm through hers. “Come on. We best get in and get somethin’ tae eat.”

“You... you’re sneaky...”

“Aye,” he agreed, giving her a proud nod. “And don’t ye forget it.”

 

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