The Eighth Weasley

By Fyre

Chapter 51: Broken Minds

"This is really too weird."

Xander gave Cordelia, his reinstated girlfriend, an affectionate smile. "Which part of it, sweetie?" he asked, looking at her. "The being-in-a-castle, the wizardy school thing or the us-dating-again thing?"

For the first time since the poker-through-gut-vision, Cordelia was up and about. It was through her insistence that she and Xander had been allowed to come down to the Great Hall for breakfast, her wound almost fully healed.

Pointing with a piece of toast, she directed his attention to the laughing couple who were walking down the aisle of the Hall, hand-in-hand. "Willow being all into the girls... I mean, when did this happen?"

"I dunno," Xander replied, grinning up at the pair as Hermione released Willow's fingers and hurried towards the High Table. "But I wish I'd been there to see it."

"Xander!" An indignant slap was landed on his thigh by the Seer, who gave him a mock-annoyed look, which he counteracted with his best puppy-dog eyes. "You are such a... a... guy!"

"Thanks," he laughed, grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table. "And good morning to you, Miss Weasley."

Starting, Willow looked around. "What?"

"Just saying morning, Wills," Xander replied amiably. "And if you keep staring like that without blinking, I've heard there's scientific proof that your eyes will shrivel up and drop out."

"Xander, everyone knows that's just a story..."

"But notice how you blink repeatedly now!" he exclaimed, wagging a finger at her, before taking a bite of his apple. "Oh," he added around a mouthful. "Cordy wants to know how long you've liked girls for."

"Xander," Cordelia hissed, slapping his thigh again.

"What?" he whined, turning the puppy-eyes on her again. "You wanted to know!"

Willow had a hand over her mouth, trying not to grin at them. "You guys are just like you were the first time you went out," she said, looking from one to the other. "Only, you know, kinda older."

"And even better-looking in Cordy's case," Xander said sincerely.

"Are you just trying to stop me being mad at you?"

"Is it working?"

Cordelia's scowl turned into a half-smile. "Yeah..."

"In that case," Xander replied, grinning. "I'm definitely trying." he turned his eyes back to the red head on the other side of the table. She was laughing. "So, Wills... you and the girlies..."

Sniffing dignifiedly, Willow looked around the table which was piled with breakfast foods, summoning a bowl of yoghurt to her hands. "That's none of your business, Xander Harris," she replied coyly.

"But you are really more into girls than guys?" Cordelia asked, sounding hopeful and a little suspicious. "I mean, there's no chance of me finding you and Xander making out again?"

"Cordy!" Willow exclaimed. "There's more chance of Xander running in on you and me making out..."

"Oh dear sweet God in Heaven, don't let that be a joke!" Xander glazed over. "I would die a happy man!"

"Xander!" Both girls yelled indignantly, going scarlet. Cordelia slapped him lightly across the back of the head.

"What?" He raised his hands in self-defence. "I'm a guy!"

Willow pulled a face at him, her nose wrinkling. "You better not mention any of this in front of Hermione," she said. "If she thought it would make me blush more than usual, she would probably invite you to watch. And I get the feeling I shouldn't have said that..." Xander grinned widely at her. "You dare, Xander, and I'll turn you into a... well, I don't know what yet, but it'll be really bad! So bad I can't even think about it! That's how bad it is!"

"I kinda wanna meet this girlfriend of yours properly, Willow," Cordelia remarked, leaning around Xander to look up at the High Table, where Hermione was sitting and chatting with Lorne. "What's she like? A female Xander? Or a female Oz?"

"Actually," Willow beamed up at her lover when Hermione glanced at her. "She's kinda like no one I've ever met before. She's really smart and sweet and nice and she knows so much stuff..."

"Not at all like anyone we know," Xander dead-panned.

"Huh?" Willow stared at him.

"Hello, Wills? Smart, sweet, nice, knows stuff... ringing any bells?"

Willow's face creased in helpless confusion. "Uh... Giles?" she replied with a shrug.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "He means you, Willow," she said, shaking her head, her hand resting on Xander's thigh. "I thought that you were meant to be the smart one around here."

One side of Willow's mouth lifted slightly in a half-smile. "Yeah..." she murmured, looking up at her lover at the High Table again. "I guess we are kinda... sorta alike. Except she's pretty."

"And you are too," Xander said emphatically. "You gotta stop putting yourself down so much, Wills. You're easily as cute as Hermione is." Cordelia coughed, raising a brow. Xander immediately wrapped an arm around her. "Although, neither of you are as gorgeous as my girlfriend, Cordelia."

"You got him well trained," Willow noted, grinning.

Cordelia returned the grin, her brown eyes dancing. "What can I say?" she said airily. "When you're good, you're good."

***

"You look a little nervous."

Wringing his hands, Lorne tried to smile weakly. "If my skin wasn't already green, you'd see how sick with nerves I am!" he exclaimed. "Stage fright has nothing on teaching fright."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "Unlike your unfortunate predecessor, you do actually have a history of very accurate predictions, whereas dear Sybill was... less than skilled for the most part."

"But what if I can't teach them anything?"

"You're a psychic, Lorne," Anya piped up from the window, where she was peering out onto the grounds. "You can't teach someone to be a psychic. You can just find the ones who have the ability and show them how to use it."

"She does have a valid point," Dumbledore agreed. "There is bound to be at least one person with some psychic abilities. It's just a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff, but without making it apparent that you are doing so."

"Oh and that's going to be easy in a room full of paranoid teenagers," Lorne gave the Head Master a look. "You know, bright eyes, I'm starting to realise why the sunny Miss Summers says you're evil."

"Me? Evil?" Dumbledore chuckled. "She must be confusing me with someone else."

"Sure," Lorne snorted. "And I'm the Queen."

The Head Master's eyes twinkled. "If you insist, your Majesty," he said, walking towards the door, Anya hurrying after him. "And we ought to leave you to prepare, as your first students will be here shortly."

"Great...excited about it already... not shaking with nerves at all..." Lorne rubbed his hands together nervously. "And if I suck at this, you won't fire me right away, right? You'll wait until... I don't know... noon maybe?"

"You'll do great, Lorne!" Anya enthused. She had taken a genuine liking to him, simply because of her own former-demon roots. "And if Albus thinks of firing you, I'll change his mind!"

"You will, will you?"

Looping her left arm through his right and taking his hand, her right hand patted his forearm through his robes. "You know I can do it, Albus," she said cheerfully, as they started out of the door. "And you'll enjoy it, because you don't seem to understand that me tickling you is meant to be a bad thing."

"Oh I understand it," Dumbledore replied amiably. "But why should I be afraid when you are so adept at it?"

"You're meant to scream and fight!"

There was a quiet chuckle from the Head Master. "If that is what you require, I'm sure I could provide it, my dear," he replied in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

Shaking his head, watching them go, Lorne closed the door after them.

Turning, he looked around at his classroom, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, as he wondered if he was at all ready for this.

The classroom, on the plus side, made him feel comfortable. It had been selected and adjusted by Dumbledore, who had spent hours cajoling the castle into raising the roof a little, to give the room a domed ceiling which would provide excellent sound.

It was - like Trelawny's tower room - a round room with low tables and comfortable cushioned chairs of various colours beside them, but had a distinct lack of the tacky, gaudy drapes and overused incense sticks.

Windows were positioned all around the walls, flooding the room with bright, fresh daylight, with only the thinnest of white gauze drapes hanging down from brass curtain poles, on brass rings.

A few small paintings hung on the walls, between the tall windows, the occupants preening and primping in preparation for the arrival of the class. Beneath them, small cupboards stood and at one point in the wall, there was a small fireplace.

Most importantly, though, in Lorne's opinion, Dumbledore had been able to provide a magically-powered music system. Very basic, but he knew it would serve to provide a certain ambiance to the room.

Opposite the door, a large chair that looked strangely like a throne with a squishy seat stood. Approaching it, he was amused to notice that, as he neared, the dark blue fabric immediately changed colour to match his silver-blue suit.

Sitting down, he leaned back, unable to smother a groan as he sank into the warm, soft fabric.

Seriously, the wizarding world would have made a fortune if they started selling their variety of furniture to the muggle world. Lorne made a mental note to ask the Head Master to put the seat aside for him to take back to L.A. when he left.

A tap on the door stirred him from revelling in the warm depths of the chair and he opened his eyes. "Come in."

A nervous-looking fourth year peered into the room. "Is... is this divination?"

"Sure is, sweetie," Standing up, Lorne hid his nerves behind a broad smile, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture, hoping he wouldn't scare them. "Come on in and make yourself comfortable."

Gradually, the class trickled in, most of them sitting as far from his chair as possible, although a few that he had spoken to, a few nights earlier piled into the tables at the front, grinning up at him.

From what he remembered, the house that made up this class was Ravenclaw.

He had been warned that the majority of them were logical thinkers and wouldn't think twice about posing a lot of questions and a couple were notoriously arrogant about their intelligence.

After doing a quick headcount to be sure that everyone was present and accounted for, he took his place at the front of the room. "So, you had Professor Trelawny for Divination. What did she teach you about the subject?"

"That it's all a load of codswallop," a dark-haired boy replied snottily from the back of the class.

One side of Lorne's mouth lifted slightly. "And yet, here you are taking the class, cupcake," he challenged with a knowing look. The boy glowered at him. "So, what makes you think that divination is 'codswallop', then?"

"I don't see how the random alignment of tea leaves in a cup can be said to predict the future."

"You got me there," Lorne admitted, "Although there are some super reliable tea-readers out there. Don't know how they do it, but I gotta admit that they're good at what they do."

"You don't know how it works?" one of the girls beside the dark-haired boy said. "I don't understand how you're meant to teach us, if you don't understand it."

Sitting down, Lorne tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of the chair. "Tell me, sweetie, do you think Professor McGonagall knows exactly how transfiguration works?" the girl opened her mouth to reply, but he pre-empted her. "No, not what it does, because we all know that. How it does what it does."

She frowned, looking to the boy next to her, who looked equally confused.

"Or maybe potions," Lorne continued, receiving a few nods of understanding from some of the closer tables. "If you mix one buncha ingredients, you get soup. You mix another, you get a potion. What makes a potion different from a soup? You wanna ask old cranky britches about it? Go ahead."

"I don't see how this relates to telling the future, though," the boy put in. "After all, you actually learn how to do things in transfiguration and potions. You make things. Change things. Here, you just look at crystal balls and tea leaves and are expected to see things."

"And I'm guessing you chose this course because it looked like it was easy?" The boy said nothing. "Well, hon, let me tell you that divination works. I've been making a living from it for a few years and even if I do it my way, there other ways and I'd say its better to try a bit of everything to find out what you're good at than nothing. If you're a diviner, this is the best place you can learn it and hey! I can correct it or not, from what I know of the future."

"So they got a fortune teller to teach us?"

"I s'pose you could say that, Mr Sceptical. And you are?"

"If you're a fortune teller, you should know."

"Hon, I tell fortunes," Lorne couldn't help violently disliking the boy. Damn, he was even worse than Angel on evil-brood-mode. "I don't really need to tell people their own names, unless they're real dumb. So, I'll ask you again, you are?"

The boy tilted his chin proudly. "Roger Gilmerton."

"Well, Roger," Smiling a rather nasty smile, Lorne pressed his fingertips against his forehead, feigning a spasm. "I foresee that if you don't learn some manners, real fast, you're gonna fail this class."

"You can't do that! I mean, you won't..."

Narrowing red eyes to slits, smirking, Lorne spread his hands expressively. "Hon, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a evil, nasty and all round not-nice demon. Of course I'll do something as evil as fail you for being all mouth and no action in my class."

A few of the other pupils were giggling behind their hands at the mortified look on Roger's face.

"Now, are you gonna apologise and play nice, so we can get on with this?"

Scowling, Roger muttered, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, poodle, but I'm a little hard of hearing... could you repeat that?"

"I am sorry."

Lorne beamed at him "That wasn't so hard was it, sweets? Well, maybe it was for you, but now, let's get into this future thing. How many of you have had a feeling of deja vu, before?"

A dozen hands rose.

"You know, I knew that you'd be the ones," he commented, with a chuckle. "And who knew I was gonna ask that?"

"I did!"

"I know you did," Lorne replied, receiving a chorus of snickers as he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Baby, I'm on a roll!"

***

"I can see why you like it here," Cordelia said, looking around the grounds as she and Xander descended the staircase onto the lawn, her hand interlocked with his. "It's really beautiful."

The air was crisp and sharp, but not too cold for late January, the sky a clear blue and blotted with puffs of white. However, cold by Los Angeles standards was definitely a lot warmer than cold by Hogwarts standards.

Loaned some of McGonagall's winter robes because she had not packed enough winter clothing, to stave off the chill in the air, the American Seer looked strangely in her element.

"It's okay," Xander admitted, looking across the vast lawn towards the Forbidden Forest. "A bit too magical for me, but everyone else seems to like it... Buffy likes it here. She says it's peaceful."

"Fighting demons in the Great Hall is peaceful... right..."

"We've had worse."

Cordelia grimaced. "Yeah," she murmured, shuddering at the memory of various points during high school. "Way worse... and then, visions had to come along..."

"Worse than high school?"

"I'll say," She pulled a face. "I get 'em in surround sound and three-dimension-style and that's... a giant spider!"

Xander yelped in surprise when she leapt behind him, her arms locking around his neck as she tried to conceal herself from the arachnid that was scuttling across the grass towards them. "Cordy! It's just Meralob!"

"Huh?"

Negotiating Cordelia's arms from his neck, he squatted down as the spider hurried towards him. While it wasn't one of Aragog's larger grandchildren, it still was larger than any spider Cordelia had seen, it's body eighteen inches long.

"Cordy, this is Meralob," Xander answered, clapping the spider on the back, as it's body heaved, suggesting it was a little out of breath. "Great seven times grandson of a friend of mine."

Cordelia gave him a look he recognised. Buffy and Willow had given him the same look when he had told them he was friends with a giant spider. "You really do have a thing for bugs, don't you?"

"Spiders aren't bugs," he replied, grinning a little. "And Aragog and his family... they're nothing like any spiders I've ever met."

"How come?"

"They can talk."

"Pfft!"

"You find something amusing?" a hoarse voice, punctuated by rapid clicks, said.

Brown eyes blinked at the spider.

"Told you," Xander grinned broadly, then turned his attention back to Meralob. "So what got you to come out of the forest at this time of day? Is Aragog all right? Has something happened?"

Meralob bobbed his body from side to side in a gesture that Xander had come to recognise as a negative. "All is well, young one," he replied in his clicking, rasping voice. "Aragog wishes to meet the one you deem your lifemate."

"My lifemate?"

"You said that she is here and Aragog wishes to meet her."

"Without eating her, right?"

The spider chuckled, it's body bobbing again. "Eating of your lifemate is forbidden, young one."

"What's all this lifemate stuff?" Cordelia inquired warily, shivering as she caught a glimpse of the spider over Xander's shoulder. "And why would this Aragog guy want to meet it?"

"It's just something I talked about with him," Straightening up, Xander took one of her hands. "Cordy, I know you're kinda not likin' the bugs, but could you do me a big favour and come and meet Aragog...? Please?"

"Hold on a second... Aragog wants to meet your lifemate, not...hey!"

Xander's grin looked slightly forced. "Did I mention I love you, sweetie?"

Pursing her lips, Cordelia tried to hide the bubble of laughter that was welling up inside of her. "You are such a big dork, Xander Harris!" she exclaimed. "Even after high school!"

"So you'll come with me?"

Huffing a breath out through her nose, she rolled her eyes towards the sky. "I guess so, but if anything creepy and oogy happens, I'm so blaming you!"

***

"You think this is a good idea?"

"Probably not, but I'm gonna to do it anyway."

Kneeling on the floor on top of her folded robes, Dawn was carefully stirring the cauldron of bubbling potion, as Duncan paced back and forth across the bathroom, twisting his hands together.

Between two classes and missing lunch, having broken into the kitchen and accepted the house elves gifts of large, meaty sandwiches, the pair were in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom yet again.

Myrtle was elsewhere, for which they were grateful.

Dauncan had cheerfully insisted it was because Dawn had terrified her, in the wake of the revelation about Willow and Hermione's relationship.

Although she didn't want to admit it, Dawn had to agree, because she had stormed into the bathroom and, ignoring Myrtle's pathetic wails that no one ever paid her any attention, had started screaming a ranting tirade at the ghost.

When she had yelled herself hoarse, Myrtle had hovered in front of her, a look of shock on her glum features. For the first time on record, she made no response, floating backwards into her cubicle and silently sinking down the toilet.

She hadn't been seen in the vicinity of Dawn since.

"I know it could mean I'd be able to avoid gettin' in a bad situation, but..."

Dawn raised her eyes to him. "Duncan, you saw what happened with the demons and things. I don't want you getting in any kind of trouble, so if you need to get out of sight and to safety, at least you'll have this to do it."

"But ye could get in trouble for makin' it for me."

The girl shrugged. "No big," she replied. "I'm not a student here and they can't tell me what to do. If I wanna protect you with some kinda weird soup, I don't care if I'm too young by wizard standards, I'm gonna make it."

"Ye know ye don't have to..."

"And you know that if you don't stop telling me that I'm gonna pour this cauldron over your head!" Dawn responded, casting a glare in his direction. "Will you make with the silence and let me finish this?"

"But..."

"Duncan!"

The Scottish boy fell silent immediately, but didn't stop pacing back and forth as Dawn continued to add different ingredients to the potion, clouds of different coloured steam rising from the pewter container.

Finally returning to the spot where she was kneeling, he squatted down to look into the cauldron, the glutinous dark green potion that was the consistency of porridge contained in the pot.

"Ye expect me to drink that?"

"No," Dawn replied. "I expect you to dance with it! Of course I expect you to drink it! You wanna go and get all killed on us just because you're a wuss and can't drink a little bit of potion?"

"Good point," Duncan's nose wrinkled as he looked into the cauldron. "Are ye sure that's no' spinach?"

"Do you want to wear this cauldron?"

The boy grinned at her. "Just teasin'," he said.

"Good thing you're my friend, or I'd hit you for that! With the cauldron!"

"Och, yer just so lady-like, aren't ye?"

"That's it, Mister! you are goin' down!" Scrambling to her feet, Dawn lunged at him, laughing, Duncan scrambling backwards across the floor, howling in dismay as he was tackled by the shrieking Dawn.

Anyone who passed the toilets that afternoon and heard the anguished howls from within would have assumed that Moaning Myrtle was doing her duty of haunting them, but they would have been far from right.

***

Her chin propped on her hand, eyes gazing blankly at the wall on the other side of the classroom, Willow Weasley was boredly banishing pillows across the room and into the pile building there.

She had been moved up to an older class for charms after Christmas and was trying to do the spells she was meant to, but with so much going on in her mind, from the impending threat of Glory to her lover, resorting to her own mode of magic was so much easier.

Muttering the spells and making the appropriate swish-and-flicks, she was using only the power of her mind to do the banishing, the effort required to control her wand too much to focus on.

There was way too much happening in the school.

Buffy was majorly wigged by Glory and the thought of an army and since Buffy was worrying, that meant that Giles was freaking as well but in his calm and very British way, which meant that the calm centre of their group was shaken.

After all, fighting Glory was one thing.

Fighting Glory as well as an army of miscellaneous hell beasts and wizards was another thing completely.

Part of her wished that she could be more help. Her rage towards the Hell Goddess bubbled up, her fury that the blonde bitch would even think about hurting or scaring Buffy or Dawnie making her shake with anger.

The wood of her wand burned against the palm of her hand and she grit her teeth, the thought of showing Glory just what she felt flooding her mind.

No one hurt her friends and got away with it!

No one upset Buffy, as long as she had anything to say about it!

A shriek of fright made her start and she jolted out of the fantasy, looking around to see who had screamed.

Every eye was on her and she was startled to see Professor Flitwick in between her and the pupils, staring at her. His arms were spread wide, as if he were protecting the other students, his wand in his hand.

"What's up?" she inquired, feeling genuinely puzzled, her anger fading a little.

"You... you were not aware that you were... using your power?"

"Using my power? You mean my wandy power for banishing stuff?" Worried that she had been caught out, she held up her wand anxiously. "See! Got my wand all here and magic and making things banished!"

She waved it in the direction of the pillows, which promptly exploded, showing the room with feathers.

"Um... oops?"

"Out, now," Flitwick ordered the class, his voice crisp.

Amid frightened murmurs, the class hastily grabbed their bags and fled, leaving the red-haired witch to face the Charms Professor.

"Miss Weasley..."

"Um... okay, I was cheating and using mind powery things to move the pillows..."

Flitwick raised a small hand to silence her. "That isn't what frightened your fellow students," he said quietly. He offered her a small handkerchief, which she stared at in confusion. "You're bleeding, Miss Weasley."

"Bleeding?"

"Your nose," he replied. Willow raised a shaking hand and found an ooze of blood trickling from her left nostril. Taking the handkerchief, she pinched her nose, bewildered. "And, only a few moments ago, your eyes were... well... rather black."

"My eyes? Black? Nuh-uh! My eyes are green!"

"I am aware of this, Miss Weasley," he said gently, reaching up to pat her hand. "But for several moments, they were - in fact - black. You also appeared to have summoned some kind of air vortex, or at least a slight breeze to centre around you."

"I-I-I don't get it..."

"Perhaps something has been troubling you enough for more powerful emotions to manifest themselves in you?"

Willow frowned. "Well, I have been... kinda angry at Glory for this whole mess she got us in... and I was thinking about her a few minutes ago... and I did feel kinda mad at her, being a hellgoddessy ho..."

"I would say that would certainly be a positive trigger for a reaction such as the one you showed."

"You mean when I get all cranky, I get scary-looking?"

"I'm not entirely sure," her teacher replied pensively. "But you haven't been able to focus a lot recently. Perhaps you should rest and perhaps spend some time with a loved one, to distract you from this... dark power that is troubling you."

"And not come to classes anymore?"

Flitwick gave her an apologetic look. "Miss Weasley, you must have your anger under your control, as well as actually being focussed when you are present in the class. Using your own abilities, instead of those taught to you..."

"Is cheating," she finished with a sigh, running a hand wearily over her face. "I'll... I think I need to talk to Hermione... she's the one who can help me calm down."

Flitwick patted her hand again. "Take heart, Miss Weasley, you aren't the only one to be angered by this creature."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who went all creepy-eyed, aren't I?" she replied a little unsteadily, getting to her feet and gathering her wand and bags up. "I'm sorry about the pillows."

"Don't worry, Miss Weasley," Flitwick accompanied her to the door and gave her a sympathetic smile. "You just be sure to recover yourself. I would hate to lose such an adept student."

Willow managed to return the smile weakly. "Thanks."

***

Aragog's huge body heaved, dry branches crackling beneath his immense weight. "I would greatly liked to have met the chosen lifemate of the young one," he said, his voice the thunder murmur that Xander had become familiar with.

"Um.. well, it's nice to... uh... meet you," Cordelia said with the false brightness she performed so well, the sight of the giant spider making her feel a little uneasy, more so since she knew he could squash her with one stamp of a giant leg.

The surroundings weren't exactly comforting either, immense dark trees with twisted and gnarled branches extending skywards, so thick that the sunlight barely permeated the place that the spiders called their 'hollow'.

Cobwebs, silvery in the faint light that had managed to ease it's way into the depths of the hollow, laced between the roots and branches, covering everything in an eerie looking, shimmering veil that still glittered with traces of the morning dew.

In some ways, it was kind of magical to look at, all the webs gleaming with a corona of silver-white, but - of course - the presence of around a hundred spiders of various shapes, sizes and colours was closer to the unnerving than the pretty.

"You sound similar in voice to the young one," the spider noted.

"Um... I do?"

"Your intonation is of similar origins."

"Oh! Right! We're both American!"

Aragog's enormous pincers clicked together. "American? Young one, you stated you were human..."

Xander couldn't help grinning. "America is the land that we come from, Aragog," he answered, squeezing Cordelia's fingers reassuringly. "That's why we sound the same and call ourselves Americans."

"Hmm," the spider shifted slightly, a log splintering beneath his body. "Humans are strange beings. You are all of the same shape and form and yet, you deny that you are all one species, with your names taken from your lands of origin."

"I guess so," Xander agreed. "Don't you take names of the place you come from?"

Aragog's massive head swivelled from side to side. "As long as we have the ability to recognise our kin, we take no importance from origins."

"Xander," Cordelia grabbed his arm.

"Cor...?"

He barely had time to say that, when Cordelia's body jerked from an unseen blow and she stumbled, almost falling. Catching her quickly, the dark-haired youth knelt quickly, cradling her.

"Blond guy... he... he's in pain... skanky blonde woman..." Her voice was shaking, staggered, her hands jerking up to twist into her dark hair. Her fingertips pressed hard against her temples and she screamed in agony.

"Cordy!" The Seer went limp in his arms. Xander shook her gently. "Cor...?"

"Young one?"

"Aragog, I need to get Cordy back to the school! She had a vision!"

A deep booming sound issued from Aragog and there was the frantic rattle of spider legs over logs, a massive spider the size of a Shire horse bounding towards them over the logs and branch-strewn ground.

"Baradol will see you there," Aragog said, extending one of his enormous legs for Xander to use as a lever to lift Cordelia up onto the spider's broad back. Swinging up behind her, he held onto her tightly. "Take care of her, young one."

"I will," Xander said grimly, holding onto both her and the spider tightly, as the spider broke into a rapid gallop towards the edge of the forest and, from there, up towards the school.

***

Sprawled on the furry hearth rug in front of the fire, Glory swung her legs back and forth over her back, studying the moving pictures in the wizard catalogues, witches and wizards strutting around, looking glamorous.

The light oozing in through the tall windows mingled with the flickering golden glow of the flames to light the page she was studying, the heat taking the edge off the wintery chill that still lingered in the manor.

Clad in one of Luce's shirts and not much else, her hair in perfect disarray around her face, she didn't even acknowledge the presence of her lover's wife and son, sitting at the table at the far end of the drawing room.

She knew they were there, the hatred radiating out from the boy palpable, but - until Luce got back - they weren't important enough to garner her attention.

The tension in the room was delicious.

Luce's wife was smart enough not to anger her or even dare to speak to her, for fear of being struck, but the son hadn't learned his lesson and had rapidly been growing more and more annoying.

He wanted to do something, now, she knew.

She also knew that Luce didn't mind what happened to his disrespectful little brat, as long as the boy was left alive.

Rolling onto her back, she glanced at them through slitted eyes and was amused to notice that the boy was glowering at her, while his mother appeared to be trying to look engrossed in the book she was pretending to read.

"Like what you see, puddin'?" she purred, rising to her feet and stretching, the shirt rising up her body.

The boy started to rise, but his mother laid a hand on his in caution. "Mother..."

"Draco, don't."

Shaking his mother's hand off, he glared at the Hell Goddess. "Why don't you go somewhere else and leave our family alone?"

"When it's so much fun seein' you all hot and bothered, sweets?" Glory grinned at him, showing all her teeth, but without humour. Her eyes were cold and deadly. "I don't think so."

Grey eyes - so like Luce's - narrowed to slits. "You don't belong here."

"Damn right, little boy," she replied, raising a hand to casually tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I belong in another dimension, where the Hellfires are burnin' and where people call me by my rightful title."

"And what would that be?"

Glory smiled thinly. "That would be Goddess, Junior."

He laughed, a snort of derisive disdain. "You really are completely mad!"

"Only when I need a top up, baby," she replied with a cool smirk. "And if you don't watch your step..."

"You'll what? Kill me?"

"Hardly, baby," Glory cooed, pacing towards him with the controlled, menacing tread of a predator. "I'll suck your brain as dry as a bone and enjoy every second of seein' you squirm and wriggle on the floor like a worm at my feet."

"You don't scare me."

"Draco," the wife implored, standing up.

"Trouble, my dear?"

Glancing at the doorway, where Luce was standing, Glory smiled at him. "Not at all, baby," she replied. "I'm just thinkin' about teachin' your boy to respect the divinity a lil bitty more."

"Narcissa, honestly, one would think you would raise our son with more manners and common sense," her husband sighed, as he approached Glory, sliding an arm loosely around her waist and smirking at his son.

The hurt in the blonde woman's eyes was palpable. Standing, she looked away. "I think I will go to my quarters," she said in a shaking voice.

"You bastard," the boy hissed at his father. "You... you consort with this... whore! You insult mother!"

"Draco, I would suggest that you hold your tongue."

"No! I've held my tongue long enough, father! How could you? Mother cares for you and you still go and form an allegiance with this American slut, who is quite obviously insane and you do so, right in front of my mother!"

"Draco," The wife stepped alongside him, grasping his arm. "It's all right." Her eyes were warily on Glory, who was grinning nastily at the boy. "Come with me..."

"No, mother! It has to be said!"

"Quite so, my boy," Luce said, his smile snake-like and chilling. "My dear," The words were directed at Glory, who was grinning maniacally. "Would you say that Draco needs to be disciplined?"

"No!" The wife stepped in front of her son. "Don't! Please!"

Glory glanced at Luce, who smiled and nodded.

With a casual backhand that caught the blonde witch across one side of her face, she sent Narcissa flying across the room, crashing against the one of the stone columns that lined the walls.

"You bitch!" The youth threw a blow at her, which Glory easily caught, her hand contracting around his fist. The bones crunched and he screamed, a wild ringing shriek of pain, blood rippling between her fingers.

"No!" the witch moaned, struggling onto her hands and knees, blood running from a wound to her temple. "No, please... use me... leave him... please..."

"Luce, babe, your wife's being kinda distracting..." Luce nodded, crossing the room to his wife, kneeling behind her and locking an arm around her arms and chest, his other hand clamping over her mouth. "Thanks, sweets."

Whimpering, barely conscious, the wife tried to struggle against her husband's tighter grip.

"And now, puddin'," Glory smiled at Draco, who looked grey with pain, his eyes glassy and he was choking on sobs. Her free hand rose, stroking his hair back from his temple. "Lemme see what you have inside your head...."

Draco's sobs of pain rose to a scream as her fingertips thrust into his skull, light radiating out around them. Glory's other hand snapped up and pushed through his skull, smearing his own blood all over his face.

The blonde witch's muffled scream of anguish barely even registered, as Glory drained the powerful youth of everything he had inside.

"Oh don't worry, Narcissa," her husband murmured in her ear, tightening his bruising grip on her. "He'll still be able to sire another Heir for the family, even if he is even more brainless than he is now."

Tears poured down her face, as she was forced to watch the Hell Goddess drain the sanity from her son.

***

Hefting her bag off her shoulder, Hermione straightened and stretched with a groan, her shoulder and back aching from the weight of all the books and scrolls contained in the leather satchel.

She had just finished teaching for the day and had returned to the room, to freshen up and change for the evening, but as soon as she kicked her shoes off and stepped into the room properly, she realised something was wrong.

Sitting in the middle of the mattress of the King-sized four-poster that had replaced their separate beds, Willow was out of her uniform, wearing jeans and fuzzy yellow and orange woolly jumper, her expression miserable.

A rose was hovering in front of her and it was slowly revolving.

"Willow?"

Green eyes rose to her. "Hey," she murmured.

"Are you all right?"

"Me? I'm all fine and dandy," Willow smiled, but it lacked her usual enthusiasm.

"Willow..."

"Okay, maybe not so much with the fine..." the red head admitted reluctantly, taking the rose out of the air. "Or the dandy, for that matter... my power went all screwy in charms and my eyes went all freaky deaky and black!"

"Black?" Crossing the room in several steps, Hermione sat down on the bed beside her lover and lifted Willow's face to her, scrutinising her. "Well, they don't look black now... are you sure?"

"Uh-huh," Willow said uncomfortably, averting her gaze. "The charms class freaked and Flitwick told me that maybe me being angry was making more powerful things happen to me without realising..."

"So he told you to leave the class?"

"He... he kinda told me I needed to wind down a bit. That I needed to get some good vibes in me, so I don't get real angry again..."

"Good vibes?" Hermione lifted Willow's chin again, her thumb brushing along Willow's lower lip. "Would I be able to help you with that little problem?"

The red head's lips rose a little. "I-I did have somethin' I wanted to ask you if you would do and," She raised a hand to stave off the impending questions. "I know you're not big on the wandless magic, but Flitwick said I need to work on my focus and you always get me all focussed up."

"What is it?"

"It's a kinda bonding spell..." Willow's cheeks flushed prettily. "I wanna show you how much you mean to me. This spell lets you feel your lover's emotions and how much they feel for you... it's kinda difficult magic, but it's good for us... like meditation, only..."

"Only?"

Willow blushed even darker. "It's kinda... sexy and stuff..."

"All right, you've convinced me," Hermione said with a broad grin. "Where do you want me?"

Patting the spot just beside her on the bed, Willow nibbled her lip, as she arranged them both, so they were sitting hip-to-thigh, facing one another. Willow's right hip was resting against the middle of Hermione's right thigh and vice versa.

"What now?"

"There's a joint incantation, a bit like a chant-mantra-thingie," Willow explained, groping through a pile of notes that had been lying on the bed beside her, withdrawing one before depositing the rest on the floor beside the bed. "We invoke it and then... stuff, should happen."

Hermione nodded. "Doesn't sound too difficult," she said, leaning forward to look down at the parchment in Willow's hands, one of her hand lying lightly on Willow's thigh. "Do we chant together or individually?"

"We take an alternate line each. It's only four lines, so no big... you wanna start?"

Her eyes skimming the lines, Hermione smiled. "I think I can manage that. Is there any way that we would specifically have to do this? I'm not very familiar with the routines of wandless powers."

Raising her right hand, Willow lifted Hermione's hand with her other one and placed her lover's palm against hers. "We have to be in continual contact for it to work. No matter what happens, you can't let go..."

"Why?"

Willow's expression turned mischievous. "You'll miss out on the best part."

"Shall we start, then? I'm rather curious now."

Wetting her lips, Willow nodded. "You first."

Hermione drew a breath, then whispered the first line of the incantation. Willow said the second line, both of them trembling slightly as the power began to manifest around them both.

It took great effort on Hermione's part to stammer her way through the second line of the spell, the emotions already building in her to an intensity that was making her giddy with pleasure.

The moment that the last words left Willow's lips, both witches gasped, their fingers interlocking as the emotional boundaries between them were lowered and pure, undiluted love spilled between them.

Unfamiliar with the sheer force of the magic passing between them, Hermione was the first to fall back against the mattress, pupils dilated, her breath escaping in shaking pants, her face flushed.

Moments later, Willow flopped back, boneless and breathless.

Their fingers still intertwined, Hermione felt immensely proud of herself when she managed to twitch the tips in a gesture that she was still, in fact, conscious.

"Wow..." was all she seemed capable of saying.

Willow smiled weakly. "Ditto..."

***

Bloodshot brown eyes wearily opened.

While uncertain where she was, the American Seer could tell that she was lying in a warm, soft bed, on top of the blankets. The room was filled with warm afternoon light and the ceiling was high above her.

"Hey sweetie," A green face swam into Cordelia's line of sight. "How you feelin'?"

Trying to smile weakly, the Seer swallowed hard and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue before answering, "My head..." One hand rose and touched her temple. "It felt like someone... something had been pushed into my head..."

"It was," Xander's voice said, shaking. One of his hands squeezed her other one, but couldn't find the energy to turn her head to look at him. "Glory... she drained someone else... word just came in that another victim just arrived at the wizard hospital. Giles and the Head Teacher-guy went to see what happened."

"Oh God..." she whispered, tears burning in her eyes. "I... I shoulda..."

The bed shifted as Xander at down beside her, to her left. "Are you okay, Cordy?"

"I should have been here... I should have been able to tell everyone right away... I... what if I was meant to tell the person who was meant to save them?" Her eyes bored into Xander's. "What if I'm failing as a Seer?"

"That'll never happen, Cordy," Xander held her shaking hands between his. "You couldn't have saved this guy. Word came in just after we got you back here and we don't even know where Glory is."

Cordelia closed her eyes. "I... why him? If there wasn't any chance that we could do anything...?"

"On the good side, sweetie," Lorne said gently. "At least you know that nothin' bad is happenin' in the school, if your vision is tellin' you about things that are goin' on outside. That has to be reassuring, right? We know Glory isn't here..."

"But that guy..."

"Cordy, if he's the worst thing happening in this part of the world, I think its kinda a good thing that he wasn't someone from the school," Xander said seriously. "I know it sounds mean to say it, but better them than us."

Reluctantly nodding, Cordelia struggled to sit up, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I hate it," she whispered, as Xander wrapped her up in his arms. "I-I see this stuff and I can't help... I hate it..."

"I know, baby," he murmured, stroking her tangled hair. "I know."

***

Walking through the corridors of St. Mungo's, Giles couldn't help feeling unnerved at the feel of the place. From somewhere in the depths of the hospital, he could hear the screams of some of the insane residents.

The whole place resembled the old-fashioned Victorian hospitals that used to be shown in television programmes, the bitter smell of disinfectant making his nostrils burn, the sterile whiteness chilling.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as Dumbledore turned right, into the ward where Glory's victims had been sequestered, most of them bound on the beds by magic, to prevent them from wandering off.

At the far end of the room, a single figure was sitting on a bed, next to a mumbling individual, the very person they had come to see, and as they approached, Giles felt a jolt of familiarity go through him.

"Narcissa?"

The blonde-haired witch was tenderly stroking the cheek of the young man who was lying on the bed, tears shining on her face. There was a nasty cut visible on her right temple and blood still caked her brow.

"Mrs Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore said softly, when they were less than three paces from the bed.

Turning, Narcissa Malfoy looked up at them. "Oh... you..." Her eyes moved past him to Giles. "R-Rupert? What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as Albus, I'm afraid, Narcissa," he replied, studying the woman he had known briefly at Hogwarts. She had been a few years below them and had been one of the Ravenclaw students that Ginger tutored. "This is your son?"

"My only child," she replied sadly, looking back at the boy. He was mumbling, his eyes darting this way and that. "He... Lucius let that bitch do this to him," the venom coating her words was acidic.

"Lucius let her?" Dumbledore echoed in shock. "His own son?"

Narcissa's beautiful face tightened in distaste. "He has been having an affair with that American... thing for months now," she replied. "I-I knew she did things to drive people insane, but I assumed it was torture..."

"Lucius has been having an affair with Glory? Dear God..."

"I hoped he wouldn't get bored with me like everyone said, but he did... I don't understand why it had to be a lunatic like that..."

Giles and Dumbledore exchanged looks.

"Narcissa," Dumbledore said softly. "Glory is no ordinary woman. She is, in fact, a Goddess from a Hell dimension and we believe that Lucius is aiding her in her quest to return to her own world."

"You mean she wasn't joking? No wonder Lucius found her appealing."

There was a moment of silence, then Giles spoke.

"Narcissa, I know this may not be a good time to broach the subject, but your son has been damaged by her. She's gathering an army and we are building a force to stand against her. Would you be willing to stand with us?"

Narcissa stroked her son's white cheek. He shuddered at the touch, whimpering and mumbling incoherently. Sighing, she shook her head and looked up at them. "I can't join you," she said quietly. "Lucius is my husband and I must stay with him."

"He betrayed you and your son!"

"I know," she said quietly. "But he is still my husband and commands my loyalty."

Giles' expression gave way to one of disbelief. "How can you return to him after what he has done to your son?" he demanded angrily, grabbing her shoulder. "We need your help... the information you can provide..."

"Rupert," Albus touched his shoulder, his expression stern. "I believe that Narcissa has her own reasons for making this decision." Giles didn't look entirely satisfied, but nodded. "Narcissa, you know that - should you require sanctuary or aid - the school is always open to you."

The witch nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

"Rupert, perhaps the mediwitches can provide us with some information."

With a last look at Narcissa, who ignored him in favour of her babbling son, Giles exhaled a sharp huff of air, then stalked after the Head Master, agitation still etched on his face.

***

"So you feeling calmer?"

Willow nodded at the Slayer, smiling a little. "Yeah. A whole lot," she replied with an affectionate look at her girlfriend. "Hermione made me feel better."

"In a way that I never imagined possible," Hermione agreed dryly, a hand resting on her lover's thigh, where they were was sitting on the low balustrade at the bottom of the stairs that led onto the grounds.

The trio were waiting for the delivery by portkey from America, the defences ready to drop at any second. The sun had just set over the horizon, the sky darkening, and they were expecting at least one new arrival at any moment.

Buffy shook her head. "You guys are terrible," she said, chuckling, while twirling an axe in her hands. "I thought Xander and Cordy being all with the smoochies was wiggy, but you two with the magic smoocies..."

"Jealous?" Willow grinned.

"Of you guys? Puh-lease!" Green and brown eyes looked at her skeptically and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, yeah, maybe a little. It's been a while since I had any smoochies of any kind."

"How long?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Almost a... hey! I'm not telling you that!" Buffy exclaimed, going more than a little pink at the memory of her last smoochies.

"Almost got her," Willow laughed, squeezing Hermione's hand. "And Buffy, you really have to find someone for the smoochie-making! It's not good that you're all on your own and the rest of us are all snuggly!"

"You don't need to tell me that," Buffy agreed dryly. "But I don't have time to deal with the whole issue of someone special at the moment. I mean, hello! Impending war, death and disaster..."

Resting her head on Willow's shoulder, Hermione hmm'd for a few moments. "I suppose we could arrange for you to have a nice, one-night-stand with Sirius before we all go out and prepare to die..."

"Hermione!"

"What? I can't have you fighting with all that pent up sexual tension. You might be.. well... rather... tense."

"Does she have a way with words or what?" Willow snickered, her cheek resting against the top of Hermione's head.

"No with the snuggles with Sirius!" Buffy said emphatically, wagging a finger at both of them in warning. "I mean, yeah, he's a nice guy and everything, but he's not my kind of guy."

"You mean in the fact that he's uberhot..."

"And rather sexy in his underwear..."

"You saw Sirius' underwear?"

"Um... I was staying with Harry one summer..."

"Guys! I don't care how hot you think he is! I'm not gonna have a thing with a guy who can become a great big freaky dog whenever he wants to!"

Willow and Hermione both stared at her, then seemed to go into a mutual visual place. "Oh... my... God..." Willow blurted out, her eyes widening. "I so did not need to think of that ever!"

"Seconded," Hermione agreed, her face twisted in a nauseous expression. "Thank you very much, Buffy. I'll never be able to look one of my friends in the eye again."

Buffy beamed at them. "I try," she said, whipping around sharply at a whoosh of air, axe raised.

A figure landed on the grass, panting and breathless.

Another whoosh sounded and two more people practically landed on top of the first.

"Good L-Lord..." one of them stammered, struggling to sit up.

"Whatta rush!" another said.

Approaching, Buffy looked down at the heap of tangled arms and legs lying on the grass in front of her. "Hey, Wesley..." she said to the topmost figure, who looked up, his glasses on a little skewed.

"B? What the hell just happened?" The bottom figure wriggled out from beneath the other two, staggering to her feet and looking around. Pale-faced and gaunt, the other Slayer blinked. "Where the hell is this?"

Buffy offered a stabilising hand, which the other Slayer accepted, swaying unsteadily on her feet. "Angel gave you the necklace?"

"Uh... yeah..."

"Just call it a bit of magic," Buffy said. "And you guys... Wesley... and...you."

"Gunn," the third person said, scrambling onto his feet. He was a tall, lean black man with a wary look in his eyes. "Charles Gunn. You must be that Slaygal that old Angel was sweet on."

"That'd be me," Buffy agreed. "Wesley, Faith, you know Willow," She nodded to the red-haired witch behind her. Willow waggled her fingers. "Charles, this is Will. And all of you, the brown-haired lunatic beside her is her girlfriend, Hermione."

"Good goin' Red," Faith said, with a grin. "Got quite a package there. Natural glow about ya both too..."

Hermione beamed, while Willow went scarlet. "Thank you," the brown-haired witch said. "And," she motioned up towards the castle, the three new arrivals gaping up at it in astonishment. "Welcome to Hogwarts."


Chapter 52: The Good, The Bad and The Hairy

A few days had passed since the new trio had arrived from America, the two men given rooms fairly close to Professor Summers, which was close enough to the main area of the school, yet out of the way enough not to draw too much attention.

Faith, though, had nervously asked Dumbledore if she could be in the same room as Buffy and Dawn, for self-assuring reasons, as well as to be there, in case anything should happen.

He had agreed and Buffy had accepted that it was probably the safest idea, the room being expanded to connect with the vacant neighbouring one, providing a bedroom that could have rivalled in size the entire Summers’ house in Sunnydale.

Faith had stood by, staring in astonishment as the room simply seemed to grow in front of their eyes. Wesley and Gunn looked equally impressed when they were told what had happened, although both looked like they thought Faith still had a screw loose somewhere.

All three of the new arrivals had been utterly awed by the school and Buffy had been forced to drag them into one of the most boring rooms, to stop them staring, in order to make them pay attention, so she could explain what was going on in detail.

Back in Los Angeles, Angel had given them briefest of overviews and all of them had agreed to help, since the fate of the world rested on the situation. He, meanwhile, had gone to hunt some other allies down, leaving his people in her care.

They all wanted to help in the fight to save the world.

All right, Gunn claimed he had agreed because he was curious about the land that ‘English’ came from, to which Wesley had shaken his head and reminded the younger man that they were in Scotland, not England, and that mixing the two up would not go down well with the natives.

"I can’t believe we want you guys on our side," Buffy had said, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

Faith had just laughed at them both. "You know boys, B," she had said with a knowing look in the direction of the blonde Slayer. "If it ain’t about the screwin’, it’s about the fightin’. Come to think of it, you got weapons here?"

"We have a few, but I think that Professor Flitwick has offered to take you down to Diagon Alley, to the stores there. They have some specialist magical weapons stores and if you ask carefully..."

"We might be able to dig up some dirt on this blond bad boy of yours, right?"

It had been agreed that that was the plan.

As soon as the trio had settled in, getting familiar with the school, while trying to remain unnoticed for the most part, Flitwick had announced that he had booked a day off to take them shopping for suitable attire as well as weapons.

Unfortunately, he decided to cheerfully announce it to the High table at the top of his voice, during the evening meal, and the moment he mentioned ‘attire’, Buffy, Giles, Lorne and Hermione had choked on their pumpkin juice.

After all, Flitwick was the Professor known for the most eccentric wardrobe after the Head Master.

In the middle of the High Table, Dumbledore seemed to be taking a long time to dab at his mouth with a napkin, his eyes crinkled with amusement, as the quartet at the far end tried to look like they hadn’t just sprayed thick orange juice all over the table.

All of them had agreed it best that they warn Wesley, Gunn and Faith about the tiny teacher’s intentions.

It had reduced the dark Slayer to tears of hysterical laughter, when she was told that the teacher who wanted to take them clothes shopping liked codpieces and thought that Snape had a nice ass.

Faith had been hugely amused by Snape, when they had first met, on the evening of her arrival. Shortly after the pupils had returned to their dormitories, the trio were introduced to the full staff body.

He had glared at both Slayers when Buffy introduced him as ‘Snapey, sweetest guy you’re ever gonna meet’, which had made Faith smirk knowingly at him. When she had commented on his ‘salty goodness’ factor and ‘lovin’ them tall, dark and glarin’’, he had made an incoherent sound in his throat and practically fled.

After the giggle-fit had passed, Buffy had laughingly chastised the other Slayer, who - while working for redemption for her crimes as a rogue Slayer - was still as open and blunt as she ever had been.

Although things were still tense between them, they were getting along and that was definitely something. Buffy even came to see the group off, as they waited to Portkey out, to London.

"Don’t get in trouble," Buffy said sternly, standing on the lawn with Faith, while Flitwick was happily explaining the way a portkey worked to the fascinated Wesley and curious Gunn.

The other Slayer grinned at her, although it was hesitant. "You know me, B."

"Exactly," The blonde gave her a look, then smiled a little. "Take care, okay? And if you end up in a way creepy place called Knockturn Alley, don’t stay there any longer than you have to. Flitwick says that they have some real good weapons stores there, but it’s not the kinda place you wanna spend too much time in. Stay with him and don’t lose the guys there either."

"Bad place?"

"Worst."

"Gotcha."

Squeezing the brunette’s shoulder gratefully, Buffy didn’t miss the surprised look on Faith’s face at the gesture. "It’s good to have you back with us, Faith," she said honestly. "We need you here."

"Hey, always glad to be useful," Faith replied with bravado, although her hesitant smile became a little more confident. "You keep them safe till we get back, right? I mean, I do kinda wanna have something left to protect..."

"I always do."

"Miss... er... Faith!" Flitwick called, waving her towards them. "You had best join us down here! We shall be departing in a moment!"

Faith nodded. "I’ll see ya later, B, and I’ll try and pick up somethin’ nice for ya... a sword or somethin’..."

"Have fun."

The brunette jogged across the lawn to where Flitwick and the two other men were waiting, a plate held between them. Buffy stayed long enough to watch them vanish, then turned and walked back up to the castle.

***

"Ex-excuse me?"

Lazing on her belly on the bed, clad in a sheer satin nightshirt, the sheets rumpled around her, Glory looked up from the television - one of Luce’s treats to her - to see Luce’s wife standing in the doorway, glad in a green blouse and jet black skirt.

"Luce ain’t here, sweets," she said.

"I-I know," the woman replied. Hardly surprising that she was nervous, considering she had witnessed her son have his sanity sucked out of him only a week earlier by the very person lying on the bed. "I wanted to speak to you."

Glory’s brow wrinkled in confusion and she raised herself on her elbows to look at the woman. "To me?" she inquired. "You wanna speak... to me?"

"If... I mean, I don’t want to trouble you."

Sitting up fully, Glory gestured her in. "Sure, sweets! Always glad to have another girl to talk to!" she exclaimed cheerfully, smoothing a patch on the bed. "C’mon! You come on in and talk to Glory."

"You won’t... you know... drain my sanity?"

Glory made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Not you, baby," she said. "That’s one thing that cutie pie husband of yours made me promise. No brain suckage on the wife, even if I think I’m gonna go crazy. Still cares for ya, somewhere deep down."

The wife approached the bed and hesitantly sat on the edge. "Why bother with him?"

"With Luce?"

"Yes. I mean, there are many more wizards who are more powerful... why him?"

Glory shrugged, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of the woman’s hair behind her ear. Luce’s wife visibly trembled, which Glory ignored. "He came to me," she said. "Said he wanted to help... wanted to get back at the Slayer for somethin’."

"The Slayer humiliated Draco," the woman’s voice shook a little as she said it. "I don’t think Lucius appreciated it."

Glory studied the woman. "Still kinda upset about your boy, huh?"

"He was my son."

"Didn’t have too many brains, did he?" Glory couldn’t help snickering at the memory of the look on the boy’s face. "Told him not to piss off a Hell Goddess and the little bastard did it. Served him right."

"Had he known what you were..."

"I told him, didn’t I? I warned him not to bug me, because when I get cranky, I’m really not nice. No one gets more than that from me and he pushed his luck and all the thoughts in his pretty little head zig-zagged away."

"I suppose," the woman said, her eyes down.

Glory gazed at her, then grinned. "You know what I feel like doin’, puddin’?"

"Wh-what’s that?"

Bouncing off the bed, the Goddess pushed her unruly hair back from her face and stretched. "I feel like gettin’ all dressed up, goin’ for a nice walk, maybe killin’ a few bunnies, then leave Ben in the middle of the countryside in a skirt. He hates that!"

"Ben?" The wife didn’t lift her head. There was a bored note in her voice, but it was undercut a tone that suggested she was trying to hide her curiousity. "Is... is he that friend of yours?"

Glory apparently didn’t notice it, though and laughed. "Ben? A friend? Hon, if I had a choice, I woulda stomped on that bug a long time ago."

"Who is he?"

"He’s me, baby," The blonde Goddess strode over to a wardrobe and hauled it open, not noticing Narcissa’s head snap up, astonishment in her eyes. "I live in him, he lives in me, it’s no big deal..." A thoughtful look crossed Glory’s face. "It does sound kinda ick when I think about it."

"He’s in you? How? I mean... it sounds rather odd..."

Leaning around the wardrobe door, Glory’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Why all the questions, cutie?"

"I-I-I just don’t understand..." the witch stammered, fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of her dark green blouse. "I mean, you look female to me... beautifully female if I may say so..."

"You may say so, sweetie," the Goddess replied, beaming at the witch. "And the Ben deal. It’s a whole deal where he’s the human host of my essence. He’s meant to be in control, but the lil prick just ain’t strong enough."

"Oh. You... you must be very powerful."

Glory pulled a face. "I’m way more powerful in my home dimension," she replied, withdrawing two dresses from the closet and looking them up and down. "Luce is helpin’ me find my key, so I can get home."

"Your key?"

"Again with the questions, cutie patootie. You wanna make Glory cranky?"

Narcissa smiled weakly. "I-I just want to know if I can help in some way."

"Sure you can," Glory replied with a broad smile. Holding up the two dresses, she asked, "If I’m goin’ for a roam, whaddya think? Blue or red?"

***

"Good morning, everyone."

Buffy Summers swept into the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, her pupils already in their seats and eagerly awaiting their teacher. She was the youngest member of staff and had gained much popularity because of it.

"Good morning, Professor Summers!" the chorused words of the third years drew a chuckle from her.

Walking between the two rows of desks, she smiled around at the faces that greeted her, she reached her desk and swung up to sit on the edge of it, carefully avoiding the handful of apples that were being left for her on a regular basis.

As she had done, since she had received them, she was wearing heavy, midnight blue, outer robes over her muggle clothing. It was still bitterly cold compared to the weather she had been used to in California, so the thick robes had seemed a good idea, even though she still had no idea how she had come by them.

Wintery sunlight was streaming on over the class, all of whom were poised with their quills ready to start writing.

While she saw it as a light-hearted way to start a lesson, it was still known that she often would begin a class with an anecdote and they were being collected up by the pupils to share and compare in their common rooms.

The stories were of demons and monsters and things that they hadn’t believed in until Professor Summers had told them stories about such wild and exotic creatures, and her experiences with them.

Many of the pupils were still in awe of the fact that she had faced such creatures, although none of them - except the studious Leon Mzimba, a Gryffindor first year and Duncan Cameron, her sister's friend - were aware that she was actually the ‘Slayer’, who was mentioned only as a myth in their textbooks.

"All right," Crossing her legs, she laid her right hand on the upper knee, leaning back a little on her left hand. "I’m going to start today by telling you about my first encounter with a vampire today, as we’re just about ready to start that part of the coursework. This is an area of speciality of mine, so Mr. Giles won’t be required until we come to the spells that you can use to destroy them."

A hand rose at the back of the class.

"Yes, Mark?" This was another reason she was liked. She used the first name, as opposed to surnames as so many of the teachers did.

"Professor, we...someone in your fifth year class...they said...they told us that you brought a vampire with you," A few muted whispers and nods rippled down the rows of desks. "Is it true?"

Buffy’s lips lifted in a smile. "Well, since they’ve ruined that surprise for me, yes, I do have a vampire with me," Several of the teens gasped. "He’s been implanted with a behavioural..." A frown crossed her face, trying to recall the technical term. "He has a muggle machine inside his head that stops him from hurting humans."

"But it wouldn't work in Hogwarts!"

A puzzled look crossed Buffy's face. "That's true..." she murmured, half to herself, a wondering look on her face, but she shook it off quickly and smiled at the class. Spike hadn't harmed any of them.

He wouldn't.

He was one of their group and his loyalty during the Drusilla incident had proved it.

"So, any more questions before we get started?"

"Will you be bringing him here, Professor?" another pupil demanded eagerly.

The Slayer nodded. "Not right now, though," she added, raising a hand to lull the sounds of excitement that had echoed off the high ceiling. "Now, I’m going to tell you about the first time I saw a vampire. You have to know how to recognise them and what kills them."

"When will you be bringing him?"

Buffy glanced at the pig-tailed brunette in the front row. "He’ll be coming to the class after I’ve given you a pop-test to make sure you know everything I have to teach you about vampires, which means you actually have to pay attention in this class."

A few muffled groans went up.

"That’s the deal," she laughed, pushing herself off the desk and onto her feet. "You show me you actually listen to something I say and I bring a vicious, blood-sucking fiend into the classroom," A chuckle escaped her. "You know, in any normal school, that would be seen as a punishment...but anyway. On to the lesson."

Immediately an attentive silence fell, every pupil looking like they were on the edge of their seats as she began to speak.

"The first time I ever saw a vampire, I had no idea what I was doing..."

***

"I’m startin’ to see what B meant about this place," Faith muttered to the tiny wizard in front of her, as they made their way down narrow, twisting passageways.

Flitwick gave her a sympathetic nod, but kept his attention on the path, in case they miss the shop, which - like every other building in the alley - was grimy to the point of being unrecognisable, windows so dirty that they could barely be seen through.

They had just entered Knockturn Alley, specifically looking for an extremely high-class weapons shop, which was deep in the heart of the grim and grimy corner of the wizarding world.

Even though the buildings were the same height as those in Diagon Alley - where they had been forced to drag Wesley and Gunn away from every store window, the two men like kids in a toy store - the sunlight didn’t seem to reach into the alleys.

In fact, above Knockturn Alley, it was almost as if there was a dark cloud blocking the daylight out, the filth and grime making Faith shudder. Her arms crossed over her chest, she rubbed her upper arms uncomfortably.

"You okay, kid?" Gunn asked in an undertone.

"Yeah," she replied, glancing around. "This place... it’s wicked freaky."

"Gotta say I got the same vibe there," he agreed, placing a callused hand on her bony shoulder, which served the dual purpose of making her feel a little safer and him a little less likely to get lost.

Wesley was bringing up the rear, a tense expression on his face. He had never had any contact with the wizarding world before, although he knew of its existence, and - even though he was new to it - he knew Knockturn Alley was not a good place to be.

It was good, he realised, that they had acquired wizard-style clothing before entering, as they were receiving enough suspicious stares. Had they been in so-called muggle clothing, he had no doubts that they would have received a lot more than dirty looks.

"Ah! Here we are!"

It appeared that all of them heaved a collective sigh of relief as Flitwick gesture to a doorway and motioned them in, out of the gloomy street, into an even gloomier shop interior, lit only by a scant scatter of candles on the vacant spots on the walls.

"Holy shit..." Faith whispered in awe, staring around.

Every panelled wall of the shop, which looked a lot bigger inside than out, was lined with weapons of all shapes and forms, from cutlasses to crossbows, every one of which looked like it was in top class condition.

"How may I be of assistance?"

A tall, gangly man with a few wisps of black hair ringing a shining crown had just emerged through the curtain separating the back of the shop from the front, brushing his frayed, dark grey robes down.

He had a jovial face, with a broad smile, but his eyes were cold, shrewd.

"We are actually looking for a rather large quantity of weaponry," Flitwick piped up, causing the shop owner to lean forward and peer over the counter in confusion. "Is this all your stock?"

"This?" the keeper glanced around the walls. "These items are the samples of the most popular items that we have readily available. There’s a lot more where all this came from, as well as rarer items, at a price."

"We’re actually looking for some weapons that might have some kind of mystical heritage," Wesley added carefully. "We are... collectors of certain kinds of weaponry, you might say."

The cold amber eyes studied him. "I have a few artefacts," he replied, with a casual gesture to the back of the shop, behind the drapes. "Would you care to see some? Of course, only if you are actually interested in purchase..."

"Look, buddy, we said we wanted to buy and we weren’t joking," Faith said, a touch of irritation in her voice. "Now would be good."

"Very well," With a gesture from the man’s wand, a section of the counter opened up to allow them to pass through.

Entering the back room, Gunn swore under his breath, Faith nodding in agreement as they stared around the room that was more like an immense cavern, the roof soaring nearly twenty feet above them, filled to overflowing with arms.

"Now," Another flick of the wand brought an elaborate chest down to them, landing neatly on the floor at Wesley’s feet. "Perhaps this would be of interest to you?"

The chest opened to reveal a massive hammer, which was about four feet in length from head to the tip of the handle. Writing was engraved on the head and as Wesley knelt to study it, Faith peered over his shoulder.

"Nice hammer," she commented. "Why’s’it back here?"

"It’s a rare piece, allegedly a troll hammer, taken when the troll was vanquished," the keeper replied. "Most trolls tend to use clubs, but on rare occasions, there is a brighter one among the species, although that isn’t really saying much, and they use a hammer such as this."

"It is a genuine troll hammer, an old one," Wesley agreed, raising his eyes from the runes. "It belonged to someone called Olaf the Strong."

"He’d have to be strong to lift this item," the man said. "It weighs far too much for a normal..." His words trailed off into silence and Faith bent and - with one hand - hoisted the hammer up, weighing it in her palm.

"How is it?" Gunn asked, trying not to grin at the stunned shop keeper’s expression.

Tossing it from hand to hand, the Slayer experimentally swung it. "Not bad," she admitted. "Good balance... even weight..." Turning large brown eyes on Wesley, she asked, "Can I have the nice shiny hammer, Wes?"

"Troll hammers are reputed to be powerful in their own right, so I suppose..."

"Wicked cool! Thanks, Wes!" Faith replaced the hammer in the chest. "I’m gonna have a look around."

The former Watcher nodded, he, Flitwick and the shop keeper moving off to look at some cabinets that were lining the wall, filled with various ceremonial swords, while Faith and Gunn wandered around the immense room.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when Faith yelled, summoning the Watcher.

"What is it?" he asked, as he approached.

An elaborately-styled knife was held up in front of his face, less than a hand’s span from the tip of his nose, so suddenly that he jumped back a step and almost landed on top of Flitwick, who squeaked in surprise.

"Oh, sorry!" The Slayer winced.

Wesley made a dismissive gesture with a shaking hand, although the wash of sweat that had suddenly appeared on his face suggested he was far from all right, no doubt recalling the last time he had seen the Slayer, before their somewhat awkward reunion at Hogwarts.

On the run, determined to get herself killed, she had tortured the former Watcher to a point that he did honestly believe her to be past redemption, only to see her break down in tears in a mutual vampire acquaintance’s arms a short while later.

Needless to say, the sight of her with any sharp implements near his face was enough to make him a little jumpy.

"I gotta say I’m likin’ this one," she said turning the knife over in her hand, running her fingertips along the blade. "It’s got good weight... nice feel to it... extension of the arm kinda thing... wicked beautiful too..."

Although not exactly one to admire weapons for their appearances, Wesley had to admit that the dagger was exquisitely made.

The ornately-sculpted handle seemed to wrap around the girl’s hand and wrist and it almost looked like the dagger was growing around the hand of the owner, delicate and deceptively fragile to look at.

Subtly, she also lifted up the tag which had ‘Reserved’ printed on it.

"May I?"

Faith handed him the blade and he studied it carefully, spotting very faintly engraved script running down the blade. "Ah! Ah!" he exclaimed excitedly, turning the blade into the light and nodding.

"Good ‘ah’ or bad...?" Faith inquired.

"That would be a good one," Gunn answered, grinning a little. "If it was bad, he woulda said ‘Oh... oh... oh dear...’."

"He still does that, huh?"

"All the time."

"You’re quite amusing," Wesley snorted. "I don’t think." Turning back to face them, he gestured to the writing on the blade. "This is exactly what we’ve been looking for," he said, his back to the shopkeeper, so the man couldn’t see the expression on his face. "It’s a sacrificial knife... often used in blood-letting rituals."

Faith and Gunn exchanged looks. Behind Wesley, Flitwick was doing his best to distract the shopkeeper, so they could look over the weapon.

"Blood-letting... as in the kind we’re lookin’ at?" Gunn asked.

"Precisely!"

Taking the blade back from Wesley, Faith studied it. "And why," she rhetorised. "Do you think someone would want an itty bitty thing like this? Could it be to... perform a blood-letting ritual thing?"

Wesley’s grim expression said it all.

"Hey! Buddy!" Waving the shopkeeper over, Faith held up the knife. "I want this."

"Ah! I’m afraid that particular weapon is not for sale."

Glancing at Wesley out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod, as if he had expected that response. "Why not?" she asked. "Whose gonna buy it? I got money and I can bet I can top their price."

"I-I-I’m afraid I can’t say."

Faith spun the knife in her hand in a way that made it more than obvious that she was familiar with such a weapon. "Can’t?" she asked. "Or won’t?"

"It’s an associate, but I’m afraid we have a strict customer confidentiality clause..."

"Wes, tell the nice man I want the knife," she said calmly, holding the blade close in front of her eyes. "I don’t care if someone else wants it. I want the pretty knife and I wanna know who else wanted it. Tell him what I do to people who don’t tell me what I wanna know."

"Faith..."

"Wes, you know what I can do with sharp things..."

Wesley exhaled a breath. "I would tell her, if I were you."

"You can’t do anything to me," the shopkeeper said, although the squeak in his voice made it clear that he was a mite scared. His bald spot was gleaming with sweat by the magical balls of light hovering like lamps by the ceiling.

"Wrong thing to say, buddy," Gunn winced, stepping backwards. "This little lady just got busted outta jail..."

Faith grinned and waggled her fingers at him.

"Wh-what for?"

"Usin’ a knife like this," she replied. She appeared confident, but there was a tone in her voice that said - to her three companions - she was far from calm. "Didn’t think that murder was that big a deal, really... but this real annoyin’ guy told me I couldn’t do anything to him..."

The shopkeeper back-stepped again, white in the face.

Faith’s smile could have been described as homicidal. "I’ll ask you nicely, again and then, I might start gettin’ cranky... who wanted this knife and what were they gonna use it for?"

***

His breath escaping in puffs of condensation, Hagrid heaved the sledge heaped with logs towards the castle. He knew he could have asked a teacher to use their wand, but he preferred it this way, making himself useful.

In the same way, back outside the cabin, Xander was chopping more wood the muggle way. He was distracting himself, while his girlfriend, Cordelia, was helping the demon Divination teacher for lessons on what visions really were.

Both of them liked to think they were doing something helpful in some small and non-magical way.

The house elves also preferred having him in particular bring the logs to their hidden store-pile, near the concealed entrance to the passages they used, which were spread through the whole school.

The ground was still icy, the powdery coating of frost crunching beneath his enormous black boots as he plodded towards the end of the building, where he knew that a house elf would be waiting.

They always knew when he would arrive.

Just as they always knew to have a large tankard of mulled mead to warm him up, before he headed back off across the grounds.

After he had made this delivery of the wood for the class and common room fires, he still had to do a check of the boundaries of the dark forest, because there had been whispers once again, via Aragog, that something was on the move there. Something that had been there for some time, but that was not native to the forest.

And, when Aragog made certain that he, Hagrid, knew about something, it was usually something dark.

It made the giant uneasy.

After all, the new Professor, Professor Summers, had arrived just when the whispers had started, and he couldn’t help thinking that she might have been brought is as a defence against them, even though she didn’t look strong enough to hit a flea.

However, when he had broached that subject with Professor Dumbledore, the last time Aragog had brought word to him, he had merely received a knowing, twinkling-eyed smile from the Head Master, as he was told that looks can be deceiving.

He was still grateful that he had his crossbow by his side, should he need it, though, comfortably swinging against his leg with every step that he took. A quiver of bolts were strapped to it, just in case.

Heaving the sled around the corner of the back of the castle, he smiled beneath his bear at the sight of Dobby standing at the hidden doorway, clad in a maroon sweater, a dark red tea-cosy pulled securely over his large, bat-like ears, his long, pencil-like nose red from the cold.

He was standing beside an oddly-coloured piece of wall, which stood as tall as he did, and probably the same width as it was in height, studying the bricks out of large, green, tennis-ball shaped eyes.

"Hullo, Dobby."

"Mr Hagrid sir!" He spun around in surprise and squeaked enthusiastically, "You is a little bit later than Dobby is expecting! But Dobby isn’t minding! Dobby is thinking that it is looking beautifully out here today!"

He reached out to the red brick wall beside him, which looked strangely out of place against the creamy stone of the rest of the wall. Tapping the middle brick twice, them running his fingers in a weaving pattern over the square of bricks, he stepped aside as the block of bricks turned into a square, copper hatch with a large, round handle in the middle of it.

"Thanks, Dobby," Hagrid grinned down at the house elf, who bowed appreciatively at the giant’s gratitude, and hauled the hatch open to reveal the chute, down which he started heaving the large blocks of wood, easily.

"If Dobby may ask, would you be liking a drink, Mr. Hagrid, sir?"

"If ye’ve got one, that would be crackin’, Dobby."

Again, the elf bowed. "Right away, Mr Hagrid sir!"

Hagrid was still lugging chunks of wood into the chute, when he heard a growl from a distance, his head coming up instantly, eyes flicking around. After all, if there was a dangerous creature anywhere hereabouts, he wanted one!

His beetle-black gaze turned towards the Dark Forest and he uttered a loud and very coarse word, as he saw two large, hairy creatures erupting from the bushes, running towards the school at full speed on all-fours.

"Mr Hagrid, Sir..." Dobby emerged, only to see Hagrid running as quickly as he could towards the main halls of the school, leaving the house elf standing on the step with a large mug of mead in his hands and a confused look on his face.

***

"Good job, girl!"

Faith directed a shaky smile up at Gunn, who had just sat down next to her, a plate stacked with steaming food in his hands. "Next time we play good cop bad cop, someone else has gotta play bad cop," she said, twisting her hands together. "I-I can’t do that again."

The quartet were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, in one of the booths in a corner, for some privacy, as they ate before returning to the school.

"You did remarkably well," Wesley added, reaching over the table and enclosing her icy hands with one of his. "I know you wished to put that element of your life behind you, but you helped us find information that might have otherwise eluded us."

"Yeah," Faith stared at her plate of stew, poking at a lump of carrot with her fork, a serious expression on her thin face. "And I’m sure Dawnie’s gonna be real pleased that we know when Glory and that blond son of a bitch are plannin’ on killin’ her."

Exhaling, Wesley squeezed her fingers again. "Faith, you have provided us with a time frame in which we can counteract their plans. Without your aid, we would be none the wiser."

"He’s right!" Flitwick squeaked. "We have been on our guard for months and now, we at least know when it will all be over by."

"I’m not gonna let them hurt Dawnie, as long as I can help it," the dark-haired Slayer said with grim determination, her increasing protectiveness for Buffy’s younger sister increasing by the day.

While she had not been under the spell that had introduced Dawn into the lives of her former friends, as soon as she came in contact with the teenager, memories started to develop rapidly, the spell placed by the monks a powerful one.

Faith had fitted in with Dawn’s memories, so it was simply a case of the spell mixing and matching memories, until they both matched up and Faith was, once more, like a second big sister to the girl.

"I’m sure Professor Summers will be glad of all of your assistance," Flitwick said brightly, offering a bag of jelly babies around. He had cajoled Wesley into leaving The Leaky Cauldron and buying some muggle sweets in a nearby shop.

Dumbledore was, after all, partial to them, and they could hardly go near muggle London without taking something back for him.

The suggestion of penis-shaped chocolates from Anya had been swept aside and a large bag of gummi bears were safely nestled in among the miniaturised armoury that they had tucked into a small box under the table.

"Think we got enough weapons, then?" Faith asked, accepting a jelly baby and popping it in her mouth, before returning her attention to the pile of savoury food in front of her.

"Lemme think about that one," Gunn said dryly. "You got four crossbows, one of ‘em King-size, that big old troll hammer thing, the knife you got so attached to, three normal swords, two magical swords, six axes... did I forget anything?"

Chewing a mouthful of meat and swallowing, Faith pointed her fork at him and added, "You forgot the canon."

Snapping his fingers, Gunn tutted. "Damn," he sighed. "Always forget the canon."

Faith rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help grinning.

***

"Usually the skin is very hard, so if you’re going to stake..."

Buffy’s lesson had been holding the attention of the class, all eyes flicking from her to the notes that were being made, until she stopped pacing across the front of the class, her eyes scanning around the room.

Slayer sense was tingling, which wasn’t a good thing.

"Prof..."

She raised her hand, silencing a question from one of the boys. Her brow creased, as she looked around the walls and windows of the room, then slowly lifted her gaze to the over-looking balcony, which none of the pupils were aware of.

It was there so that the Head Master could observe the pupils, without being seen, and without the pupils or teacher becoming uncomfortable.

Her lips parting in bewilderment, she stared up at the darkness behind the trellis that concealed the balcony, a pair of glittering eyes staring back at her, a heartbeat before something massive, black and hairy smashed through the elaborately carved trellis, sending stone showering all over the class, who shrieked as one.

"Under your desks! Everyone! NOW!" Buffy yelled, as the massive, furry creature landed heavily on the floor, rolling onto all fours, glittering black and red eyes fixed on the Slayer.

Tossing her long robes off, she flipped back over the desk, landing a kick on the creature’s face as it charged her. Jerking her drawer out, she grabbed a silvery sword, which had been a starting gift from Dumbledore, the blade about the same length from her shoulder to fingertips, the whole thing - handle included - crafted from a single solid piece of steel, shaped like a scimitar.

Swinging the drawer up under her assailant’s chin, smashing the beast’s head up with it and knocking it back several paces, the wood exploding, she swung the blade, the sheath sliding off, as she took up a defensive stance.

Jumping up onto the desk, she managed to duck another charge from the demon-like creature, grappling and crashing to the stone floor with it, her body fully on top of it, its claws lashing out at her.

"Just what I need!" she moaned, bringing a hefty book down on its head off one of the closest shelves. "A big bad dog to ruin the one class that’s going as planned..."

Buffy, while avoiding each swing of its huge paws, was trying to remember if she had seen anything like this before. The only thing that came close was a werewolf or a Hellhound and this thing was WAY bigger than either of those creatures.

Tossed across the room when the beast bucked up, the Slayer smashed - head first - into one of the shelves of books, the wood cracking like kindling as she dropped to the floor, books cascading around her.

"Professor!" one of the girls shrieked, the huge were-thing’s head swinging towards the pupil.

Scrambling to her feet, a hand rising to her face to touch the trail of blood that was trailing ticklishly from down one nostril, Buffy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Okay, fuzzy," she growled. "Now I’m mad."

Before the massive were-creature could reach the girl who had screamed out, it was tackled from behind and brought tumbling to the ground, Buffy’s hand grabbing its filthy matt of black-brown fur on the top of it’s skull and smashing its head against the floor.

It tossed her again, leaping around faster than she could scramble out of reach, and pinned her down on the floor, her right hand, the one holding onto the sword, pinned beneath a hairy limb.

The...thing’s long, wolf-like muzzle snapped at her, ragged, sharp teeth millimetres from her face, its breath smelling of rotting blood and decay. She could see shards of bone and scraps of blackened food caught between its fangs.

Thick ropes of stinking, yellowish drool splattering on her face, making her gag, her free hand gripping its throat, preventing it from ripping her face to shreds. Crushing a leg up, between her and it, she flexed the leg and sent the thing rolling.

The creature bellowed in fury and pain, as she was on her feet and landed on it’s back again, managing to lock an arm around it’s throat, jerking its head up with the intention of snapping it’s neck.

That was when she heard a scream of terror from the back of the class and her head snapped around to see another one of the creatures, much larger than the one she was battling and it was advancing on her students.

The beast beneath her made the most of her moment of distraction, jerking around and slashing at her upper arm with one clawed paw, ripping through the sleeve of her black sweater and making her hiss in pain.

It didn’t manage to dislodge her though.

Keeping a grip on it, she managed to twist her knife in her hand, under the beast’s thick throat, and - with all the force she could muster - slammed her weight down on the creature’s back, her knife thrusting up, through its throat, the tip almost striking her own chest as it emerged from the back of the beast’s neck.

Black blood sprayed over her hands and across the floor, but she didn’t waste time worrying about that as the attacker went limp and she scrambled to her feet in time to launch herself at the second one.

Landing fully on its back, one arm tight around its neck, she used what little weight she had to bring it crashing backwards to the floor, which unfortunately meant that it smashed down on her with its full weight.

"Lucian!" her voice was hoarse, but audible, the boy closest the door jerking upright from beneath the desk. "Get out! Get someone else! Another teacher! The rest of you, run! Get out! Now!"

With a jerk of her body, as the boy obeyed and fled, she sent the thing tumbling, but it rolled with the momentum, a curse of pain escaping the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor as its claws tore into her back.

Several pupils lingered by the door, gaping in awe, as she kicked the huge thing across the room, shattering a window with it's back, but too big to fall through the frame. She was strong. No normal person could be that strong...

Retrieving her blade from the other demon-thing rapidly, while the beast tried to regain its footing, the teacher flashed a frantic look towards the doorway, where the pupils were frozen, staring.

"What are you waiting for?" she bellowed. "RUN!"

***

Snape’s expression was black when the door of the dungeon crashed open, one of the third year Hufflepuff’s running into the room, where he was teaching first years, without as much as a by-your-leave.

The boy’s frantic eyes darted around the dimly-lit classroom, illuminated only by the pale green torches on the brackets on the black walls and the flickering flames beneath the cauldrons.

"Professor Snape?" he called out, breathless.

"Brimstone, what is the meaning of this?" Emerging from the darkness at the back of the room, he demanded, his voice an ugly snarl.

Panting, his face white and cast with a green hue from the torches, Lucian Brimstone pointed towards the door. "You’re closest, Sir...two monsters...Defence Against Dark Arts... Professor...fighting them...needs help..."

It took Snape a moment to register the words and by the time he understood, he was already running up the flight of stone stairs from the dungeon, throwing off his heavy outer robe, which kept tangling around his legs.

The Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom was three corridors away and two flights up from the dungeons, but he reached it in record time, passing the group of terrified pupils gathered together in the halls and stairs on his way.

Throwing the door open, his wand in hand, he felt the colour rush from his face at the sight of the tiny blonde Professor battling a roaring, hairy creature almost as large as, if not larger than Hagrid, which was rearing up on it’s hind legs.

Momentarily stunned, he watched her hefting a desk, as if it weighed nothing more than a twig, and hurling it halfway across the room at the beast, which lunged towards her, batting the desk aside, the force of it’s blow shattering the ancient wood.

If it struck her, it would crush her instantly...

His wand snapped up and he yelled out "Impedimenta!"

The thing froze and the Slayer slammed a long, broad blade up into its chest cavity, black ichor gushing down her upraised arms. A rattling screech, like the sound of a thousand nails scraping on a blackboard, escaped the creature's throat. Yanking the blade free, she took a shaky step backwards as the...thing - there was no other word for it - crumpled at her feet.

Snape stared around the classroom in shock. It looked like a battle had taken place, several of the desks shattered, a few of the chairs too. One of the bookshelves lay in splinters, books and sheets of parchment scattered everywhere, black fluid staining the walls and floor.

It took him a moment to get over the destruction and look at the single figure left standing in the chaos, swaying on her feet.

"Summers?"

Hazel eyes rose to him. There was blood on her face, tricking from her nose, one of her eyes and the right side of her face swollen. Her black trousers were soaked with the oil-like substance that served as the creature’s blood, her robes in tatters.

One hand was resting on the desk beside her, stabilising her, the other still loosely gripping the blade, her arms stained to the elbow with the same black goo, which was dripping from the blade and her hand in strands.

"Snapey..." her voice was hoarse. "Thanks."

Picking his way across the demolition sight, he stopped beside her, letting her use his arm as leverage to bring herself down to lean on the edge of the desk. She really did look like she was about to fall over.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" he asked, looking down at the two enormous bodies that were still oozing ichor all over the floor, amazed that she had managed to kill one, let alone both of them.

"Nope...they...they're bigger..." He glanced down at her, noticing that she was still staring at the things as well, her long-bladed knife slipping from her fingers and clattering on the stone floor. "I don’t like ‘em."

Something warm and wet brushed against the hand that was supporting her arm and he released his hold on her for a moment, bringing his hand around in front of him. It was stained red, blood glistening in the sunlight.

"Summers..." He stared at her. "You’re bleeding."

She looked at his hand, the corners of her lips rising, although she looked whiter than she had a moment before. "Yeah. Scratched me across the back and arms," She shrugged, walking a little way around the desk, to look down at the first beast she had killed. "No biggie."

"No...biggie...?"

Had it been any other witch, they would probably have fainted at the sight of their own blood, not to mention screaming in pain over wounds that would release so much blood in one go.

"Dammit, Summers..." He tried to make himself to yell at her, but could find no words, staring at the little blonde, unable to believe that she had fought the two huge beasts on the floor, was bleeding and badly wounded and yet, still remained the same, annoying little trollop. "Dammit!"

"I heal fast, Snapey," she said by way of explanation, then looked at him with an amused expression on her bloody face. "And my God! Snapey! Just look at you...you must feel almost naked..."

"Pardon?" He blinked, distracted from his irritation at her being so...her by, oh the surprise, the irritation of her being so very...her!

"Your robes," she said, her eyes twinkling at him, reminding him that - in order to save her bony hide - he had stripped off his outer robes, leaving him clad in his trousers, waistcoat and high-necked, uniform shirt, while running up the corridors, his lips tightening into a line.

"Miss Summers..."

"I know, I know, infuriating, annoying, agitating, blah, bl..." She seemed to flinch, her hand on the desk sliding a little on the wood. "Uh...Snapey..." Her voice sounded oddly shaky, as if worried. "When...when did it...get dark?"

"It is still daylight, Summers," he said with a sigh.

She turned in the direction of his voice, her expression startling him. He had never seen so much fear in one person’s face. "No...not it isn’t..." she whispered, reaching out towards him blindly with her other hand. "It’s dark...Snapey, its dark..."

"Summers?"

"Snapey..." She swayed dizzily on her feet, looking as if she was trying to take a step towards him, but never made it. Her eyes rolled up, a shudder rocketing through her body, and she started to fall.

Snape leapt over the fallen demon-beast in time to catch her before she hit the floor, her body boneless and limp in his arms.

Hissing a curse under his breath, he yanked up her torn sleeves, revealing her wounds to him, thick rimes of black lining the claw-marks that striped her upper arms and were no doubt matched by the ones across her back.

"Toxic..." he whispered in shock, startled by just how ugly and deep the wounds were. She had shrugged them off as if they were mere papercuts, when they had laid bare bone and muscle, blood still rippling from them.

Quickly scooping the unconscious Slayer up in his arms, he ran back towards the half-open door of the classroom. She was as light as a feather, so thin and fragile against his chest.

Yanking it open, he found himself face-to-face with Dumbledore, backed by Hagrid with his crossbow, which Snape felt like saying was a bit redundant now.

The Head Master took one look at the unconscious Professor and stepped aside quickly, his expression serious. "Madam Pomfrey is waiting for you," he said under his breath and Snape nodded.

Around them, the pupils - horrified looks on their faces at the sight of their torn-up Professor - parted before the Potions Master in an uncanny imitation of the Red Sea before Moses, and he broke into a run, the unconscious body of the blonde teacher held securely against his chest.


Chapter 53: Here But Not

"Poppy!"

Looking up from the potions she was arranging, Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened at the sight of Severus Snape storming into the medical wing, a small and bloody figure in his arms, blood dripping from the limp arms onto the floor.

"Good God!" the Matron gasped, getting up and motioning for him to bring the unconscious girl - she assumed it was one of the senior pupils - to one of the dozen beds that lined either side of the large, sun-filled room. "What happened?"

Bending to lay the wisp of a girl on the bed, Snape slid his arms out from beneath her body carefully.

"Two demons of some kind managed to get into the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom," he said grimly. "They clawed her back and arms with some superficial bruising to the face."

"And did they..." Madam Pomfrey's words trailed off as she saw the face of her patient. "Professor Summers?" She looked up when she heard the rustle of fabric and found Snape stripping off his thick waist-coat. "Severus?"

"She has been poisoned," his voice was clipped, sharp. "I'll need the usual tools and as little distraction as possible."

"But I'll have to..."

"Poppy, she heals fast. No time for questions."

The Matron studied him for a heartbeat, although - to Snape - it felt like a lot longer, then nodded, hurrying away. She knew him and his tone of voice so well and when he said something was important, she knew it was.

Within minutes, his analysis equipment that was kept in the medical wing, in case of emergencies such as this, was by his side, on the table that had been moved in beside the bed and he was taking scrapings of the black substances and the residues left by the claws, before giving the Matron permission to do what she could.

Placing a silencing charm over the whole infirmary as she moved in beside the bed where Summers lay, Madam Pomfrey took a moment to watch Snape as he began to work on the analysis, his precision and skill with potions astounding.

Turning her attention back to her patient, she grit her teeth at the sight of the raw, open wounds at the top of the girl's arms. Blood was already soaking into the white sheets beneath her at a steady pace.

Reaching for some of her cleansing cloths, she bound them over the wounds to let them do their work, carefully shifting the girl onto her side to see what condition her back was in.

The cleansing cloths were one of her preferred tools of her craft.

They were made of a cloth-like substance that was absorbed into the skin gradually as it healed, the material breaking down to provide cleansing disinfectants and healing chemicals as well.

At least nine bloody furrows were ripped into her skin, visible through the torn scraps of her shirt, which Pomfrey used her wand to do away with. They were deep cuts, but the Matron - looking closely - could see where the tissues had already started to knit back together.

The most she could do for the girl was clean the wounds, before they healed and sealed the poison inside.

Spreading more cleansing cloths over the wounds that seemed to cover almost every inch of the girl's back, she heard a faint moan from the young woman as the inbuilt healing and anti-biotic remedies soaked into her skin, the cloths fusing to the damaged areas of her back.

Placing a pillow of air beneath the girl, to prevent her from putting her weight on her back, Madam Pomfrey brought her back over, so she could check the wounds on her face, which were - as Snape had noted - superficial, but still nasty.

Using one of the many anti-swelling agents on the girl's right cheek and blackened eye, she gently sponged the drying blood off the girl's face, wondering if she should ask what had happened to the two attackers.

A brief glance at Snape, hunched over his potions equipment, suggested that would only be a good idea if she really wanted to know what it was like to have her head physically bitten off.

His eyes were entirely focused on what he was doing, his lips muttering soundlessly as he worked, his hands flying over the test-tubes, needles and droppers with a speed that seemed supernatural.

He would have an antidote within hours, no matter how complicated the poison, she knew, and she had done all that she could. The Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts was deeply unconscious now and there was nothing else she could do until Snape found the antidote, hopefully in time to save the young Professor's life.

She knew that, in spite of the blindingly obvious enmity that the two shared, he would still not allow a member of the teaching faculty to die, even if he spent half his time directing death glares at her, when they were seen in the same room.

Pausing to brush a lock of blonde hair back from Summers' face, she used her wand to conjure the young Professor's sleepwear, leaving her hovering a couple of inches off the mattress, clad in loose pyjamas, under a crisp white sheet and cream blanket.

Making her way back around the bed, leaving Snape to his work, she exited the ward and had barely closed the doors behind her when a panic-stricken red head had crashed into her and was gripping at her arm.

"What happened?" the youngest Weasley demanded. Her voice was shrill with fear and panic, tears shining in her green eyes. "Where's Buffy? Is she all right? Where's Cranky? What's he doing to her?"

"Willow," a male voice from behind seemed to calm the flame-haired girl and she backed off a little. Giles, assistant to Summers, was standing there, his face rumpled with concern. "Madam Pomfrey?"

The Matron was suddenly aware of a rather large audience gathering.

Professor Dumbledore had just entered the wing and was flanked by Hagrid - who was looking paler than usual - and Professor Granger, who immediately ran forward and gathered the sobbing Willow in her arms.

The blonde-haired vampire, the former vengeance demon and the Muggle boy were all there too, although the newest trio to arrive, Summers' sister, the green-skinned demon and the Seer were notably absent.

"Could you perhaps inform us of Professor Summers' condition?" the Head Master asked, his voice more troubled than usual, which was hardly surprising considering one of his members of staff had just been torn up in her own classroom.

Since the attacks in the Great Hall, they had assumed that all of the demons that Glory had concealed about the school had been taken care of, but apparently that had not been the case.

"She's presently unconscious," the Matron answered. "Professor Snape believes her to have been poisoned by either some secretion on the claws or in the blood of the creatures that attacked her."

"And you left creepy evil guy in there with her?" the Muggle youth said angrily. "If anyone is gonna poison her, it'll be him."

"Xander," Giles was the one that spoke, in a calm, but stern voice that succeeded in shutting the Muggle boy up before Madam Pomfrey could even consider starting to lecture at him.

"Professor Snape is an expert with poisons." The boy made a face that suggested he wasn't surprised and Pomfrey actually felt compelled to glare at him. "And with the antidotes, so I suggest that you remain silent and allow myself and my colleagues to treat our patients as we see fit."

Dumbledore stepped to the fore of the group.

"Poppy, is she comfortable?"

"As comfortable as she can be at present, Head Master," the Matron answered with a sour look at the Muggle. "If I may ask, what happened? Severus wasn't particularly informative. He didn't go further than saying that two demons had somehow gained access to the class. What happened? Where are they now?"

"They're dead," Hagrid answered for Dumbledore. The look on his face that said he had seen something that he was having trouble believing. "Yer patient there killed 'em both. An' with only a sword an' one spell from Snape."

"But surely they were too big for her to be able..." Madam Pomfrey's face twisted in confusion. "The claws...the creatures had to be at least eight...ten feet..." The Head Master nodded slowly. "And she...she killed them both?"

"Well well, the witch is catching on," the vampire drawled from the shadows. "Is it so hard to imagine a tiny bint like that could kick something the size of this bloody great git," he nodded to Hagrid, "across the room, if she wanted to?"

"Hey now..." Hagrid puffed up, looking offended.

"Statement of fact, you wanker." The vampire wasn't intimidated by the giant in the slightest. "And keeper-of-grounds, unless I'm mistaken, it was your job to keep the grounds safe, specifically to make sure that things like that didn't get in. How is the Slayer meant to protect..."

"Spike!"

"What?"

The former demon, Muggle and red-haired witch all groaned, while Hagrid looked even more indignant and started mumbling incoherently about how he didn't know everything that was in the Dark Forest.

Professor Dumbledore, though, was looking oddly tired and raised the fingertips of his right hand to touch his forehead in a soothing massage, as the squabbling voices rose in intensity and volume.

"Slayer?" Madam Pomfrey whispered. "You...you brought me a Slayer and you didn't think I ought to know?"

"Yeah, well there's a whole weird deal with her having a secret identity," the eighth Weasley answered, from her place in Granger's arms. "Kind makes it hard to go around telling everyone."

"Hey! People! A hand here!" Shuffling footsteps from the stairs leading down from the medical wing made Xander dash over, a curse escaping him as he darted down the stairs, to Lorne.

"What happened?"

Lorne and Xander reappeared over the lip of the stairs, the unconscious Cordelia carried tenderly in Xander's arms, a nasty looking cut on her temple streaking her hair with blood.

"The usual. Visionorama," the demon replied grimly. "She hit her head on the corner of a table when she fell. We gotta get someone to talk to the PTB about this. It can't be good for her."

"Get her into the ward," Pomfrey ordered briskly, grappling Xander's upper arm and dragging him into the room.

"Did she say what she saw?"

Lorne shook his head in a negative. "She only got one sound out before she fell," he said apologetically. "She didn't even have time to scream. All I could make out was 'room' and then she was on the floor."

"Room?" Xander emerged from the ward, his expression dark. "Nothing else?"

"What does that mean?" Willow asked. "I mean room. It could be anywhere and if we don't know where it is, how are we meant to get anywhere? Is it your room or our room or a room not in the school or..."

"Witch, will you shut up for a mo? I think I've just worked out what's going on around here," Spike came forward, a concerned look on his face, touching Giles' shoulder. "Watcher, where's the lil bit?"

"The lil..." the older man's face drained of colour. "Good Lord!"

He swung around and - at least it appeared to Professor Dumbledore - everyone in his group knew instantly, from the look on his face, that something was amiss, backs straightening, expressions of anxiety replaced with other emotions.

"Lorne! Watch Cordy for me!" Xander yelled over his shoulder to the green demon, already running to the stairs, the two witches, the vampire, the former demon and the Watcher all following him rapidly.

"Mr. Giles?"

"A distraction, Professor!" Giles called back. "They were a distraction!"

***

"Hey, D!"

"Faith!" Dawn rolled into a sitting position on the windowsill, where she had been reading, staring at the dark-haired slayer in amusement as she pulled the painting shut behind her. "So... uh... Flitwick got you some new clothes, huh?"

"Don't even go there, little sister," Faith replied with a shudder, looking down at the bright pink blouse and baby-blue trousers that the tiny teacher had forced her to don, by sheer force of his stubborn glare.

She, Wesley and Gunn had assumed that he was joking when he said he was taking them clothes shopping, after the weapons hunt.

They had still assumed - with a touch of desperate panic - that he was joking when he dragged them into a shop called Wiz Chic.

They had assumed - and prayed wildly to any deity who would deign to answer - that he was joking until he had handed each of them the most absurd combinations of clothing they had ever seen and insisted they don them.

He wasn't joking.

So, Faith had been kitted out in pastels, pinks and blues.

However, she had been the one to get off lightly. Gunn had been so mortified by his new look that she didn't blame him for going into hiding as soon as they got back. Wesley, though, looked strangely natural in black lace and scarlet.

Last she had seen of him, Wes was being chased down the corridor by Flitwick who was trying to convince him to wear the matching shoes, which - unfortunately for Wes - happened to be stilettos.

Yeah, she got lucky with plain old pinks and blues.

Fortunately, though, voluminous black robes hung over them, concealing the very embarrassing clothing for the most part.

Sitting in the sunlight, pulling up her legs to sit in the lotus position on the sill, Dawn leaned on her feet, grinning. "Your regular clothes are on your bed. I figured you'd wanna get them back on..."

"Dawnie, you are an angel," Faith sighed with relief at the sight of her familiar black trousers and dark vest. Peeling the robes off, she tore off the pink blouse and pulled on her own clothing. "God, that feels so much better..."

Cocking her head, Dawn asked, "You get any weapony things?"

"Just a few. We put 'em in one of the rooms downstairs, outta the way. Gunn and Wes are gonna test everythin' before B and me get to lay hands on 'em," Faith replied, pulling her hair free, shaking it out behind her. "And Wes let me get a wicked cool troll hammer. It's way powerful, he said. And a cannon!"

"Neat! Can I...?"

Faith gave her a look. "Dawnie, you know B doesn't like you usin' her weapons."

"You're no fun," Dawn said petulantly, sticking her tongue out.

"You want me to come over there and make you regret sayin' that?" Faith gave her a slow, dangerous grin. The teenager uncurled rapidly from her sitting position, panic in her eyes. "Well, D? You want me to prove ya wrong?"

"Kinda no!"

Faith's eyes glimmered with mirth. "You think you can outrun me, D? I know the room's big, but you honestly think you can outrun a Slayer?"

"Faith!"

Squealing, Dawn dodged under Faith's arm, as the dark-haired Slayer charged at her, pelting across the room and running across her sister's neatly-made bed to evade Faith's clutches.

"B is so gonna kill you!"

Dawn shrieked, bouncing out of Faith's grasp again. "I'm gonna blame you!"

"You wouldn't dare, kid!"

"Wanna bet? FAITH!"

Pinned down by the Slayer, Dawn squirmed futilely, Faith smirking at her as she started tickling the younger girl. "You were sayin' somethin', D?" she asked with mock-innocence, her fingers dancing across Dawn's ribs.

"Faith! Stoppit! Stoppit!"

"Stop what? This?"

"Yes! That!"

"You want me to stop that?"

"YES!"

"You don't like that? Or that?"

Gasping for breath, shaking with hysterical giggles, Dawn batted futilely at Faith's arms. "Off..." she gasped, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks. "Get off! I'm so siccing Buffy on you!"

"See me tremblin' with fear, D," Faith laughed, swinging off the teen to sit on the floor, her eyes dancing.

"You are so mean!"

"I try, D."

They exchanged grins, getting back to their feet. Dawn dusted herself down.

"Dawnie?" a young male voice called through the large painting that served as a door. "Are you in there?"

Faith had crossed the floor like a panther, a knife materialising in her hand, as she approached the painting. She glanced at Dawn, asking in a lowered voice, "Friend of yours, D?"

"Who is it?" Dawn asked.

"Just me," the voice replied, the accent identifying the owner as Duncan, although he seemed to be talking in a more formal tone than usual, which struck Dawn as slightly odd. "Can I come in for a wee while?"

"Don't you have classes?"

"Not right now, no."

Dawn frowned, shrugging at Faith. "I guess," she replied, approaching the painting, where Faith still stood.

The older girl gave the painting a quick push and it instantly swung open to reveal Duncan standing there, but he made no move to enter the room, his expression placid and serene.

"Duncan?" Dawn took a step forward. "Duncan, you okay?"

It looked like he was pushed aside. "He'll be fine momentarily," a new voice said, before a black wand appeared in a gloved hand and a flash of blinding light followed the rapidly spoken words: "Petrificus totallus!"

"D!" Faith leapt in front of the younger girl, the blast of light splashing over her. She crashed to the floor, her body rigid, as a tall, expensively-dressed man with white-blonde hair and a pointed face leaned in the doorway, smiling icily at Dawn.

Blue eyes widened, as she realised just who she was seeing. "Oh my God..."

"As good a choice of words as any," Lucius Malfoy said coolly, grabbing her arms and jerking her to him. She stumbled, her foot catching on the inert form of Duncan, sprawled on the floor at their feet.

His eyes were half-open, blood running from an open wound on his brow.

"Omigod... Duncan..."

"Yes," Malfoy murmured. "The little fool tried to fight both me and my spell. I'm afraid I had to pacify him and a blow to the head seemed the easiest way."

"Release her!"

"GILES!" the girl shrieked and tried to run.

Malfoy's brow rose and he turned in the direction of the voice, Dawn pulled in front of him as a shield.

"Rupert Giles," he murmured, a surprised tone in his voice. "It's been a long time..."

"Not long enough, Malfoy."

Dawn could see Giles standing in a patch of evening sunlight, which was flooding in through one of the tall windows. He looked furious. She had never seen him look so angry. His wand was in his hand and he was backed up by Anya and Hermione with their wands, Willow with a ball of electricity crackling between her hands, Spike in vampy mode and Xander, fists balled.

"Need the little children to fight your battles for you, eh?"

Giles' eyes flashed green fire, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on his wand. "I kicked your arse when we were at school, Malfoy, I could do it again." He took a step forward and Dawn gagged as a hand locked around her throat.

"Come closer and I don't think you'll like what happens, Rupert."

"Harm a hair on her head and I don't think you are going to like what happens, Lucius." The Watcher had nothing vaguely watcher-y about him now. If Dawn hadn't known he was on her side, she would have been terrified by the cold, hard anger radiating from him. "Especially when her sister regains consciousness."

"Ah, the Slayer." The man holding Dawn's throat laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "You mean if she regains consciousness, don't you? After all, we have all heard how much Severus despises her. Do you honestly think he will try to save her?"

"Lucius, if you want to keep that badly-dressed body of yours intact, I would advise you to let Dawn go," Giles took another step forward, pausing when Dawn gasped, lifted onto her toes, the hand at her throat gripping tight.

Willow edged closer to Giles. "I could..." she whispered something, the ball of light crackling in front of her. Her hair seemed to be rising to ripple around her head in an unseen breeze and, although she couldn't be sure, Dawn was sure Willow's eyes had gotten darker.

Giles shook his head, nodding towards Dawn, his expression dark and raging.

"Gi-"

"Shut up, girl," Malfoy hissed in her ear. "You and I are taking a little trip..." A hand plunged into one of his pockets, withdrawing a long, thin necklace, which he hung around her neck, keeping it gripped in his fist. "Say goodbye, little girl."

Terrified blue eyes looked towards the group in front of them, a second before Dawn felt like something had hooked right beneath her belly, yanking her off her feet and into a whirling sweep of colour.

In the distance, she could hear shouting, then everything went dark.

***

"I'm going to bloody well kill him!" Spike bellowed furiously, smashing his fists through one of the oak panels on the wall of the hall. "The bloody noncing wanker with his froofy hair and magic necklace!"

Giles, however, didn't say anything to counter the vampire's raging. He sank against the wall, staring at the spot where Dawn and Malfoy had vanished, the necklace a portkey, no doubt.

How he had made it function within the protective boundaries of the school, he could not understand, although Malfoy's known connection to Glory...

Hermione raced forward, kneeling down beside Duncan and checking him over, the boy still unconscious. Her eyes darted through the doorway and she saw Faith there, raising her wand.

"Finite incantatum!" she cried out, the Slayer erupting from the floor, panting, her eyes flashing with dangerous fire.

"Where the hell is he?" she demanded, then seemed to notice the rest of the group outside of the door. "Aw, shit..."

"Giles, where...how?" Xander looked confused and furious.

"He must have used it to get in here," the wizard was whispering to himself, as if he could not believe what he had seen. "He used it to get here...after the demons...he sent the demons..." His voice was shaking. "He's got Dawn..."

"They got her? That bastard got D?"

Hermione nodded up at the Slayer. "It... it appears that way."

"I...I didn't think..." Willow said, shaking her head as the ball of flaming light in front of her dispersed, a trickle of blood running - unnoticed - from one nostril. "I should have poofed him...I could have..."

Giles shook his head. "We can't risk it... you could have hit Dawn," he said, looking up at her, eyes widening. "Good lord! Willow! You're bleeding!"

"Willow!" Hermione exclaimed. "You... you did it again!"

The red head waved Giles away. "It's no big," she replied, blinking hard and trying to smile down at her lover. "Just happens when I get all hyped up with the mojo and then can't do anything..."

Her words were belied when she swayed unsteadily, close to falling, and Giles quickly stood, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "We had better get you to Madam Pomfrey, Willow," he said seriously.

"No... no, I'm good..." she mumbled, before sinking against him. Giles swore under his breath, scooping the young witch up.

"And we...we should go and tell Albus," Anya said. She was pale and looked shaken. "I don't think that the man with the white hair wants Dawn for a good reason and Albus... he will know what to do...he always knows what to do."

"Yes..." Giles nodded. "Yes, that would be a good idea... can one of you bring Duncan along?"

"The kid? But he was the one who brought big bad and blond right to the room and got D to open the door!" Faith exclaimed in protest.

Supporting Duncan's head, her eyes on her girlfriend, Hermione shook her head. "I think he was under a spell, Faith," she said urgently. "We have to get him to the medical wing now!"

Nodding, although looking deeply sceptical, Faith lifted the boy up, his body limp and boneless in her arms. "Okay, people," she said, marching briskly forward. "You gonna fill me in on just why the hell B ain't here and how some freak with bad hair and a stick stole D?"

Somehow, in spite of the disbelief and shock, they managed to stir themselves to move, making their way through the corridors, ignoring all calls from the pupils about the condition of Professor Summers.

They reached the medical wing to find Dumbledore waiting there.

Waiting until Willow and Duncan had also been laid down in the wing, Madam Pomfrey fluttering about her, muttering rude things about people getting themselves hurt in the most ridiculous ways at the same time, Dumbledore stood to one side.

As the door closed, leaving Pomfrey to her patients and Hermione pacing anxiously just outside the door, the Head Master looked at Giles.

"He took her, didn't he?" The wizard's voice was resigned, as if he had somehow expected this all along.

"What are we gonna do?" Xander demanded. He was pacing impatiently. "I mean, we can't just let them keep Dawnie...we have to go and get her back...and if Buffy doesn't..." He trailed off with a vicious look at the door of the Ward.

"Xander!" Giles' voice was sharp and hard.

The boy glared at him.

"Look, white-haired guy is the bad guy, but what if he's right about creepy evil black-wearing guy?" he demanded hotly, his cheeks scarlet. "What if he isn't trying to save her?"

"Don't you DARE say such a thing about Severus!" Giles' voice rose to a roar.

All eyes went to him, stunned.

Only on very rare occasions was Giles ever angry and on those occasions, he still seldom raised his voice.

He looked wild with rage, his face darkening to a deep shade of red, his eyes blazing at Xander. His hands were systematically clenching into fists by his side and he looked like he really wanted to hit the boy and HARD.

"Now I know why B never pissed him off," Faith muttered, giving him an impressed look.

Stalking towards the startled young man, Giles looked so imposing and terrifying that the youth actually backed up until he collided with the wall behind him, the Watcher looming over him, his voice sinking to a low, dangerous snarl.

"That boy is a genius with potions and he saves anyone he can." One hand came up and silenced a protest Xander had opened his mouth to make. "No matter if he likes them or not. He only is the way he is because people like you treated him that way and he came to expect it, so he assumed the role people placed him in!"

"Wow..." Anya mumbled. She was standing alongside Dumbledore, holding the old wizard's arm. "I knew Giles liked the strange, lurking dark man, but I didn't know he liked him that much. He doesn't scare people like that unless he really likes someone and usually that someone is only Buffy."

Giles was still glaring down at Xander, who looked like he was feeling less than two inches tall.

"Yes, Anya, I like Severus," the older man said, his voice calming but still shaking with anger. "I like Severus very much. He is like a younger brother to me and I get very tired of stupid little arses like this...Muggle judging him."

"Hey!"

"Don't start, Xander. You can't possibly win this."

"But..."

Hermione interceded, squeezing between them and pressing a hand against Xander's chest. "Xander, Giles is right. Snape...he's frightening and intimidating, but he knows what he's doing. Buffy's in the best possible hands."

Xander looked like he wanted to argue, but Hermione shook her head, her eyes filled with tears of concern for her girlfriend. "I... I guess he's probably all right," he reluctantly said. "What about you?"

"Scared," Hermione admitted in a squeak and Xander gave her a half-smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Will'll be fine," he said. "She always is. Like Buffy."

"Has there been any word?" Giles swung around to Dumbledore, who shook his head sadly. "Oh..." The Watcher sighed. "I suppose we should leave him to get on with it. He'll let us know if anything happens."

"That is probably the wisest course of action," Dumbledore agreed heavily, patting Anya's hand when she made a sound that suggested she was about to burst into tears of hysteria. "We ought to go to my office and make arrangements..."

"Want for me to go and get Wes and Gunn?" Faith asked, shifting awkwardly. "I mean, they're gonna wanna know about this..."

"Yes..." Taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Giles nodded. "I-I think that would be a good idea, Faith. Be as quick as you can." The Slayer nodded and darted off. "Xander?"

"I'll come along, but I wanna get back to Cordy soon."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am most certainly against any procrastination, regarding the urgency of action. This meeting should only take a short while, then you will be free to return here at once."

"Will...will you give us some chocolate?" Anya asked plaintively, looking up at him, worried. "I think I need some."

"I think I may be able to provide that service, Miss Emerson." Arm-in-arm with the former Vengeance demon, Professor Dumbledore lead the sombre little out of the medical wing and towards his office.

***

"You big jerk!"

Standing on the opposite side of the bars, Lucius Malfoy smirked at his captive, his arms crossed over his chest. She was contained inside a cell in his cellar and she was gripping the bars angrily.

The walls around her were dull and spotted with mould here and there. There were no windows, the only light coming from a flaming torch which hung in a bracket on the wall behind him.

"Miss Summers, you must understand that I only brought you here for the good of...well." He paused with chuckle that sounded evil and humourless. "Of me, but I'm sure you understand."

"My sister is so gonna kick your ass! You hurt Duncan and Faith and she is gonna be so pissed when she gets you!"

"You think I was joking about her being in the medical wing, Miss Summers?" he laughed again, softly. Coldly. "I'm afraid that was no fabrication. We sent some pets to keep your sister busy and they just happened to excrete poison. Your sister is currently at the mercy of Professor Snape."

"He won't let her die..." Dawn whispered, more to convince herself, her voice rising with her growing anger. "She'll be fine and then she'll come and kick your ass!"

"You honestly believe that dear Severus, an old friend from my schooldays, is going to save your sister's life?" The man's lip curled, his face shadowed and even more frightening than it had been when she stepped out into the hall.

Dawn whimpered.

"You're lying..."

"I would do no such thing," Malfoy chuckled. "After all, the truth is so much more entertaining." He stepped back from the cell when Dawn released a wild scream, lashing out through the bars and almost striking him. "Such a temper..." he tutted seriously. "I hope you'll behave better when Glory arrives, although I doubt your behaviour will make a difference as you are really little more than an expendable bargaining chip."

"G-Glory?" Dawn shrank back.

"You know her, I believe. She had such an attachment to your sister...and the key your beloved sister stole."

Tears welled rapidly in Dawn's eyes. "Don't do this...please...she'll kill you...you don't know what she's like..."

Malfoy's smirked intensified.

"I beg to differ, infant," he murmured. "I know very well what she is like. On an intimate level."

Dawn's fear was momentarily replaced by disgust.

Surely he wasn't saying that he had...

His smirk spoke measures.

"EW!" she yelled, pointing at him, her face twisted in distaste. "Ew! You... her... EW! That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" Malfoy's brow arched slightly as she flapped her hands, pulling a face. "Ewwww! You are so gross!"

"I would say that you ought to wait until you have experienced it, when you are older, but..." His smirk was replaced with a cold, deadly, snake-like smile. "You won't have a chance."

Dawn was staring at him.

"Buffy's gonna get you," she whispered. "She doesn't like it when people talk to me like that."

"What part of her dying in a short while do you simply not understand?" Malfoy sighed. He was starting to sound a little bored, as if the game was losing it's fun. "She is in Snape's hands and they loathe each other."

Dawn looked at him sharply.

"Wh-what?"

"She and Snape deplore each other."

A look of revelation crossed the girl's face and she nodded slowly. Turning, she blindly walked over to the low step that ran along the back wall to sit down on the cold stone, resting her hands on her knees.

"Yeah," she said, so quietly he could barely hear her. "They really hate each other."

However, when Malfoy turned to leave the dungeon, he could have sworn that the girl had a triumphant grin on her face.

***

"We have to assess how bad this situation is." Giles was standing at the head of the group, all eyes on him.

In Dumbledore's office, chairs had been conjured out of thin air for them, while they discussed what could be done, all of their group present. Hermione and Xander were sitting next to one another for reassurance, in the absence of their respective partners.

"They got D and B's in a coma," Faith growled, slapping the blade of a knife against her palm. "I'd say things are pretty damn bad, Giles."

The watcher gave her a half-reproving, half-understanding look. "Yes, we know that the fact they have captured Dawn is definitely not good," he agreed. "But we do not yet know if they are aware of her being the key."

"I don't think they do," Hermione volunteered quietly, raising her eyes from her folded hands, which were squeezed between her knees. "They only knew Buffy was protecting it. How would they find out it was her?"

"That's a good point," Xander agreed. "I mean, we didn't know until Buffy did that spelly thing and we got those books from that magic-shop place."

"Books? What books are these?" Wesley sat up in his seat, a concerned expression on his face. He had managed to escape the clutches of Flitwick and was back in his more comfortable shirt and trousers combination.

"I-I'm not sure who wrote them, but they told us what Dawnie was and where she came from," Xander said. "But I think...what happened to them?"

Spike raised a hand. "Taken care of," he replied, from the shadows, where he was leaning against the wall. "Thought I'd protect Nibbles' best interests and accidentally dropped a fag on them. They sorta got a bit... burnt."

A weary half-smile crossed Giles' face. "Thank you, Spike. Those books could have proved a great problem."

"S'nothing," Spike shrugged, returning the half-smile as he lit up a cigarette, gripping it between black-nail-polished fingers. "An occasional bit of vandalism and destruction of property is always fun."

"So with the books gone, they won't find out about her from them," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "Is there any other way they would be able to tell that Dawnie was the key?"

"Insane people can see her for what she really is," Giles replied grimly, removing his glasses and polishing them. "Which means if Glory is running low on power when she sees Dawn, she may well recognise her."

"What are the chances of this happenin'?" Gunn asked. "And if she does recognise the kid, will she do the blood-lettin' thing right away?"

Rubbing his temples with thumb and index finger of his right hand, his glasses dangling from his fingers, Giles frowned. "There's every chance that she will be recognised, but I doubt they would do the blood-letting immediately. Blood-letting rituals tend to be based a good deal on the alignment of the stars."

"The guy in the weapon store told us when the knife thing was gonna be needed!" Faith exclaimed. "We got until late in May or early in June, cause that's when the ritual was meant to be."

"That's definitely very reassuring," Hermione said, rubbing her hands together and nodding. "And if I'm to make a wild guess, I would say that Malfoy would have taken her to his home."

"Which is?" Faith demanded.

"Er..."

"Masked?" Giles asked.

"More than likely, as well as unplottable," she acknowledged.

Faith looked from one to the other. "Well this is just five by five," she muttered darkly. "I'm sittin' here, lookin' to beat the hell outta a guy for takin' my little sister and you guys don't know where his house is."

The cold, sinister smile that spread on Giles face was actually frightening. "No, we don't yet," he agreed, standing up. "But give us time and we will find that house and that arrogant bastard and then, I'm certain we can arrange who gets to beat the living hell out of him first."

"You don't like the guy, huh?" Gunn said.

"Astute observation," Wesley rolled his eyes.

Giles' expression was ice-cold and hard. "You could look at it that way," he replied quietly. "Let me just say that I've had a rather violent dislike of him for the last thirty-five years."

"Geez," Xander said. "When you hold a grudge... why a grudge? What did he do?"

"That isn't important at the moment," Giles replied, then looked at Wesley. "Wesley, would you be willing to aid me with some research?" The younger watcher was on his feet immediately. "Spike?"

"If it means getting the bit back, you know you don't have to ask."

"I'll help too!" Anya said immediately. "I'll ask Albus if he has any ideas as well."

"I'm gonna go train," Faith said, on her feet, hands on her hips. "I wanna be in prime shape to kick some big bad blondie ass. And I'm guessin' that Gunn's with me?"

Charles Gunn shrugged. "If you need some help, sure."

"What about you two? What will you be doing?" Giles looked down at Hermione and Xander, who gave him identical looks. "And I suppose that really was an awfully stupid question, wasn't it?"

Xander half-grinned, although it lacked enthusiasm. "You know where we'll be."

***

"Willow?"

Green eyes opened, squinting slightly by the light of the small lamp on the cabinet beside the bed. "Hey, sweetie," Willow's lips moved weakly to form a smile, which was replaced with a wince, one hand coming to her head.

Leaning forward, sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione replaced Willow's fingers with her own, massaging the red head's temples. "Are you all right?" she asked, concern marked on her face.

"Yeah... yeah, gettin' there. A bit dizzy, though."

"Still?"

Willow closed her eyes, sighing as Hermione continued to gently move her fingers in light circles. "I was so mad at that guy," she replied wearily. "I could feel the power building to blast him to weeny pieces and then, he was gone and the power... it didn't have anywhere to go... I had to let it stay in me..."

"And instead of hurting him, it hurt you?"

The red head dipped her chin in assent.

"Oh, Willow," Hermione sighed, dipping her head and brushing her brow against her lover's. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Kiss it better?" Willow suggested hopefully, a little more energy in her voice.

The brown-haired witch couldn't withhold a laugh. "You're practically unconscious from dizziness after channelling far too much powerful magic and yet, you're still able to claim the right of kissing."

"And?" Willow jutted out her lower lip, widening her eyes. "Smoochies?"

"You really are dreadful, Willow," Hermione shook her head, smiling, then touched her lips lightly against Willow's. The red head murmured in acknowledgement, a hand sliding into Hermione's hair, deepening the kiss.

The kiss was only broken when Willow's head rocked to one side, a sigh slipping past her lips, and Hermione drew back to see a serene look on the red head's face, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep.

Brushing strands of silky hair back from Willow's flushed cheeks, the other witch smiled. "You get some rest," she said softly, shifting on the bed to sit beside her lover and arranging Willow's head against her shoulder.

Murmuring comfortably, Willow snuggled against her girlfriend, flinging one arm possessively around Hermione's waist, rubbing a cheek against Hermione's shoulder through her dark robes.

A hand stroked through the younger witch's red hair. "I love you, Willow Weasley," Hermione whispered, pressing a kiss to Willow's forehead.

***

"Did I mention how much I hate the PTB?"

"A few times," Cordelia smiled faintly at him, her hand rising to touch her temple, where a scab was healing up nicely. "I gotta say than I'm not exactly on the best of terms with 'em myself."

Xander sat down beside her on the bed, the blanket rumpled over her legs. Taking her hands in his, he studied her seriously. "Is there any way you could get rid of the vision thing?" he asked.

"I-I don't know if I would want to," she said hesitantly. "I mean, they hurt and they can be really gross sometimes, but they're part of who I am. They give me a reason to do what I do."

Xander tilted his head, gazing at her.

"What?"

One side of his mouth lifted slightly, but he didn't reply.

"Xander!" she exclaimed, slapping at his leg. "What is it? Do I have something on my nose?"

"Nothing like that." he answered, squeezing her fingertips. "I'm just thinking how amazing you are." Cordelia blushed prettily, a broad smile splitting her face. "I mean, you've changed so much... you know stuff. You're brave, gorgeous, smart..."

"Blushing like crazy?" she offered, beaming at him.

"That too," he laughed, raising one hand to stroke some loose strands of long dark hair back from her cheek. "Kinda obvious who the special person in this relationship is, isn't it?"

"Don't start that," she cautioned, raising a finger to point at him. "You are pretty special yourself, Xander Harris. Dorky and a bad dresser, but still damn special and you're normal. You're not like the other weird things I've had to work with."

Xander gave her a lop-sided grin. "You're talking to the guy who liked a preying mantis, a mummy, a witch, three Slayers, an ex-demon and is now happily involved for the rest of his life with a Seer."

"F-for the rest of your life?"

"Or as long as you can put up with me," he shrugged with a self-depreciating smile. "Personally, I like the forever deal. I lost you once and I'm not gonna be stupid enough to do it again."

Cordelia leaned forwards on the bed and wrapped her arms around him and Xander smiled against the top of her head, as he embraced her.

***

"You have a visitor, Mister Cameron."

Lying on his back on the curtained-off bed, Duncan stared blindly up at the ceiling, his eyes prickling. He didn't even acknowledge the Medi-witch or the other figure at the drapes until the bed shifted and he tilted his head.

"You all right?" Swallowing hard, his throat tight, Duncan shook his head stiffly from side to side. Spike gave him a knowing look. "Need a shoulder?"

He didn't have a chance to answer before unwanted tears spilled from his eyes and the vampire sighed, letting the boy break into short, sharp sobs against his shoulder, patting his reassuringly on the back, letting him get it out of his system.

"It wasn't your fault, Dunc," he said, as the boy's sob quieted and he looked down at his blanket, embarrassment and misery etched in equal measures on his flushed face.

"It was," Duncan replied hoarsely, his voice cracking. "I-I lead that manky bastard right tae her room! I did that and ye cannae say that it wasnae my fault that he got in there! I-I tried no' tae say anythin', but he tol' me to and I couldnae stop meself!"

Spike nodded. "I'll agree with that," he said. "You lead him there, said what he told you, but you didn't do it yourself, did you? He put a spell on you that even the strongest people have trouble fighting."

"I-I didnae want tae, Spike," the boy whispered hopelessly. "I tried not tae dae what he was tellin' me, but I couldnae help it... and now, he's got Dawnie and she could be dead an' it's all mah fault!"

Blue eyes met blue. "Dunc," Spike repeated. "What part of this are you not getting? It wasn't your fault. The only person to blame for this is that bloody ponce who put the spell on you, nicked her and left the Slayer in a coma."

"Slayer? Professor Summers?" Duncan's head snapped up. "What happened?"

"Demons," Spike said without elaboration. "He set it up. He had it all planned and you just happened to be there at the wrong place and time."

"Is... will she be all right?"

Spike's eyes darted towards the curtains, beyond which a silencing charm was still enclosing the main part of the wing. "She'll be fine," he said decisively. "The Slayer always is and she's been through some bloody awful things. I should know, since I caused a hell of a lot of 'em."

"And Dawnie...?"

This time, the vampire's smile was cold and certain. "We're getting her back," he said, a feral golden gleam in his blue eyes. "No one takes the Niblet without getting a hell of a lot of people pissed off. Giles and Mini-Giles are working on a way to find them and then, we're going to collectively kick the sorry bastard's arse."

Sniffing and swallowing hard, Duncan's eyes flashed. "Can I help?"

The vampire grinned. "I knew that there was a reason I liked you, Dunc," he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "And yes, although I think you're gonna have to form an orderly queue behind Giles, Slayer, Slayer two and pretty much everyone else in our merry band."

Duncan nodded. "I can wait."

***

Snape was exhausted.

His eyes were dry and blood-shot, his head throbbing from the fumes of the antidote he had spent ten hours simmering after eight hours of trying to find out just what the poison was, his body aching from being bent over the cauldron for so long.

It would be so easy to go to sleep now.

After all, Professor Summers had been dosed with the potion and she had come out of the toxin-induced coma she had been in for a day and a half, to fall into a deep cleansing sleep.

Snape was sure that, had she not been blessed with the healing abilities of the Slayer, she would have been dead within hours, her strength keeping her with them long enough for a cure to be found.

It was nearly thirty-six hours to the minute since she had come under attack and the Potions Master hadn't slept a moment since then, keeping both eyes on her as often as he could spare them.

Now, with the early morning chill in the air, the slice of moonlight cutting through the window and across the ward to cast strange light over them, he was starting to feel the prickles of exhaustion.

Sitting beside her bed, the silencing charm still on the ward, his elbows propped up on his knees, his chin and lips were pressed against his interlocked hands. His eyes were fixed on the girl asleep in the bed in front of him, a gold glow of a lantern on the cabinet beside the bed, mingling oddly with the cold moonlight on her face.

He studied her pale face, which was almost as white as the pillow she was lying on, her blonde hair fanning around her, only the barest of rosy patches on her cheeks indicating that she was still alive.

The wounds inflicted by the Hell beasts on her had healed completely and her face was no longer swollen, but she still looked so very small and fragile, the crisp sheets and thick blankets tucked tightly across her chest.

Her chest was rising and falling steadily with light breaths, her lips parted a little. He almost smiled, because when she breathed in her sleep, she made the oddest little squeak of a snore.

One hand came out, but he hesitated, his fingertips a millimetre from contact with the soft skin of her cheek. Tracing the outline of her face, not quite touching her, he released a sigh, his eyes so heavy.

Pulling his chair a little closer to the bed, he raised his right arm to prop his elbow on the mattress, his right cheek leaning heavily on the upraised hand as he continued to watch her for any sign of waking.

When he closed his eyes, he was so sure it would just be for a moment.

Something brushed against his head, making him stir, his eyes squinting in the morning sunlight that was flooding the ward and he lifted his head, suddenly feeling very embarrassed.

He had fallen asleep, when he had intended to keep watch over her until she woke.

Which brought back to him the fact that something had touched him...

And the only thing anywhere near the place where his head had been lying - he could see the indented spot in the thick blankets - was the hand of the slim waif of a girl in the bed.

"Summers?" All thoughts of sleep and weariness were shaken off instantly and he stood up quickly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, lifting her hand between both of his. "Summers, if you're faking, so help me..."

A breathy sigh escaped her pale lips, which seemed to have regained a little of their former colour when he had been sleeping, and he felt like a giant hand was crushing his heart.

It seemed like an eternity before her lids fluttered weakly.

"Yes, Summers, you lazy hussy. Open your eyes," he whispered, hoping and praying that he had got the antidote exactly right. After all, he had tested it on himself, as soon as it was ready and it seemed to have worked. He almost chuckled at a thought that slipped into his mind: if Pomfrey had known he had injected himself with some of the poison from the beast, in order to make sure his potions worked, he knew she would have gutted him. "You have been sleeping quite long enough, you indolent excuse for a Professor."

Slowly, painfully slowly, Summers' hazel eyes opened, squinting uncomfortably in the bright light washing into the huge room through the enormous windows that lined the opposite wall.

"Snapey..." Her voice was rasping and dry, but he wanted to sing with relief. She was alive! She was conscious! She hadn't sprouted another head! "You... made that up... indo-thingie..."

Releasing her hand, he reached over and grasped the goblet of water - with some kind of energy potion that Pomfrey liked - in it.

"Here, Summers." He gently helped her to sit up, his arm around her shoulders to support her, raising the goblet to her dry lips. "Drink this."

She took a slow sip, then coughed.

"What is that?" she breathed. "Cat pee?"

"It'll help, you impertinent little minx," he answered, trying not to smile. Her lips curled up slightly and she started to sip the fluid with appropriate sounds of distaste until she finished it.

Letting her lie back down, he replaced the goblet on the cabinet, lifting her small hand between his rough, calloused ones. "Summers." Her hazel eyes - half-closed - moved to him. "Don't you ever consider scaring me like that again."

"Scaring you?" she laughed weakly. "Snapey, that was everyday-Buffy-world...no stopping it just cos the Moody-guy says so."

She stared at him in bewilderment when he lifted her right hand up to his face, pressing his cheek against her palm, enclosing her hand between his face and hand, his skin cool and dry.

His black eyes were closed, pressed tight as if he were in pain, his breath warm against her bare wrist and for some reason, it was sending funny tingles through her.

"I was almost certain we had lost you," his voice was a whisper, but not the one she was familiar with. This whisper was shaking with emotion. "Had it taken even a few moments longer, it would have been too late..."

Buffy blinked at him, looking so blonde, so confused and so downright American that he wanted to laugh. "Huh?"

A brush of a kiss was touched to the inside of her wrist and the Slayer gasped at the light contact.

"You really are quite something, Summers," Snape murmured, leaning forward to gaze at her. His lips brushed against hers in the barest hint of a caress. She shivered a little, not quite sure what to make of this.

"Huh?"

There was a husky chuckle and then, his lips met hers for a few seconds longer, like silk against hers. It wasn't the kind of kiss that she was used to from Snapey, but OH MY GOD!

One hand braced him on the mattress, the other cupping her face as the gentle, soft kisses were plied to every millimetre of her dry lips, Buffy's eyes sinking closed. It felt like she was melting.

She had to be melting.

Gooey heap...

Trembling from head-to-toe.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod...

Sensually teasing her lips, he drew back as soon as she raised her hand to try and draw him to her. The genuine, barely visible smile she saw on his face made her gape at him mutely, stretching out a hand to him.

"I'm not certain what it is yet," he rose to his feet, his fingertips lingering briefly against hers, "but you are definitely something," Several paces from the bed, he studied her. "I shall inform your friends that you are well enough to see them."

"Snapey!" Her voice came out in even more of a pathetic squeak than she expected.

"Summers?" He pivoted without seeming to move his feet, which really was an impressive-looking trick, his eyes hooded again, although the smirk on his lips was more smiley than smirky.

Unable to think of anything coherent to say, she lifted one hand and politely stuck her middle finger up at him.

"And I can wholeheartedly reciprocate, Summers," he chuckled softly, then swept out of sight around the drapes, leaving the confused Slayer to try and work out just what had happened.


Chapter 54: Strange Alliegance

"Good morning, Buffy."

Squinting in the beam of sunlight pouring in through the gap in the curtains, Buffy Summers smiled weakly at the sight of Giles.

It had been less than ten minutes since Snape had departed, leaving her trying to gather her scattered wits, so seeing Giles there provided a stabilising reminder that the world wasn't as mad as she was sure she was going.

"Hey," she murmured, struggling to sit upright. By her side instantly, her Watcher helped her, his face liberally dashed with stubble, his eyes ringed with dark circles. He looked even more tired than she felt and that was saying something. "What's up?"

"Perhaps it would be better for me to know how you are feeling..."

Hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion and Buffy shook his hand off her arm, raising a hand and forcing his face around to hers, her expression turning questioning. "Giles, you're avoiding the question. What's happened?"

Giles met her eyes, then looked down, one of his hands taking one of her hers. "The demons that attacked you were a distraction," he said, his voice strained. "They had to be sure you would be absent."

Buffy stared at him in shock. "You... you mean, they got to Dawnie?" she whispered.

"I-I-I'm afraid so," Giles nodded, his other hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. "It was Malfoy, but we know that Dawn is safe for at least a few months."

"At least a few months?" the young woman echoed, her eyes moving dazedly around the room. "I-I don't get it... how could he have got into the school? I mean, the way powerful magic things... they're meant to protect the school."

"We're not entirely sure, Buffy," Giles replied quietly, his own expression tight with concern. "But we are working on a way to find Malfoy's home, as it is most likely that he would have transported Dawn there."

"But they'll hurt her..."

Buffy had already started to push the blanket back from her legs, trying unsteadily to get out of the bed, but dizziness got the better of her and she dropped heavily back down onto the mattress, clutching her head.

"Buffy, we know that Dawn will be safe until May at least," Giles repeated, grasping the Slayer's arm and drawing her back onto her bed. "Causing her harm would be sheer stupidity on their part."

"How... how do you know that?"

"Faith," he replied, a tone of muted surprise in his voice. "She, Wesley and Charles made... discreet inquiries at the shop where they purchased weapons and discovered that, should Glory capture Dawn, there is only one point of the year when their ritual would succeed and that is not until late May or early June at least."

Pressing her hands down on the mattress beneath her, Buffy brought herself into a fully upright position, wincing. "You guys are looking for a way to find her and bring her back, right?"

"Of course," he replied, nodding immediately. "We have been working on it since she was snatched. I believe Wesley and Spike are currently working through possible locations. Faith and Charles are currently testing the arsenal they collected."

"And everyone else?"

"Willow is trying to control her magic," Giles answered. "She lost control once more and she thinks she will be of more aid if she can control it better. Xander has taken Cordelia to Hogsmeade. He believes she needs to have a break, as her visions have been growing increasingly painful."

The Slayer nodded. "What... what about Snapey? Does he know?"

"Of your situation?"

"About Dawn," she corrected a little too quickly. Giles raised a brow in question and Buffy haltingly said, "She likes him and I kinda get the feeling that Crankenstein likes her as well. I figured he'd wanna know."

"I'll see that he is informed. Do you know when he left here?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, trying to act nonchalantly. "A few minutes ago, I guess," she replied, hoping she sounded a little casual. "He gave me some icky potion to drink, then stomped off somewhere."

"Probably to his quarters, then," Giles acknowledged, glancing out of the window as he continued, "You are aware that he spent hours working on potions to save your life and did not leave your side once?"

"He... he did? Snapey?"

"I would say he did a rather good job of it, wouldn't you?" Green eyes drifted to her face and she could have sworn she saw the Watcher smirk at her.

Buffy gave her Watcher a deeply suspicious look. " So you're telling me," she said dubiously. "That Snapey, the one guy in this school who can't stand me, spent hours making weird soup things to save my life?"

"And spent over thirty hours watching over you to make sure that you were not adversely affected by the potion, which he tested on himself to be sure it would not kill you. He refused to let anyone else take his position," Giles said, smiling at the stunned look on Buffy's face. "Life's a funny thing, isn't it?"

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy studied him. "Are you sure you're not joking?"

"Get some rest, Buffy," he said, getting to his feet. "Madam Pomfrey will have some breakfast brought for you and when you're ready, the rest of us will either be the training room downstairs."

"So you were joking?"

"I shall see you later, Buffy."

"Giles!"

"Enjoy your breakfast."

"Giles!" Flopping back down on the bed as her Watcher disappeared through the drapes, Buffy clapped both hands over her still-white face. "I hate it when he does that," she moaned.

***

It was still cold.

She knew it was morning because of the narrow slit of warm light which had cut sharply through a tiny crack at the top of the black, gleaming stone of the walls, the second time it had done so.

Curled in the corner of the tiny stone box that had been her prison for nearly two full days, Dawn Summers hugged her knees tightly to her chest, the bone-numbing chill of the cell penetrating her to the bone.

Her face was burning, sweat trickling down her cheeks and the back of her neck, and she knew that she was getting ill because of the cold, damp air, her stomach growling in a desperate plea for food.

No food had been brought since her capture and her lips were cracked and dry, blood crusting them. Tears were pointless, as well, she had realised after crying during the first night, leaving her cheeks caked in salt.

She hadn't seen anyone in two days, not since the white-haired guy had tossed her into the cell and left her there.

It wasn't like she remembered seeing it in the movies, with the mattress in the cell and bread and water. It was way worse than that. No mattress. No bread. No water. No warmth. No light. Nothing. She had started crying for her mom within hours.

The guy...

He was a bad guy.

Worse than anything she had met before.

At least Angelus had only wanted to kill her.

Lucius Malfoy didn't care one way or the other. She was enclosed in a cell and she would stay there until she died, if what he said was true. He didn't mind if she starved, screamed or begged. He ignored it for the most part.

Shivering violently, her teeth clattered together loudly in the stony echo of the cell and she tried to force back the burning sensation in her eyes, blinking hard, the tears only making her cheeks sting more.

Forcing her mind back to her sister, she tried to convince herself that Buffy would be all right and that soon, Buffy would find her and she would be safe and her sister would kick Malfoy's ass.

She would kick it into a whole different shape and then a whole different dimension.

Trying to swallow, Dawn's throat felt painfully swollen and she pressed her head against the cold wall of the cell, the stone icy against her burning skin, making her half-gasp, half-sob.

It wasn't good.

Why couldn't Glory just show up and kill her already?

Anything was better than sitting, curled in a ball, in a horrible dark cell with gross slime on the walls, no heat and no light and not even her way annoying sister to keep her company.

She didn't even have any of her potions in her pockets of her robes to help her, not even the blood-warming potion that she had made to stop herself and Duncan from getting cold in Snape's dungeon.

Duncan...

What if he wasn't okay?

"No," she whispered to herself, her lips cracking and beading with fresh blood that left a nasty metallic taste in her mouth. Duncan couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. He would be fine and she would kick his ass for scaring her.

Shifting painfully, her body stiff with cold, she pulled her damp robes tightly around her legs, shivering even harder, her fingers so numb she could barely close the fabric around her body.

Her tongue scraped along dry lips, catching more of the bloody droplets that were trickling down her chin, and she pressed her eyes closed, resting her forehead on her upraised knees, trying to find as much warmth in her body as possible.

Buffy wouldn't leave her here. Buffy wouldn't. They'd be on their way to get her out and she would be fine. She had to believe that Buffy wouldn't leave her here. She had to keep believing everything would be all right.

Curling into an even tighter ball in the corner, Dawn kept whispering it over and over like a mantra, "She'll come and get me... we'll be fine... she'll come and get me... we'll be fine..."

***

Ben didn't know how long he had been walking for or where he was walking to for that matter. He was following her mental instructions, returning to the place where her plaything lived.

He had woken up in a field, under a tree, several humans apparently waking around him, every one of them babbling inanely, which lead to the assumption that Glory had been partying and had left him to deal with the victims.

And the hangover.

As the sun had crept up, cold and bright, a fine shimmer of frost on the grass and the budding trees around them, the light had made him realise just how much his head hurt and how much he wanted to soaking in a warm bath.

Or drowning in it.

He couldn't really be sure as the headache had intensified, making him absolutely certain that not only had she drunk and drained a lot, but she had really wanted to make him suffer for annoying her.

It had taken the utmost effort to stagger to his feet, in order to make his way back to the mansion that had become him shelter.

Of course, he had then almost fallen over at once, due to a combination of factors, the main one of which was the six-inch spike-heeled stilettos that his feet were tightly crammed into.

For the hundredth time in a week, he had rained insults down on her, making his way out of what appeared to be a cornfield and onto the nearest path in the vain hopes of making his way back to the house and dying quietly in a corner.

How Glory had left them both stranded in the middle of Cornwall, he didn't want to know. How she had got there, he did, because if he could use the same mode of transport to get back...

Stumbling when the heel snapped of his left stiletto, turning on his ankle, he cursed under his breath, bending to tear the thing off and almost bursting the back seam of the ridiculously tiny cocktail dress she had left him in.

Muttering a string of colourful obscenities in all the languages that Glory's native mind had cursed him with, he savagely ripped the other shoe, which was several sizes too small, off and started hobbling down the lane.

Sharp stones and sticks bit into the soft soles of his feet, making him sputter more abuse in the direction of his internal Hell-Goddess, as he limped onwards, oblivious to the scant warmth of the wintery sun on his skin.

Above him, the sky was blue, cloudless and crisp with frost, every breath he exhaled misting instantly in a cloud of white before his eyes.

His skin a rash of goosebumps, the skimpy silk peacock-blue dress barely covering him from chest to mid-thigh, he staggered onwards, ignoring the odd look he received from a warmly-dressed jogger.

Making a mental note to scream abuse at Glory as soon as his headache receded, the dark-haired young orderly sniffed in a dignified fashion, straightened his torn skirt and continued to limp down the path as if being spotted in the middle of the countryside on a winter morning, wearing little more than a scrap of blue fabric was the most normal thing in the world.

***

While the morning had begun brightly, clouds were beginning to gather gloomily on the cusp of her horizon, curly wisps bled with grey and black, which suggested that the bright weather they had been blessed with recently was about to come to an abrupt and dampened end.

Standing by the window of his study, one hand braced against the window frame, Lucius Malfoy was gazing out onto the grounds, his brow furrowed with a mixture of consternation and muted anxiety.

Glory had gone for 'a walk' allegedly, two days earlier, shortly after he had made his way to the school, to snatch the Slayer's sister, and the Hell Goddess had yet to return from her little outing.

It wasn't that he was worried about her well-being, but he did hope she would return before the whining brat imprisoned in the basement decided to rudely hop off the mortal coil before the trade for the key could take place.

Behind him, he heard the door of the study and railed around, expecting to find Glory standing there. "Where the devil have you... oh," A somewhat strained smile crossed his lips. "My dear."

Narcissa gazed placidly back at him. "Lucius, I heard someone crying somewhere in the house yesterday," she said, an agitated look on her face. "I couldn't sleep last night because of it."

"Concerned, my dear?"

"Tired, Lucius," she retorted, shooting a glare at him. "I want a decent night's sleep and if you don't tell me what's going on in this house, I may have to take it apart stone by stone until I find what's making that racket and kill it."

"Kill it?" Lucius started. "Isn't that overreacting slightly, my dear Narcissa?"

Eyes that were heavy with exhaustion, marked by deep smudges of darkness beneath them, stared back at him with a flare of annoyance. "Lucius, you do recall how much I appreciate my sleep, do you not?" Her husband winced, clearly remembering. "And you do also recall how... exasperated I tend to get if I don't get my sleep." She smiled thinly. "I believe that killing is warranted in such circumstances."

"Ah..."

"So, Lucius," Folding her arms, she glowered at him. "Would you mind informing me of what is going on and silence that infernal wailing? If we need to have another exorcism, I will not be amused."

"Well, you see, my dear," He motioned her towards the couch by the fireplace, which stood to the right of the door. Stretching out at one end, Narcissa watched him as he leaned one arm on the mantle, talking down to her. "You are aware that Glory is not of this world, aren't you?"

Narcissa nodded. "She had mentioned it on occasion."

"She requires a particular key to return to her home dimension and a young woman, called the Vampire Slayer, has this key which Glory requires promptly." He smiled thinly down at his wife, one hand resting on his hip. "In order to retrieve it, we have taken the precaution of acquiring her younger sister in order to have a bargaining chip to trade for this key."

"So you've brought a whiney little school girl to my home to let her interrupt my sleep pattern?" Narcissa snapped irritably. "Dammit, Lucius, couldn't you even put a sound-proof spell her cell or something? What on earth is she crying about anyway?"

"I assume that she is afraid of the dark."

His wife gave him a disbelieving look. "Lucius, you truly have no grasp of the subtleties of kidnap, do you?" He looked aggrieved by the statement. "This capture has given you an excellent opportunity to turn one of the Slayer's own against her and you leave the child crying for her mother in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

Narcissa raised her eyes ceilingwards. "What I mean, my dear, naive husband, is that you could have corrupted the child. Turned her to your way of thinking and sent her back to retrieve the key for you."

"Brainwash her..."

"But not by magic," Narcissa agreed, her ruby lips curving in a slow smile. "If you had treated her with kindness to begin with, when you brought her here, you could have brought her to our side by now."

"So it is too late?"

The woman shook her head. "Not at all, Lucius," she said. "While she would see you as cruel, let me go to her, persuade her that I am her friend and confidante, then turn her to our side."

Lucius' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would you do such a thing?" he asked. "I know that you hate Glory, so why would you wish to help?"

"The sooner that whore gets her key, Lucius, the sooner she will be out of my home and my life," Narcissa responded coldly. "If I have to manipulate a pathetic child to ensure that she will be gone, I will do so."

Pushing off from the fireplace, Lucius approached the couch, sitting down close to Narcissa and lifting one of her hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You, my dear," he said with pride. "Should have been a Slytherin with such cunning."

"You underestimate me, Lucius," Narcissa murmured casually as his lips touched her wrist, moving slowly up her arm. "Because I am blessed with a Ravenclaw's intellect does not mean I am without wit."

"Brains and beauty... my dear, you are an intoxicating combination," He was pressed against her, his lips brushing her throat. Narcissa reclined back against the arm of the couch, saying nothing. "Perhaps I have neglected you a little lately."

"Perhaps," she said in a lazy voice, turning her head to accept his kiss, neither resisting or encouraging his advances, as his fingers deftly unfastened the clasps of her gown. "Should I not see to the child?"

"Shortly," Lucius responded, lifting her chin and gazing at her. "For now, I wish to give some of my attention over to you, for being even more deft and Machiavellian in thought than I imagined possible."

Narcissa smiled slightly, her eyes hooded. "You flatter me, Lucius," she said softly, but did not contradict him.

***

"Anything?"

His glasses resting on the book in front of him, Wesley rubbed dry eyes and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he replied, leaning back against the high back of the chair at the broad table. "Re-plotting an unplottable building can only be performed by the caster of the original spell."

"I doubt Malfoy is about to run to our side and help us with that," Giles muttered, half to himself, his fingers running down the page of the latest book he was studying, a line appearing between his brow.

"If I may ask..." Green eyes lifted to Wesley. "Why do you hate him so? What has he done that caused you to dislike him?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Spike offered from the other side of the table. While it had taken Wesley a while to adjust to the concept of a soulless demon helping them, they had got on unusually well. "I have been wondering the same myself, old man."

The three of them had been working constantly in the large unused classroom which also served as their weapon store room, only taking brief breaks to sleep for a few moments here and there or to get something to eat, to keep up their energy.

Seated around a table, which was weighted down with mountains of papers, scrolls and books, the bright morning light that was ebbing through the windows glistened on the dust that hung in the air.

Closing over the book he was using, Giles looked at both the other men. "It's enough to say that I do not think Dawn is in a safe place at the moment," he replied tersely, his expression grim.

"And yet," a fourth voice said quietly. "You didn't think to ask me for aid."

Wesley made a muffled squeak that suggested he was startled and whipped around to find Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, his expression inscrutable.

"Severus, you ought to be resting," Giles sighed. "You have been awake far too long without a break."

"The young Summers is missing, Rupert. Surely you did not think I would heed your note and leave an assembly of moronic cretins to do a job that only someone with more than half a brain cell is capable of," Snape moved towards the table, his steps slow, a little laboured. As he grew closer, the paleness of his face and the shadows beneath his eyes grew even more pronounced. "And you are aware that I may be the only person who knows the vague whereabouts of her prison. This is no time to be sensitive about my emotions."

Wesley's eyes widened. "You know?"

"I know vaguely," Snape corrected, his eyes scanning over the table. He located a map, withdrawing it from the pile and spread it in front of him, his eyes moving rapidly over it. "I have been to the mansion in the past and, while I can not be one hundred percent certain, I do know the vague locale to within a mile or so."

"So you know the filthy sod who nicked the Niblet," Spike murmured, black eyes snapping up to meet ice blue. "Lemme guess. Along with Giles' tale, it isn't one of sunshine and roses and whiskers on kittens?"

"An accurate summation," Snape acknowledged, returning to the map.

"So fill us in, then!" the vampire said. "Let us know what we're dealing with and what it is that has your knickers in a knot! I mean, how are we meant to fight him if we don't know how bad he is?"

The tension in the room seemed to intensify with every word the blond vampire said and Giles and Snape exchanged looks, then Snape slowly nodded.

"It is only fitting," he said, sinking down into one of the vacant chairs. Continuing to pore over the map, the shaking in his hands would have gone unnoticed if Wesley hadn't been watching him closely. "Tell them."

"Lucius Malfoy and I attended Hogwarts in the same year," Giles began, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "We didn't really meet until part way through first year, when he found out my muggle-born origins. It goes without saying that Malfoy is more than a little biased towards the pureblood line of thinking."

"Anti-muggle?" Spike inquired.

"Mildly," Snape put in with a bitter little laugh.

Giles nodded. "He also had a connection to the one known as Voldemort. We're not quite sure how or when they first associated, but Lucius was one of his favoured ones from the start. Cold-blooded, ruthless and dangerous."

"Sounds like a charming individual," Wesley said sourly.

"The problem was that he could be," Giles stood up and began to pace across the room, heaving a sigh. "He could be suave, charming and I don't doubt that he was highly intelligent. Unfortunately, one of my close friends during our school years developed a fatal crush on him."

"He killed her?"

"Far worse than that, I'm afraid," Giles said quietly. "In our fifth year, he decided that he would not mind... utilising her, to sate his pleasures. He tried to force her into an intimate relationship and when she refused, I'm certain he would have raped her, had I not been looking for her. I beat the bastard to within an inch of his life, which I am certain did nothing to aid his... lack of affection for muggle-borns."

"So you dislike the man because he attacked one of your friends?"

"That was when it all started," the former watcher said grimly. "Ginger, the friend, believed herself to be safe, but a Malfoy is like a crocodile lying in the shallows of the river. He awaited his revenge, patient and calculating, until it came close enough for him to snatch it. She had humiliated him by refusing him, so when the chance came for him to ruin her, he grabbed it in both hands."

"He suggested attacking her family to the Dark Lord, because the McKinnons had refused to follow him. Malfoy's own reasons were far more sinister. Ginger, being the pretty thing she was, was used as a plaything for hours before they granted her the mercy of death, right in front of another of our school friends, who then spent her life trying to attain vengeance, only to be murdered by him during the war." Giles exhaled a sigh. "Not to mention the fact that he is the one who introduced Severus to the dark, taking advantage of a lonely young man."

"Not the best of men, as you can see," Severus said in a tight, controlled voice.

"So when do I get to kick his ass?"

All four men visibly jumped in surprise at the voice of the Slayer, three pairs of eyes looking towards her, where she was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded and her expression deadly.

Dressed in dark clothing, her hair pinned back loosely from her face in clasps, a set of jet robes hung loosely around her slender body, which was framed by the door, and a long, narrow blade was visible at her belt.

"Buffy, are you sure you should be up?"

"Giles, that guy has my sister," she said coolly, one hand implicitly pushing the robes back from the blade that hung by her hip. "If you don't give me an axe and show me where to point it, I'm not gonna be happy."

Black eyes that were fastened to the map on the table shifted slightly. "I believe I may know the locale, Summers," Snape said, his voice low and quiet. "Give me a moment to locate it."

Approaching the chair where the Potions Professor was sitting, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor looked at the map, placing a hand on Severus' shoulder to maintain her balance.

Severus' eyes closed briefly at the contact, then he drew a sharp breath between his teeth and looked down at the map again. His fingertip circled an area about four miles square in the region of Oxford. "Here," he said tersely.

"We'll look into getting someone down there, immediately," Giles said, standing up and grabbing the map.

"Rupert," Snape looked up, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Don't forget that he will have wards and security measures that are charmed by dark magic. I would not wish to see any of you harmed."

"I'll see to it," Giles nodded. "Buffy, do you wish to take Faith?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah. We're gonna go from the grounds, right?"

"Of course." The senior watcher nodded. "Wesley, would you be kind enough to inform Faith of the situation? Spike, could you tell Dumbledore? I will find Flitwick to create a portkey. Buffy, we will be outside, when you are ready."

The Slayer nodded. "Be right there," she said, as both Spike and Wesley rose, the three men leaving the room. Her hand was still resting lightly on Snape's shoulder and she looked down at him. "I guess I have to thank you," she said quietly.

Black eyes rose to her, surprise and bewilderment crossing Snape's face. "What on earth for?"

Turning and leaning back against the edge of the table, in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled slightly. "You spend hours mixing up your weird soups to save my life and stay to check on me all night and you don't think that is worth a thank you?"

"I merely did what any..."

Her fingertips silenced him and she shook her head slowly. "You didn't 'merely do' anything," she said, her eyes locked with his. "You protected Dawnie when I had to fight. You saved my life when no one else could. Not many people would do that."

Her hand slid to his cheek and she replaced her fingertips with her lips in the lightest brush of a kiss. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips, her half-closed eyes still holding his.

Although at a later date, he would not be able to say what possessed him to perform such an absurd act, Severus' hands spread on her hips and he drew her down to his lap, their mouths melding together in a burning kiss.

A small, strong hand gripped the back of his neck, his own arms tightening around her as her other hand ran down his chest, the very air around them growing heated as the kiss was deepened.

Under its own volition, one of Severus' hands brushed under her robes, caressing her thigh through the fabric of her trousers, then sliding up, over her hip, continuing up, past her waist.

However, it was her hand that lifted his to her breast and he felt her tremble at the contact, his eyes opening.

Breaking apart, panting, Summers stared at him, her face flushed. His hands slipped from her tiny body and he drew deep gulping breaths, unable to tear his eyes from her swollen lips and bright eyes.

"Perhaps you ought to catch up with Rupert," he heard himself say, while his mind screamed in protest that it wanted nothing more than to take the strangely-attractive-when-thoroughly-snogged Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and do indecent things to her on the table in front of him.

Licking her lips and blinking several times, the Slayer nodded, sliding from his embrace and practically running from the room, her dainty heels clicking all the way down the corridor as she fled.

Exhaling a breath, Snape sank down in the seat, his bony hands contracting around the polished arms of the chair. He carefully licked his lips. Today, she had tasted of chocolate and peppermint, he observed.

A faint chuckle escaped him with that thought.

It really was turning out to be a very odd day.

***

Defence Against the Dark Arts had been efficiently cancelled for at least three days.

There were several reasons for this: two of the days counted because the teacher had been comatose in the medical wing, the third expected because said teacher was off on a journey to retrieve her kidnapped sister.

The additional excuse was that the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been wrecked beyond recognition, pieces of furniture that were hundreds of years old had been smashed to smithereens and were in the process of being repaired by the ever patient Flitwick in his free time.

In the absence of the teacher, the pupils spent their time in their common rooms and the Great Hall speculating about what had really happened and whether the demons were just part of an elaborate demonstration and whether the descriptions of the third year Hufflepuffs could be trusted.

After all, some of the Huffles were spreading the word that the creatures were over ten feet tall and the tiny Professor had fought them both, using only a sword and some of the most impressive fighting abilities that they had ever seen.

Whispers were spreading with deliberations that she was some kind of super-witch who didn't need to use spells because all her magic was manifested in her body and she used it to fight.

The fact that the reports were all identical did nothing to assure the Seniors that the third years had been party to the most dramatic Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson known to their era.

Only two students knew the reality behind the rumours, in particular the whispers of Professor Summers' superhuman strength, and one of them was currently sitting in the tower room with Willow Weasley, informing her of the theories that abounded, while trying to aid her with her magic, since his class had been cancelled.

"They think it was all a magic trick?"

Leon Mzimba nodded, grinning goofily at her. "Some of them think that the class ran for it and none of them saw anything as well. The older classes are just trying to make themselves feel better that they missed it."

"Big fun," Willow snorted, placing a rose on the blanket of the bed in front of her and focussing on it. "Seeing my bestest buddy getting ripped up by giant hell beasts is all the fun I wouldn't wanna see."

"Try to stay calm," Leon suggested when the rose started shuddering under her stare.

Instead of teaching the red-haired witch to control her wand, as had been the original intention, Flitwick and McGonagall had both agreed that it would be a great deal safer if she could, first, control her natural magic.

So, Leon had assigned himself the duty of aiding the red head in finding a way to maintain her calm and resist the urge to let her magic control her, instead of it being the other way around, when the teachers couldn't.

Drawing a slow breath and blowing it out, Willow nodded, pressing her lips together, a grim look on her face. Her body tensed then relaxed and she sighed as the rose lifted into the air, hovering just in front of her.

"Good," Leon breathed, kneeling opposite the witch. He glanced down at the book, then back at Willow's face, recognising the tightening of her brows when the rose started to fall. "Stay calm. Remember that you need to be in control."

Willow's breathing grew more staggered, but her face relaxed and she brought the rose lightly back down onto the dark blanket that they were sitting on, her whole body visibly relaxing as she released her hold on the magic.

"That was much better," Leon said encouragingly. "It didn't even smoke this time."

Flopping back against the pillows, panting, Willow moaned and flung her hands over her face. "It's so hard to fight it," she mumbled between her fingers. "I can feel it all there, ready for me to grab, but if I let it out, I know I could hurt someone."

"Always remember that, then," Leon suggested, picking up the rose carefully and offering it to her. "You can control it. You've controlled it for this long already and you know you can do it. It's just a matter of remembering it."

Taking the rose between finger and thumb, Willow sniffed its fragrance, then looked at him curiously. "How'd'you get so smart anyway?" she asked. "And why'd'you wanna waste your time with a crazy witch like me?"

"I don't know if I really am very smart, but I like helping you," Leon replied with a little shrug. "You don't laugh at me for knowing a lot of things like other people in my classes do."

Willow gave him a half-smile, remembering all too clearly what it was like to be stigmatised because of her intelligence that was concealed by her geeky mask. "Well, I think you're great," she said. "You're sweet, smart, cute as a button..."

"But you're still involved with Professor Granger," he finished, his cheeks darkening when he blushed.

Laughing softly, Willow beamed at him. "And as soon as you're old enough," she replied, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If Hermione and I don't work out, you'll have first call, I promise."

Leon's face split in a bright grin. "Shall we try basic transfiguration again, now?" he offered, trying to hide his blush.

***

Sitting on the stool at his desk, Severus Snape surveyed his fourth year potions class from behind the dark strands of his hair, his fingers flexing against the edge of the broad, dark desk.

Every head was bowed, the class working in silence in the dimly-lit room, most of them aware that the Potions Professor had barely slept and that he was liable to be furious at the slightest thing.

Worse than usual, actually, or so the rumours flew.

As soon as he had entered the room, glowering around at them, he had watched them scurry to their places and hunch over their work, none of them daring to look at him as he barked orders.

Now, they were working in silence, more well-behaved than they usually were, quite clearly absolutely petrified of any repercussions that might arise from misbehaving with him in a clearly foul mood.

Or so they believed.

Unnoticed, Severus lowered his chin a little, bringing up his left hand and touching his lips with his fingertips, hard-pressed to conceal the half-smile that almost came onto them at the thought of the last person - aside from himself - to touch them.

A crash from the back of the classroom made him start from his reverie, whipping around, his robes flaring around him like the wings of some ancient seraph rising from the depths as he surged to his feet.

Face as white as a sheet, Duncan Cameron was standing over the spilled contents of a cauldron, his hands shaking furiously. The terror on his face would have - on any other day - made a tongue-lashing even more amusing.

However, today, he knew why the boy was so shaken.

For one thing, his best friend was missing and might even be dead.

Sweeping up the silent class, aware that every pupil was trying to watch without being noticed, he loomed over the boy, who stared at him like a deer in headlights of an oncoming car.

"Cameron."

"I-I-I'm sorry, s-s-sir," the boy bent and hastily picked up the cauldron, his hands trembling so hard that he could barely grip the metal surface. "I-I tripped and it... I-I didn't... it was an accident..."

Severus folded his arms over his chest, staring down his nose at the boy. "Cameron, outside. Now."

A buzz of whispers ran around the class and the cauldron slipped from Duncan's hands again, bouncing with a hollow clang.

"Now, if you don't mind, Mister Cameron."

Wiping his hands down on his robes, his face getting even whiter, the boy edged passed the Professor and hurried towards the door. Unable to grip the handle properly, he whimpered, petrified eyes staring up at Snape.

Stalking towards him, Snape threw the door open and motioned the boy out, stepping out after him. Immediately a hum of concerned conversation whirred around the room as he pulled the door shut with a solid bang.

"Cameron."

"I-I don't know what happened, Sir... I..."

"Cameron," his tone softening, one of Severus' hands came out and touched the boy on the shoulder. The boy jumped, as if shocked by an electric charge, his eyes going round in panic. "You are not in any trouble. Not today."

"But I-I spilled the potion..."

Raising his other hand in a silencing gesture, Snape gazed down at him. "I am aware of the situation you are in, Mister Cameron. Miss Summers is your friend and I am sure you are greatly concerned about her, as we all are."

The boy seemed incapable of forming a vocal response. His chin dipped in a hesitant nod of agreement.

"While it is not in my nature to be humanitarian," Severus continued quietly. "I do not believe it will benefit you or your classmates for you to be causing catastrophes in every class you attend. I would suggest that you go to Madam Pomfrey and have her provide you with something to ease your nerves."

"I-I-I dinnae understand..."

"I'm giving you leave to miss your classes today, Cameron," Severus said patiently, his hand on the boy's shoulder squeezing reassuringly. "I have a suspicion that you would only be a source of chaos in a class today. It would be safer for all if you were to rest for today."

Duncan Cameron nodded jerkily, staring at Snape with combination of confusion and wary gratitude. "Th-thank you, sir," he stammered. "Sh-shall I go now?"

"Yes, it would be best," Severus nodded, then allowed the slightest implication of a smile to lift one side of his mouth. "And may yet convince your classmates that I have horribly murdered you and left your carcass to rest in the hall."

Cameron released a snort of laughter, which he immediately stifled, a hand over his mouth, the terrified look back on his face.

"Oh, do stop overreacting," Severus sighed. "Despite the rumours you might have heard, I do not make it a practise to devour students," He paused, studying a gargoyle that was sticking its tongue out. "Although, I do hear that they are delicious on toast."

Confusion was manifest on Duncan's face. "I-I'll just go now, sir," he said. "My bag an' things..."

"Will be sent back to your common room with a classmate," Severus replied, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Turning on tail, Cameron fled down the corridor, looking as scared of Severus as he had in the classroom, which served to make the Potions Professor smile slightly, safe in the knowledge that even when he was 'nice', he could still petrify his pupils.

Yes, it was a true gift.

***

"Where ya been, B?"

Running down the steps from the castle, her robes flapping around her legs and her face flushed, Buffy stopped beside Faith on the damp lawn. "Had something to take care of," she replied, panting a little.

The dark-haired Slayer had taken to wearing a set of black robes, cinched in at the waist, over her tight-fitting clothing and was practising fight positions with an axe to see how best to move in the heavy material.

"Something," Faith arched a brow. "Or someone?"

The blond Slayer's snort of laughter billowed out as a cloud of condensation. "Do you ever think of anything but that?" she demanded, shaking her head. "I mean, come on. Me? Someone? What are the chances in this place? And when I had to get all the weapons and things that Giles told me to bring?"

The dark Slayer's eyes flicked to Buffy's lips, then back to her eyes. "Don't know what made me think that you were gettin' smoochies, B," she murmured, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. Buffy's face flamed to crimson. "No clue at all."

"You, up, shut," Buffy said pithily.

Faith smirked. "Hitting a little too close to the mark, huh? Don't worry about it, B. I won't breathe a word to anyone... unless you got another of those souled-up-wannabe-vamps, cos then, I'm gonna tell everyone."

"No! No vamps," Buffy gave her a look. "And what's the big deal with me getting smoochies anyway?"

"You know how it is, B," Faith shrugged with a half-smile, hefting the axe from one hand to the other. "When you don't get a cookie for a while, you wanna know how everyone else's tasted."

"Interesting analogy," Buffy remarked, grinning a little. "I'm guessing you are in serious want of a cookie?"

"'Want' isn't the word I'd use," Faith replied with a weak grin. "Dyin' of cookie-deprivation sounds better to me."

Shaking her head, Buffy had to laugh. "I'll have to introduce you to Sirius Black, next time he shows up here," she said. "Will and Hermione both agree that he's... uh... very cookieable."

"A girly guy?"

"Girly? Sirius?"

"Well, yeah," Faith smirked. "I know I'm not real picky, but I do kinda prefer my cookies with those real hard chips."

Buffy had to grin. "Sirius is one of the ungirliest guys I ever met. Yeah, he has long hair, but he has the whole hunky rebel thing going for him and he has these amazing blue eyes and..." On Faith's look, Buffy half-grinned. "Okay, yeah, the guy is cookie-licious, but he's not my kind of cookie."

"And who is?"

Buffy felt her ears go pink. "No one serious."

"I'm guessin' teaching faculty, because you don't strike me as the jailbait type, so that kinda narrows the field down a bit... and unless you're in the mood for fightin' off demon-girl, I'm guessin' the old Prof is off the menu."

"The old Prof...? Dumbledore?" Buffy looked faintly green. "God, Faith, thanks for the visual."

"Just thinkin' on the years of experience, B."

"Well... don't."

"Can't you just imagine the beard..."

"Faith!"

The dark Slayer smiled slightly, then nodded beyond Buffy. "You got your knight in Shining Armour on his way," she remarked, causing Buffy to turn and come face to face with Giles, who was carrying a long, narrow spar of wood.

"Portkey?"

"Sanctioned by Dumbledore," Giles acknowledged, huffing a breath out, one hand spreading on his chest. "Charles is on his way and Wesley should be momentarily. I believe they are collecting arms for the assault."

Sure enough, only a few moments passed before the two younger men were visible, running down the long staircase, each of them bearing weapons, although Wesley was yelling a caution about running with a double-sided axe.

"Hey Buffy, kid," Gunn beamed at them as he neared, giving Faith a grin. The dark Slayer grinned back at him, the first time that Buffy had seen her reacting to an older man in a non-sexual way.

It almost seemed familial, in a way, and thinking about it, Buffy could understand why. Charles Gunn and Faith were both from the same mould: forced to be old before their time, taught by harsh life, raised on experiences that weren't the best kind.

If Faith had ever had anyone to relate to, it would be Charles.

"What's the plan?" Wesley asked.

"We hold onto the bit of wood Giles has, it does the magic thing to take us where we need to go, we show up at Malfoy's house, find him and kick his sorry ass," Buffy smiled sweetly. "Any questions."

"I'd say that was pretty clear, B," Faith said, all of them moving to stand around the older watcher and placing their hands on the wood. "When we due to take off?"

"Any second n..."

"DROP THE PORTKEY!" Dumbledore's booming voice, magnified by a spell, rang out over the grounds, every one of the group releasing their hold on the long splinter of wood.

"Wh..." Before Buffy could finish asking the question, there was a swooshing sound, then a pop from just behind them, the Slayer spinning to see a figure hunched down on the grass. "Omigod..."

Terrified blue eyes lifted, streaming with tears, staring between curtains of dark brown hair. They focussed on the blonde, squinting, the expression reminding Buffy painfully of the moment when the returned-from-Hell Angel had recognised her for the first time.

"B-Buffy?"

"Dawnie!" Hurling her weapons down, Buffy sped to her sister's side, gathering the sobbing teenager in her arms and hugging her tightly. Her voice was strangled and she could feel hot tears sliding down her own face. "Omigod... Dawnie... you're back... you're back..."

***

"And you, cupcake, are tellin' me that we had the Slay-gal's little bitty sister in this cell and now, she's gone?"

Glowering up at Glory, his unconscious and bloodied wife cradled against his chest, Lucius' expression was dark, almost demonic in the flickering light of the torch that hung on the wall. "Well if you had not gone gallivanting off around the country, we would have been able to perform the trade."

Glory had just returned, in the bedraggled and bitter form of Ben, bare feet torn from walking for hours, skin blue-tainted from the cold and the flimsy scrap of a dress little more than a strategically-placed belt of cloth.

The young man had barely had time to fall into the bath in the nearest bathroom to the front door when Glory had taken control again, when Lucius knocked impatiently on the door, less than ten minutes after Narcissa had gone down to begin the breaking of the girl.

Of course, Glory was about to suggest he join her in the tub when the security wards went off, a houseelf had appeared and stammered something about an illegal portkey and Lucius had cursed loudly and explicitly, before racing off.

Following impatiently, Glory had found him in the dungeon cell in the basement, Luce's wife sprawled on the floor, blood gushing from wounds on her forehead that looked like her head had been smashed off the bars of the cell.

"Well ex-cuuuse me for thinking you were gonna take a while, poodle," Glory folded her arms and glared back at him, her lips pressed together. "You haven't exactly been Mister-Immediate-Results before, so I didn't figure you would start now."

Lucius' scathing retort was cut off by a soft moan from Narcissa, whose grey eyes flickered open and she squinted up at him, looking bewildered. "L-Lucius?"

"My dear," he acknowledged, his smile cool. It was apparent that he was trying to contain his anger long enough to receive an explanation. "Would you be able to tell me what happened?"

Wincing, one hand to her temple, Narcissa nodded, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I was trying to talk to the girl without getting too close. Said she couldn't here me, so I went nearer and she... she moved so fast... grabbed me, through the bars... pulled me forwards... grabbed the necklace, then... I... I think she hit my head on the bars..."

"Necklace?" Lucius' pale face went a shade whiter. "What necklace?"

Narcissa squinted at him, as if she was having trouble focussing, her blood-stained fingertips pressed against her temples.

"It was on your desk..." she whispered vaguely, blinking hard. "I thought it was pretty... didn't think you would mind if I took it... then she grabbed it... said a spell... reactivation or something... I-I don't remember, Lucius... my head... it hurt... and I... I'm sorry..."

Lucius nodded slowly. "It appears that we underestimated the brat," he murmured, sliding his arms under Narcissa's body and lifting her up. "Don't worry, my dear. This small flaw can be remedied."

"And how would that be, Luce?" Glory demanded snippily.

Lucius smiled thinly. "I do believe that our demon ally from the school has finally managed to find his way back. For now, though, I will take my wife to her chambers and let her recover from the brat's damnable temper."

"You gonna be okay, sweets?" the Hell Goddess glanced briefly at Narcissa, no concern in her voice, more morbid curiosity.

Narcissa smiled, the malicious gleam in her eyes hidden by her heavy lids. "I think I will be fine," she whispered in response, letting her head rest against her damn fool of a husband's shoulder.

***

While two days previously, the medical wing had been deadly silent, the atmosphere could not have been more different, the whole room alive with chatter and laughter, as the American group gathered around Dawn.

The dark-haired teenager had been treated for shock and the first stages of a bout of what seemed to be pneumonia by Madam Pomfrey, then was bathed, cleaned up and given enough food to feed a banquet party.

Tucked up in a bed, her hair brushed by her sister, thick blankets around her, Dawn was snuggled against her big sister's side, half-asleep from exhaustion but far happier than she had been in days.

One arm around Dawn's shoulders, her fingers stroking through her sister's hair, Buffy's cheek was resting against the top of Dawn's head, Faith sitting by the bed, all of them smiling as Giles approached the bed.

"Hey," Dawn croaked, her throat still sore.

"H-how are you feeling, Dawn?"

The teenager sniffed hard. "Kinda ill," she replied, pausing to blow her nose with the sound of a small trumpet. "But I'm back here and I got blankets and chocolate. I'm gonna be fine."

"That's wonderful," Giles smiled at her, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "I am curious, though about how..."

"I got out? Evil creepy guy's wife."

"Narcissa?"

Dawn nodded, opening her mouth to say something when Madam Pomfrey flitted in and popped a chunk of chocolate between Dawn's lips, then lifted her chin to close her mouth.

"Don't get used to this," Buffy murmured as Dawn beamed broadly at Pomfrey, happily munching on the chocolate.

"Sure," Dawn said when she swallowed the pieces. "Anyway, yeah. Mrs Malfoy came into the roomie thing they were keeping me in and asked me how I got there. I told her about the necklace thingie and she magiced it to her and did some weird chanty thing, then gave me it and poof! I was Hogwarts-y again!"

"She did not come with you?"

"Did you see any tall blondes with me?" Dawn challenged snuggling closed to Buffy and pulling blankets around her. "She told me she had to stay and that Dumbledore would be expecting me."

"Which explains why he knew that we had to drop the portkey, for the second when the defences were dropped," Giles nodded at once. "I'm assuming that she contacted him by floo."

"Actually," Dumbledore's voice interrupted, as the Head Master approached the bed with Anya by his side. "We can keep tags of incoming portkeys. Narcissa was aware of the correct procedure for the opening of defences to a friendly arrival, while I doubt that Lucius would be. In my estimate, Dawn would have been holding the portkey for approximately five minutes, if I am correct."

"Yuh-huh," Dawn nodded. "The creepy guy's wife said she was gonna have to make it look like I escaped because I was actually a witch and not just the Slayer's sister, but I went poof before she could tell me what she was gonna do."

"How are you, Dawn?" Anya asked, her hand resting on Dumbledore's arm. "Albus was concerned about you. We had to stop playing Twister because he was so worried, so you had better be all right, so we can go back to our game!"

Dawn, Buffy, Faith and Giles all stared at the former demon, then the Head Master and suddenly understood why he had such a prominent beard and hair - it hid whether he was embarrassed or grinning like a lunatic.

"What?"

"You're saying that Professor Dumbledore plays twister?"

Anya grinned coyly up at the old wizard, patting his arm as he shook his head, chuckling. "Yes," she replied amiably. "He's remarkably flexible for someone of his age. And not just for twister."

Buffy blinked. Dawn's eyes grew round. Faith's lips curled in a smirk. Giles covered his mouth with a hand, coughing to disguise a snort of mirth.

"Buffy," Dawn said in a strangely squeaky voice. "How do I get the scary pictures out of my head?"

"Demon girl being generous with the visuals again?"

"Spike!"

Sauntering around the bed, Spike grinned down at the girl as he sat down on the edge of the mattress and raised a hand to muss her hair. "How goes it, Nibbles? You doing all right?"

Flinging her arms around him, Dawn nodded wordlessly.

"Get the feeling that means she's glad to see me?" the vampire half-laughed, draping one arm around the teen, who was clutching at him as if he were her favourite teddy bear. "And tell anyone I've been seen making with the hugs and I'll kill you all."

Sniffing hard, Dawn grinned up at him. "There's my bad ass Spike."

"S'right, Bit. You okay?"

"Gonna be good when I get rid of this cold thing," she replied, coughing. "And I'm gonna be even better when you and Buffy and everybody finds Malfoy and beat him to an icky goo."

Blue eyes rose to hazel. "Think you can deal with killing a human, Slayer?"

"I think I can make an exception," Buffy replied. "But, for now, let's just get Dawnie back on her feet and to full..."

"DAWNIE!"

The teenager in the bed's head jolted up at the voice from the end of the ward and she practically bounced out of the bed. "Duncan!" she squealed, as the boy ran the length of the ward. "Duncan! You're alive!"

"Seems so, aye," Duncan laughed, squeezing past Dumbledore and Anya and diving onto the bed, scrambling towards her and hugging her tightly, Spike easing back to avoid the crush. Sitting back, he looked her up and down. "You all righ'?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry for leadin' that git tae yer room."

"Imperius?"

"Aye."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture, as he sat back on his heels. "No biggie," she said breezily. "You're all alive and I'm all alive too and look!" She pointed to a bowl on the bedside cabinet, which Buffy immediately handed to her. "Chocolate! Lots of it."

"Dae ye have any of the stuff with the raisins in it?"

"Ew! That's gross! If you have chocolate, it has to be normal!"

Withdrawing from the bedside, as the two teenagers started sorting through the bowl of chocolate, Giles approached the Head Master. "Teenagers really are remarkably resilient, aren't they?" he murmured.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, watching the pair on the bed. "They are more resilient when they have their friends with them," he replied, then looked down at Anya. "Shall we adjourn?"

Glancing at him, Anya walked her fingers across the back of his hand. "Albus, do you have any chocolate?"

"Whatever for, my dear? Are you ill?" Mischievous brown eyes met bright blue, which widened in surprise. "Oh!" With a quick look around the group, he cleared his throat. "Well, now that everyone is settled and content, we had best depart."

Faith chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I'll be," she murmured, eyes dancing with amusement. She flashed a wicked grin at the other Slayer. "B, looks like the old guy is gettin' more cookies than me!"

With a moan of dismay as yet another lovely mental image assailed her, Buffy buried her head in her hands.

***

It had taken all Lucius' gifts of persuasion to stop the furious Glory from storming into the living room and ripping out their demon agent's spleen - assuming he had one - out with her bare hands.

The demon was the only survivor of the first attack on Hogwarts and had managed to snatch an owl to contact them, when he had escaped, but it had taken over a week and a half for him to make his way back to the Mansion.

To allow Glory to kill him would mean they would lose their only witness who might be able to provide them with crucial information.

Sitting nervously on the sofa, looking rather out of place, with a tea cup carefully held in one massive hand, the demon's deeply-sunken red eyes watching the Hell Goddess pacing, the ridge of spikes down its back bristling and shifting, a clear suggestion that it was uncomfortable.

"Okay... I got this..." Glory said jovially, casually resting one hand on the back of the enormous oak chair that sat in front of the fire. "You're in the Great Hall... the Slayer shows... you do the fighting thing...yeah, this is all good stuff to know, but here's the thing," The chair smashed against the wall, splintering, and Glory snarled. "Where the hell is my key?"

The demon was on its feet, backing away nervously, babbling everything else he had seen in the hall.

"Whoa, whoa..." A curious look crossed her face. "The Slayer yelled at someone to get the key out?" The demon nodded slowly. "And then?"

The demon considered it, then cautiously replied.

Glory looked at her lover. "Think this could be right, Luce?"

"Well," Lucius approached the Goddess, whose pacing had ceased. "You said that it is possible for those who believe they knew the key to have their memories adjusted so they think the key is a person?"

"That's right, poodle, but that person ain't gonna fit in like a normal person would."

Lucius slowly nodded. "Then," he said, a speculative expression on his face which rapidly turned into a predatorial grin. "It makes perfect sense. My dear, I believe we have found your key."


Chapter 55: Revelations

On entry to the Great Hall at breakfast through the side door behind the staff table, the day after Dawn's return, Buffy Summers couldn't shake the distinct feeling that she was being watched.

Perhaps, she pondered, that was because every single face of every single pupil was directed at her.

Sliding into a seat next to Giles, she flashed a half-smile at him. "Hey." Green eyes turned to her and she was surprised to see that he looked strangely worried. "What? Is there some demon attack on the way?"

"I have some rather bad news for you," he replied, leaning closer to her. "Many of the pupils who witnessed your mode of defence against the two demons in your class have spread the word and the student body became rather curious about why you were deemed qualified to be a Professor when you clearly have no magical ability, but do have an abundance of strength."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that they do not class the Ravenclaws as intelligent because they always carry books everywhere," her Watcher said tersely. He looked out at the hall. "When they wish to find something out..."

"Researchers, huh?" Buffy murmured, a headache rapidly building as she started to understand what he was saying. Rubbing her forehead, she grimaced. "How many of them know?"

"I-I'm afraid it is very hard to keep such a thing secret for a long period, when one person discovers something of interest about a Professor. As you might recall, you and your friends used to delight in speculating about Principal Snyder. Pupil speculation about teachers seems to be an ageless tradition."

"Great," Buffy groaned. "So basically, they all know I'm slaygal?"

"Actually," a voice cut in from her other side, one of Lorne's green-skinned hands patting her arm. "There's a little group who seem to think you're Wonder Woman and that you'd look cute in the outfit."

Shooting a look at the demon, who grinned at her, Buffy groaned. "Lorne! I so did not need to hear that, thank you! Horny boys are bad enough! Horny boys with comic book women fetishes I do not need to know about!"

"Would you prefer Xena, sweets?" he offered, sipping his coffee, a wicked twinkle in his scarlet eyes.

"I would prefer if you would stop telling me what my students think of me, Lorne!"

Red eyes darted across the staff table, then looked back at Buffy. "Who said anything about students, hon?"

Buffy followed the direction he had looked in and immediately, colour flooded up her face at the sight of Snape. Whipping back around to face Lorne, she pointed at him in warning. "Lorne, I do NOT want to know what he's thinking either!"

"Not even if it..."

"Lorne!" Leaning closer to him, she yanked him towards her by the front of his suit, trying to ignore the grin on his face. Lowering her voice to a pitch and tone, which she hoped sounded more threatening than pleading. "You keep talking and I'm going to show you just how I managed to live on a Hellmouth for five consecutive years."

"And lose old bright-eyes another Professor?" He winked, his own voice equally low. "Your secret is safe with me, sweets."

Buffy glowered at him, blushing furiously, and turned her attention back to Giles, forcing a wan smile on her face. "So, Giles, they all know?"

"Unless you-you-you wish to strategically deny it?"

"Giles, at least twenty of them saw me kick a super-big demon across a classroom and kill another one with a sword and my bare hands," she said, a note of impatience in her voice. "You better have a very good denial lined up for me."

"I'm astounded by your trust in me," Giles muttered, receiving a smirk from her. "I-I believe that maintaining secrecy would be somewhat pointless at this juncture. After all, their world is already concealed, so normal humans would still be oblivious."

The Slayer nodded pensively, turning her attention to breakfast, trying to ignore the hundreds of faces staring at her.

"I guess it would be kinda easier to tell 'em the truth and you never know," A grin crossed her lips. "It might scare some of 'em into handing their work in on time. Or at least give better excuses." Giles directed a sceptical look at her as she jabbed her knife into the butter dish. "Or not."

"You overestimate the fear you would inspire," he said, reaching for his cup of tea and taking a deep gulp of it.

"What about Faith? Do they know she's a Slayer too?"

Giles shook his head. "Not that we are aware of."

"Maybe they should be told about it," she remarked, taking a bite of the roll she had just buttered. "I mean, yeah, it'll look kinda weird to have two Slayers in the school, but it would be like the full set, since we have the demons and vampires already."

Giles removed his glasses, wiping them on his tie. "I suppose it might warn them that caution is recommended," he agreed pensively. "After all, all of them have been made aware of the demon attacks. They may feel safer as well."

"And Faith and I have been kinda outta condition..." she added innocently, tapping the edge of her knife against the side of her plate. "Maybe we could show 'em just how two Slayers do the work?"

Green eyes met hazel. "You have been planning this for some time, haven't you?"

"Only since Faith showed up," Buffy grinned at him. "We've only been one-on-one a couple of times and she's the best sparring partner I've had. I think it'll help if we can both get back in shape together. Having an audience'll only make it more fun."

"And does Faith know about this?"

Looking down at the table where the American group were sitting, chatting with one another, Buffy smiled. "Not yet," she replied. "But she will and I'm betting that she'll think it's a great idea."

***

"Think D is copin'?"

The American group seated at the table shared a communal look in the direction of Dawn, who was - once again - sitting with Duncan and his classmates, talking animatedly about something, a smile on her face.

"She looks like she has recovered well," Wesley said, then added, with a self-depreciating smile, "Although, if I recall correctly, I was never an expert on the way the mind of a teenage girl worked."

Willow grinned at him. "I'll say," she retorted. "You were way worse than Giles and that's saying something."

"Word of advice for you on the way a man's mind works, Red," Gunn muttered, leaning towards her. "Don't mention a guy's bad points in front of him, even he's talkin' about them himself."

Wesley flashed a wounded look at his friend. "I can take criticism," he said.

"You're a lousy kisser?" Cordelia offered from beside Xander, a grin on her face. It had come as a great relief when a potion had been provided, which allowed her some measure of control over her visions, at least for the time she was at Hogwarts.

Since then, her mood had improved a great deal.

"Aside from that."

"Hold on a second," Xander interrupted. "You? Him? Kissed?"

"Yeah," Cordelia flashed an impish look at him. "Twice. Why?"

"Twice?" Xander echoed, staring at her, the look of increasing horror spreading on his face. "TWICE? When? What? How? What? And ew! Take a moment to deal with the age gap!"

"Take a pill, already!" Cordelia swatted him on the leg. "Once, because, hello! End of the world impending and the two of us were alone! That's always kinda sexy... or it is until you have mind-splitting visions about it... but anyway! Yeah! He was there, I was there, it happened. And then once, in L.A. I was trying to get rid of my visions."

Xander looked at Wesley, who had a lop-sided grin on his face, then back at Cordelia. "So you two never really had a thing? Not that I care, but it's just you... and him... ew!"

"He still gets that way, huh?" Faith remarked with a grin, both elbows propped on the table, as she popped a piece of bagel into her mouth. "Xander, you gotta deal with it, Cordelia is a big girl now. She probably got all kinds of smoochies from all kindsa gorgeous, hunky actors."

Xander turned helpless puppy eyes to Cordelia. "Um..."

"Faith, that was just mean," the Seer chastised, resting her head on Xander's shoulder.

The Slayer grinned. "Yeah," she admitted. "But it was fun."

"And for your information, no, there have been no hot actor-smoochies. The only smoochies I really had lead to big old demon pregnancy," The horrified look only got worse. "And I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Can we please change the subject to... anything else?"

"How about you, Red? How's that girl-on-girl action workin' for ya?"

Willow almost choked on the piece of toast she was chewing. "Faith!"

"What?"

"I think she wishes to discuss sex because she isn't getting any," Anya offered, sipping from a large mug of black coffee. "I don't see why she should be allowed to, as I'm not allowed to discuss sex in front of the children."

"I second the motion," Wesley agreed immediately. "Sexual behaviour is a topic best left somewhere that is not the breakfast table."

"C'mon, Wes," Faith grinned at him. "Where's your sense of fun? Any news on how you're gettin' on with that cute little Flitwick guy? He was checkin' you out in a big way in London."

Wesley made an incoherent squeaking sound in his throat, while Willow really did choke on her mouthful of food. Gunn slapped her on the back, shaking his head at the beaming Faith.

"You are one crazy girl," he remarked, grinning.

"I get this way when I'm in withdrawal," she replied with a shrug. "You get me laid with someone - and I'm willin' to take anythin' at this point, with the exception of vampires, cos that would be B's territory - and I'll be back to my usual, charmin' self." All eyes went to Wesley and Gunn. "Except them."

"What about tall, dark and cranky, then? He'd be a challenge, but I think he needs it." Willow suggested with a nod and grin in Snape's direction. "Maybe if he got laid, he wouldn't be such a jerk all the time."

"Well, he's gotta be hidin' somethin' special under all those robes..." Faith agreed, appraising the Potions Professor.

Anya almost sprayed a mouthful of coffee all over the table. "Oh no! You can't have sex with Professor Snape!" she exclaimed shrilly. Unfortunately, it was loud enough for much of the High Table and at least twenty students to hear.

"Nice goin', An," Faith smirked, as Cordelia moaned and Xander hid his face in his hand. Gunn and Wesley both looked like they were pretending to be strategically deaf, while Willow was having a staring match with her toast. "Looks like old Cranky-Britches is kinda peeved you think he's unbonable."

Indeed, Snape was staring across at the table, his expression a combination of amusement, surprise and downright bewilderment. Shaking his head, he turned back to his own breakfast.

Meanwhile, Giles was smothering his laughter with a hand, Buffy was staring at Anya in horror and Lorne was taking a very intense and close interest in the mug in his hand.

"Well, I was simply thinking that you would not be compatible with him," Anya said determinedly, tilting her chin. "After all, he... well, he is not interested in you. And Albus is not interested in you either!"

Faith smirked. "Don't worry, Anya, I wouldn't dream of takin' Dumbledore for a ride." Pitiable moans went up from those within hearing range, which made her grin even more widely. "As for Cranky-Britches... I do like a challenge."

"Oh no, you don't," Anya corrected. "You really, really don't."

"So you get two and I get none? That's kinda unfair..."

Anya leaned towards the Slayer, across the table. "I'm not interested in Snape. I just know that you would not be... compatible with him. He prefers people with..." The ex-demon looked around wildly. "Smaller breasts! Your breasts are too large!"

"Never had complaints before."

Shaking her head, Anya sighed. "Very well," she said. "Try to make him have sex with you. He won't."

Faith grinned. "Is that a challenge, An?"

"No," Anya replied bluntly. "It's me saying that I know for a fact that he won't have sex with you."

"We'll see," the Slayer said, looking towards her target. It was way beyond time to have a little fun and if he was gonna be a challenge, all the better. She hadn't had a real challenge in a long time.

***

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Blue eyes rose from the book on the table. "Hmm?"

Minerva McGonagall, armed with scrolls and textbooks, looked down at the vampire who had taken up residence in her chambers since his own room had been practically torn asunder by his Sire. "May I know what is so interesting?"

"Would you believe me if I said Playboy?" A dark eyebrow rose. "And I'm guessing that would be a no."

"Billy, if you dared to bring such a thing into my rooms..."

"To add to your already extensive collection," he added, innocently, looking back down at the book, ignoring her harrumph of righteous indignation. "Don't worry about it, Minnie. I won't breathe a word."

Snorting, Minerva walked across the room to pull the curtains open, allowing a spill of sunlight in, which sent the vampire scrambling off the chair, yowling obscenities at her, his book clutched to his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Billy," she said unapologetically. "Did the nasty sunlight hurt you?"

"You're a bitch, Minnie."

Turning to face him, she smirked. "It took you so long to realise?"

Holding his book against his chest with his left arm, the vampire looked at his right hand, as if considering something important. "I can't decide which is ruder, Minnie," he said. "This," He raised his middle finger. "Or this." He raised two fingers with a polite smile.

"Such a tame response," Professor McGonagall laughed. "What a disappointment."

Spike pulled a face at her. "Well, if you'd given me more warning that you were planning on trying to turn me into a crispy critter, then I would have had more time to come up with a decent insult... and I'm working on an empty stomach here, so gimme a bloody break!"

"Bloody break... did you come up with that all by yourself, Billy?"

Blue eyes twinkled, but the vampire twisted his face into a scowl. "And people think I'm evil one in this relationship," he grumbled, skirting the patch of sunlight on the floor to fling himself down on the couch.

"Just because you have bad teeth does not mean you're an evil fiend," Minerva said in a sage tone. "After all, everyone knows yours nothing but a big fluffy puppy."

"Minnie..."

She flashed a wicked look at him. "What are you going to do, Billy? Bite me?"

His face rippled into his vampire planes. "I might well do that," he retorted.

"Promises, promises," McGonagall tossed back at him, rolling her eyes at the snarl he directed at her, then smiled at him. "So, are you actually going to tell me what that is you're reading?"

Sniffing in an indignant fashion, the vampire looked down at the book. "It's my Welcome to Hogwarts present from Twinkle," he replied. "Not that you would know anything about it."

Approaching the couch, the Deputy Head Mistress looked down at the book, a look of astonishment crossing her face. "Billy... do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, Min," he replied with exaggerated slowness. "It's a book, innit?"

"Cocky twit," she snapped without malice, sitting down beside him and leaning beside him to study the pages. "I had heard rumours that Albus had discovered it, but I didn't realise that... well..."

"That he would give it to a known blood-sucking fiend?" Spike suggested dryly, raising flaming golden eyes to green with a quizzical expression. "It's not like I'm exactly the vampire I was..."

"But were you ever really that vampire, Billy?"

"What are you on about? Of course I..."

"Billy," Minerva gave him a measured look that felt like it penetrated to his heart, frightening in its intensity. "Really?"

Spike looked down at the book pensively. Yes, he had cultivated the personality of the railroad-spike- and torture-loving vampire, but his initial nature had been that of his human self.

It had only initially been to please Drusilla that he had turned to torture.

Of course, then he had discovered the purgative effect of torturing people who reminded him so very much of the people who had mercilessly tormented him while he had been human and it had been so very addictive and empowering.

"Minnie, you have just reminded me why I don't like you," he said firmly.

"And why is that, my dear blood-sucker?"

The vampire scowled. "Because," he said, clapping the book shut and dropping it onto the floor with a weighty thump. "You make me think and everyone knows that's a dangerous thing to do."

"Yes," she agreed seriously, as the vampire laid his head on her shoulder. "Perish the thought you might actual produce a coherent sentence." Raising a hand, she ran her fingertips across the vampiric ridges of his face.

A low growl escaped Spike's throat, his face smoothing into its more familiar, human planes. "One of these days, I'm gonna bite you, Min," he cautioned, snapping at her fingers. "I'm gonna kill you all dead."

"Of course you are, Billy," she agreed amiably. "And, as you can tell, I'm quivering in absolute terror."

"You could at least pretend to be a little bit scared..."

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, his head still resting on hers, Minerva smiled. "And spoil my fun?" she said, laughing. "Oh no, Billy. I prefer to be able to ritually humiliate you."

"Daft cow."

"And proud of it."

***

"Oh bloody marvellous!"

Reclining against the arm of the couch in her husband's study, her legs tucked up beneath her, Narcissa raised her eyes from the ancient book of dark magics that she was studying. "Problem, darling?" she inquired.

According to what her pose told her husband's eyes, she was aiding him and his precious Goddess as much as possible. To the eyes of anyone else, she was pretending to read with such intensity it was night convincing.

Throwing down a scroll of parchment on his desk, Lucius savagely pushed his chair out from the wide structure, sending it crashing onto the dark wood of the floor. "I do not believe this!"

Marking the page of the book with her fingertip, Narcissa twisted where she sat to look across at him. "Lucius?"

A strained smile was flashed in her direction. "Nothing for you to worry about, my dear," he said, although the paleness of his face belied his words. "It is just that we had a... high quality weapon on special order. It seems that it has been... acquisitioned by someone else."

"Oh dear," Narcissa murmured, lowering her eyes to hide the glitter of amusement, her lips twitching inexorably upwards. "Do you know who would do such a thing?"

Scowling at the parchment, Lucius stalked over to the window, pressing a gloved hand against the frame and looking out on the morning light spreading across the winter-glazed grounds of the Manor.

"I have a suspicion," he replied, his hand clenching into a fist. "Flitwick was with them, so it would apparently be Dumbledore's envoy. Three muggles, two of whom were last seen in Los Angeles."

"Friends of your Slaughterer?"

"Slayer, dearest."

"Of course," Narcissa made a dismissive gesture with her hand, shaking her head at him. "Slayer, Slaughter, it's all the same to me. She's just a silly little girl without even a wand to defend herself."

"You mustn't forget that she had supernatural powers, dear."

Narcissa sniffed, returning to her book, smoothing a page with one hand. "Strange," she murmured, certain her husband was listening to every word. "That you and your Goddess are both so intimidated by a girl. Are you so certain of Glory's power?"

"I have witnessed her power, dear," Lucius' tone hardened and Narcissa glanced at him, rounding her eyes in innocence, knowing it would be unwise to have him angry with her. "The Slayer has aid that we did not expect."

"But you should have, my husband," Turning to face him again, Narcissa drew a patient, yet disappointed look to her face. "Your Goddess poses a threat to wizard and muggle-world alike. Surely you didn't think Dumbledore could resist poking that overly long nose of his in."

"True enough," Lucius agreed slowly, approaching the couch. "You have a gift for viewing the grander picture, my dear, as always." Sitting down on the couch, facing her, he raised his hands to cup her face. His fingertips brushed her temples. "Are there any plots brewing inside?"

"Nothing of interest, Lucius," she replied, her eyes closing as he nuzzled her jawline, one hand moving down her body. "Just a curiosity about just who you might be facing along with the Slayer. You said Rupert was present... what of the infants who were by his side?"

Lucius pulled back abruptly, eyes widening. "The little witch... Weasley! The eighth Weasley brat! She was in attendance..." Pushing back off the couch, he rose and made his way back to the desk. "Damnit!"

"Dearest?" Narcissa hoped she sounded as innocent as she hoped.

"I had my previous issues of the Daily Prophet destroyed only a few weeks ago, because they were taking up too much space."

"Oh dear. You mean you won't be able to find your information?" How she said it convincingly, Narcissa never knew, but apparently it did seem appropriately realistic and Lucius sighed, bowing his head over the desk, hands spread on the surface.

"If only you had mentioned the Weasley brat earlier, darling," he said, shaking his head grimly. "I would have had no trouble in acquiring information about her from the back issues of the paper."

Narcissa shook her head seriously. "If you had only asked for my aid sooner, dear Lucius," she sighed. "Alas, you have been distracted."

"Indeed," Lucius agreed grimly. "And I am beginning to believe that the distraction is more trouble than she is worth."

Turning back to her book, Narcissa couldn't help but smile coldly.

***

Snape hated that class.

Oh, how he despised them.

It was almost as if the fates had conspired to get every single one of his worst pupils, then placed them all in on class combining Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, all of whom hated each other with a passion.

Every time they attended one of his classes, at least two or three would end up in the Medical wing, due to some potion that had somehow gone awry, uncaring about the housepoints being lost.

It always was a blessing to have the hour-long respite of lunchtime after the class, wherein he could retire to his office and resist the urge to introduce his skull to the wall, while the house elves cleared up the classroom.

Making his way across to the hidden doorway in the wall, he opened it and stepped into the room, leaving it slightly open as always so he could keep tabs on what the house elves were doing.

A large pile of scrolls on the desk demanded his attention and he sighed, sitting down and drawing them towards him, faint fingers of light poking through the narrow windows along the top of the wall, not much but sufficient for him to work.

In his classroom, he could hear the crackle of House Elf magic and glanced that way occasionally, as the desks - eaten away by potions - were replaced and repaired, the floor and walls cleaned up.

"Good afternoon, Miss!"

Snape groaned at the House Elf's words, wondering who would have the damnable timing to visit during his one brief respite for the day. Turning his eyes towards the door, he couldn't help being a little surprised to see the dark slayer there.

Jerking his chin down in a brief nod of acknowledgement, he tried to contain his confusion. "Good afternoon."

Faith leaned against the doorframe of the office, eyeing him in a way that made him shift uncomfortably. He had tried to avoid her after their first encounter, her attitude, her utter... dominance rather unsettling. "How's'it hangin', Sev?"

It had the effect of a thousand nails scraped over a thousand blackboards.

"I do not recall granting you permission to call me by my name," he said coolly, confusion rapidly being overwritten by irritation. "I am somewhat busy at present. I would be greatly obliged if you would depart."

"And leave you all on your lonesome in the dark here?" She pushed off from the doorframe and closed the door behind her. "You sure you don't want me to keep you company for a while?"

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes, Snape pressed his lips together, then forced his voice into a civil tone. "I prefer solitude," he said grimly. "Now, if you would depart, I would be most grateful."

Strolling towards him, she grinned in a way that gave Severus the distinct feeling of being a rabbit in the sights of a wolf. "You sure that's what you want, Sev?"

"I am certain it is," he replied, glaring at her as she perched herself on the edge of his desk, right beside him. "I do have a good deal of work to be done. I do not have time for casual..."

His words were cut off when she smashed her mouth against his, his eyes widening in shock.

Frozen in a combination of horror and panic, he did nothing to stop the dark Slayer hopping into his lap, her small yet terrifyingly strong hands pressing his shoulder back against the chair.

Pulling back, she smirked at him, her eyes glittering between dark lashes. "You gonna just sit there or do I gotta do something to get a reaction?"

A strangled sound of protest escaped Snape's throat when she started to gyrate her lower body against his, ululating with the flexibility of a serpent. His hands snapped up, trying to force her back.

It went without saying that the girl knew what she was doing with her body, the wriggling stimulating in a way that he would rather it wasn't.

"Desist!"

Dark brown eyes studied him, a smirk still in place on her lips. "Uh huh?"

She ground her hips down on his. Severus tried to push her back, but she had the advantage and his hands slipped to the arms of the chair, his face tightening in a glare, his hands locking around the arms of the seat.

"I said," he growled out, his tone savage. "Desist!"

Looming over him, her hands gripping his shoulders, she smirked again. "Is that what you really want, Sev?" she demanded, pushing her hair back from her face with one hand.

"Yes, damn you," he spat. "I am not interested in your games."

Genuine surprise crossed the Slayer's face and she sat down on his legs, cocking her head and studying him. "Weird," she observed, shaking her head. "You're the first guy who's said no."

His hands still fastened around the end of the chair arms, Severus' cheek muscles tightened in a humourless smile. "As much as I am fascinated by this, remove yourself from my person. Immediately."

"You're really not interested, huh?" Faith swung off, rolling lightly onto her feet and gave him a curious look. "Gotta say I didn't think Demon-Girl was gonna be right about you, but there ya go."

Nodding stiffly, he turned his attention back to the scrolls. "I would suggest that you depart hence," he said quietly, his voice shaking slightly, hoping and praying that she would take the hint and leave him to his work. "And if you see Summers, might you inform her that I have a remedy she may be interested in."

With a mock-salute, the Slayer touched her fingers to her brow. "I'll let her know you're lookin' for her, Sev," she replied, then strolled out of the office, leaving the door to the classroom hanging open.

Whatever thoughts he had had, in regards to work, were shot to pieces and he was still sitting and staring blindly at the scrolls when he heard another set of footsteps enter the classroom, his head whipping around as a small, slender figure appeared in the doorway.

"You wanted to see me?"

His throat tight, Severus nodded, making a jerky motion with one hand, indicating that she ought to approach her. "Your... friend paid me a visit, Summers," he said, surprised by how calm his voice was.

"Faith?" The small blonde woman approached him, pausing by the arm of his chair, a concerned look filtering onto her face. "Oh God... what did she do, Snapey?" A muffled sound escaped Snape's throat and Summers extended a hand, touching his shoulder cautiously. "Severus?"

Severus' eyes snapped to her face, widening. He had never heard her speak his name before. Catching the hand on his shoulder, he pulled once, catching her off-balance and jerking her straight into his arms.

The heat instigated by Faith was far from used and he claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss, one hand threading through her hair. An arm locked around him, her body twisting to straddle his thighs as she returned the kiss.

One of Summers' hands reached behind her, a sweeping motion, sending the scrolls, ink bottles and quills flying from the broad surface of the desk, glass shattering on the stone of the floor.

Outer robes rapidly dispatched, Summers' fingers rapidly tugged at the front of his robes, buttons tearing off, her muttered apologies ignored as she pulled him up, sitting on the edge of the desk, her mouth trailing off his, his hands everywhere.

"No!"

Hazel eyes, dark with need, stared at him. "What is it?"

He shook his head, panting hard, his hands braced beside her thighs on the surface of the desk. "We should not do this, Summers."

"No," she agreed, a slow grin crossing her lips, as she caught him by the front of his ripped robes and pulled him closer to her, her face inches from his. "We shouldn't. We really, really shouldn't."

***

"Knock knock! Anyone mind if the tall, dark stranger pays a visit?"

"Sirius Black!" Giles was on his feet in a heartbeat, more than happy to push aside the papers he was working through. Hurrying over to the door of the staff room, he let the younger man in. "Thank you!"

Sirius raised a brow at the other man, then looked around the deserted staff room with a sigh. "Was hoping to catch Flitwick off guard," he commented, a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes. "But you... didn't know you swung that way, old man."

"If it means I get a break from marking the most imbecilic essays I have ever read, I do believe it's safe to say I would swing whichever way was necessary! And don't you give me old, you rogue." Gesturing Sirius towards the chairs, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What brings you back here?"

"The usual. Bringing word to Dumbledore. I was just up at the office and he's ordered a meeting in about an hour, during dinner," Sirius threw himself down on the couch in front of the empty grate, stretching out his legs. "Plus, I have some messages that have to be passed around, while I'm here."

"And you simply thought you would remain and irritate me until then?" Giles suggested mildly, replacing his glasses.

"Irritate? Me? I can't imagine what gave you that idea!"

Giles merely smiled a knowing smile. "Well, once you are on the teaching staff, it is very difficult to prevent Professor Flitwick and Minerva from informing all of us of your school-time escapades."

"Can't trust them to keep that to themselves, can I?" Sirius sighed, then grinned. "I heard you were quite the mischief maker yourself."

Taking one of the seats near the couch, Giles sank into it, letting himself relax, aches spreading down his body.

"I don't know who would be spreading such dreadful rumours about me," he sniffed primly, smoothing down his shirt. "Although..." A mischievous glimmer shone in his green eyes. "I don't suppose you know about the passage behind the statue of some man called Randolph the Mad?"

"Password being revolucius?" Sirius responded with a knowing look, which spread into a grin when the older man rolled his eyes. "What about the one behind the hump-backed witch?"

"Found it in first year," Giles replied. "I suppose you know all about the second floor corridor on the way to Gryffindor tower..."

"Wait a second... would that be the one behind the painting of Ingelbert the Wonky?"

Giles frowned, scratching his head thoughtfully. "Not unless they actually changed paintings in the thirty years since I left. Would it lead from the corridor, beyond the lavatories on the sixth floor, and come out by the Hufflepuff common room?"

"You actually wanted to go near the Hufflepuff Common room?" Sirius stared at him in shock. "You really were a trouble-maker, weren't you?"

"It was sheer fate that lead us there," Giles said, his expression serious. "And how a handful of dungbombs happened to fall in the door when it was half-open I will never ever know."

"I'm sure," Sirius grinned boyishly. "You say this corridor was in the second floor corridor?" Giles nodded. "We must have missed it and hit another one that lead out onto the grounds."

"One would almost think that Professor Dumbledore wanted his well-behaved young Gryffindors to go roaming at night, wouldn't you say?" Giles suggested, unable to refrain from grinning himself.

"Perish the thought!" Sirius gasped, then sat up a little, his expression suggesting that he was wracking his brains. "What about West Wing, eighth floor, through the walls of the fifth toilet cubicle on the left?"

Giles smirked. "Leads to the chamberpot room in the basement. You'll have to do better than that," he countered. "Top of astronomy tower, third stone down under the sixth window along from the door, counting in a clockwise direction?"

"Damnit!"

"You're playing with the big boys now, Black," the former Watcher grinned. "Let me see what you've got."

***

Arm-in-arm, Willow and Hermione had just been on a walk around the lake with Xander and Cordelia, leaving the dark-haired pair to go and seek out Hagrid, who had invited them for dinner.

Their faces rosy from the winter chill that still clung to the air, scarves bound around their necks and woolly hats on their heads, they were both laughing as they hurried up the staircase towards the entrance hall.

With help from her lover, Willow had finally gained some control of her wandless magic and had spent the afternoon showing off tricks, sending balls of light dancing around her friends and shaping their misted breath.

Unfortunately, it had left grossly misshapen ice-statues littering the grounds. Willow was the first to admit that her idea of what a duck looked like was radically different from a normal interpretation, which had reduced Xander to laughing at her attempts, for which he had received a magically-directed snowball down his neck.

All in all, it had been a pleasant afternoon, Xander-squealing notwithstanding.

Hurrying across the floor of the Entrance hall, still chatting, both of them stopped short at the sight of two figures walking down the staircase, one of them talking nineteen to the dozen and the other grinning a little.

"Buffy! Dawnie!"

"Willow!" Dawn exclaimed, disengaging from her sister, who smile indulgently as Dawn bound towards the two young witches. "Willow, Professor Dumbledore's called a meeting and he said Sirius is gonna be there!"

"Sirius?"

"You know? Dog-guy?"

Willow cuffed her playfully across the head, Dawn ducking with a broad grin back at the witch. "I know who he is, doofus," she said with a tone of mock-reprimand in her voice. "What's he doing here?"

"Being all sexy and stuff?"

"Dawn Summers!" Willow exclaimed, scandalised.

Pouting, the teen barely managed to mask her grin. "Well he is!"

"Buffy, did you hear what your sister just said?"

"Hmm?" Buffy blinked, apparently coming out of a very pleasant daze. "Huh?"

Hermione nudged her lover. "Looks like someone's head is in the clouds," she said in an undertone. "Do we dare to think that someone may have been rubbing Buffy up the right way?"

"Hermione!" Buffy squeaked, going scarlet.

"And who," Willow added, grinning naughtily. "Has just arrived and is just good enough to eat?"

"Willow! I'm not doing anything! I didn't! With Sirius? No!" Three pairs of eyes exchanged knowing looks. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Buffy!" Dawn grinned at her sister. "You're all goofy and daydreamy and you only get that like when you've had major face-suckage and snuggles with your hunny and Sirius is the only way cute guy to show up here today."

A mortified look crossed the Slayer's face. "But I didn't!"

"Didn't Sirius or didn't anybody?"

"Summers," a male voice spoke from the shadows near the stairs. "I do believe the Head Master insisted on you assembling your motley crew of friends immediately and bringing them all to the staff room. I do not recall him mentioning anything about loitering in the corridors."

Buffy shot a grateful look in the direction of the darkness, from which Severus Snape emerged, robes flaring around him. "Snapey, you have no idea just how grateful I am that you showed up right now!"

Glittering black eyes scanned over the two witches and Dawn. "Did I interrupt some form of ritual humiliation?" There was a faint, barely even noticeable lift on one side of his thin lips. "How very... unfortunate."

Even Dawn looked slightly disturbed by the suggestion of a smile. "O... kay... you're being all creepy and stuff!" A dark brow rose. "More than usual! Stop it! Stop it or I'll sic Buffy on you!"

"I quiver in fear," the sneer returned to his voice and he pivoted on heel. Pausing briefly, he shot a look at the Slayer. "The meeting, Summers, if you would get a move on. I do believe it is all because of you, once again. Most... irritating. Some of us do have more interesting work to be getting on with."

Buffy pulled a face at him as he strode off. "Cranky bastard."

His voice floated back. "You have no idea."

***

"Seventh staircase down from the Ravenclaw Common Room?"

"It leads to the other side of the block. The wooden panel beneath the portrait of Uric the Oddball moves and lets you into the wall. For some reason, there's a statue of a badger in there. Could never figure that out. How about short cuts to Dumbledore's office from the Great Hall?"

"I thought this was supposed to be difficult, Black. Third painting from the left, behind the staff door, has a staircase, which leads directly to a hidden door, which opens just beside the gargoyle. How about the dungeons, between the Potions class and the storage chambers at the far end?"

"How long has this been going on?" Wesley inquired, looking across one of the tables at Gunn, who was watching the two men in front of the fire.

"I've been here ten minutes and they've been goin' since then," Charles Gunn replied, half-grinning. Giles and Black were practically in one another's faces, each trying to outdo the other's knowledge of Hogwarts. "Don't know how they know so much, but I'd bet it'd be real useful."

"Poke the third stone along from the fourth door on the left, five stones up. It should squeak and open a doorway." Black smirked, leaning back on the couch. "That the best you can do, old man?"

"Oh dear God, this is ridiculous!" Wesley moaned, dropping heavily onto the seat by the table and burying his head in his arms. "And to think that once, I might have even respected him."

"Pfft, right, Wes!"

Wesley didn't even look up. "Good afternoon, Faith," he mumbled around his shirt sleeves, the Slayer patting him on the head as she swung up to sit on the table, then appeared to take notice of Sirius Black, who had just been challenged with another puzzle of Hogwarts. "Who's the cutie?"

"I'm assuming that you aren't referring to Giles," her former Watcher muttered.

"Sure, Wes," Faith laughed, mussing his hair again, grinning at Gunn. "I mean, he's got the sexy mid-life-crisis thing goin' on for him. And I'm bettin' he knows a few tricks with his wand..."

"For the love of..." Giles spluttered, turning towards her. "Faith, do you mind? We are trying to hold a civilised conversation here!"

"You threatened to pull his hair when he almost got you, G," Charles grinned, the former Watcher glowering at him. "I dunno about you, but that don't class as a civilised conversation where I come from."

Giles sniffed. "Cretin."

Sirius, though, had noticed the distraction. "And aren't you going to introduce me to the charming young lady?"

"Lady? Charming?" Faith beamed at him. "Buddy, I like you already." Pushing off the table, she approached the couch and stuck out a hand, which Sirius leaned over and shook. "Faith."

"Sirius Black."

A slow grin spread across the dark-haired Slayer's face. "Ah, the cookie," she noted, looking him up and down. "Gotta say I'm agreein' with the vote we got goin' here," She squeezed his hand. "Nice to finally put a name to the salty goodness."

Blue eyes flicked sideways. "Giles, mind translating any of that?" The Watcher merely snorted and Sirius winced as Faith tightened her grip slightly. "Holy... ow! And again! Ouch! Grip!"

Yanking him up by his hand, bringing her face close to his, she gave him a sensual grin. "You want a translation, buddy," she murmured, deep brown eyes boring into bright blue. "All you gotta do is ask."

"Would I get one with my hand intact?" he asked, flashing his best debonair and I'm-not-in-pain-really smile at her.

"Guess I could deal with that," she replied with a laugh, releasing his fingers and climbing easily over the back of the couch to drop down next to him. "So, you're Sirius, huh? The girls have told me all about ya. Spiderman boxers, huh?"

Giles, Wesley and Charles all choked back bursts of laughter at the expletive that slipped past Sirius' lips.

Faith only served to make it worse, though, leaning closer to the black-haired man and adding, "Don't worry, buddy. Everyone has their own taste. I'm the kinda girl who likes to go commando, if you get my meanin'."

Blue eyes blinked at her.

"Sirius," Everyone in the room nigh yelled in surprise at Dumbledore's voice, a heartbeat before the Head Master slid through a hold that appeared in the wall beside the fireplace, landing on his feet. "I doubt you have ever met a young lady like Faith before."

Sirius nodded, blinked, then pointed at Giles. "Did you know about that one?"

"No. You?"

"Bugger! He wins!"

Dumbledore beamed at them, stepping aside as Anya catapulted out of the hole he had just emerged from, landing in a heap on the floor, padded from head to foot with pillows and cushions.

"I do have the slight advantage of teaching here for almost seventy years as well as once being a student, Mr. Black," he added, helping Anya to her feet. "It does give one a slight advantage."

"And don't you worry about it, cutie," A small, strong hand was laid on Sirius' thigh sending his thoughts skittering to anywhere but the castle's hidden passages. "I'll be your consolation prize."

"Bloody hell! She moves fast! Got yourself a shag-monkey, then?"

"Shagmonkey?" Sirius echoed in a somewhat subdued tone, the hand moving further up his thigh and making it very, very difficult to think straight.

"Billy, language!"

Spike, in the doorway, rolled his eyes at the Deputy Head Mistress. "Whatever you say, Minnie," he drawled, strolling across the room to take the third chair by the fireplace, pausing briefly to stare at Anya. "Nice look, Demon-Girl."

"With Albus, they are necessary," Anya replied with a smug smirk, which set Giles and Wesley groaning.

Spike, though, grinned at her. "Yeah, bet you get a lot of problems with his old joints needing padding."

"Billy!"

"You never said I had to behave, Min!" he whined in a wounded tone.

"Like that would ever happen!" Dawn exclaimed as she barged into the room ahead of Snape, Buffy, Willow and Hermione, her eyes falling instantly on Sirius and Faith on the couch, her eyes flicking to Buffy. "Uh, you guys?"

"Hey, B!" Faith mock-saluted the blonde Slayer. "Cookies, huh?"

Buffy just shook her head. "Faith, you're crazy." She turned to Dumbledore. "Where are Cordy and Xander? I figured they'd be here."

"Dinner. Hagrid's," Willow put in, shuddering. "Better them than me. Hagrid's uber-sweet, but he has no idea that when you cook something, you don't just throw it right into the fire."

"K," Buffy acknowledged, then looked at Sirius. "So, what's the what?"

Sirius blinked, then seemed to realise he had missed his cue. "Oh!" Leaping to his feet, he looked around a wildly, then seemed to recall his purpose. "Right! Messages! I have messages! For people!"

"Ain't he talented, B?" Faith grinned lasciviously, running the toe of one boot up the back of Sirius' leg. "Gotta say I'm likin' the short sentence thing he has goin' on. No chance of him bein' a Mini-Wes."

"Faith," Buffy chastised, laughing. "Let him be for a minute. We do actually want to know what he's talking about."

With a grateful look in Buffy's direction, Sirius started to speak, "I got an owl from Remus the other day. Apparently your Angel bloke showed up over there and the three of them are on their way back to help, picking up a few friends on the way."

"Wait up, sweeti..." Lorne stopped short as soon as he crossed the thresh hold, then beamed at Sirius. "Well, isn't this a fine day for the tall, dark and cute quota! And who might this be?"

"Urckle?"

"Sirius, Lorne. Lorne, Sirius," Buffy gestured from one to the other impatiently.

"Demon?" Sirius blinked.

"Hey!" Lorne protested, an injured tone in his voice. "Do I walk in a say 'human'? I don't think so! Sweetie, you gotta do something about these insensitive guys you keep on hauling up! Angel was just as bad, but he's a greenophobic, the big sap! Bet he wouldn't have made so big a deal if I was black or red and scaly or somethin'! It's no fair to live in a world where people are jealous because you look good in gre..." He seemed to realise that every eye was on him. "And I should just shut up and let Mr Tact get on with what he was saying, huh?"

"We do need to know what is going on," Dumbledore agreed calmly. "Sirius, if you don't mind?"

"Um... yeah... right..." Tearing his attention from both the green demon in front of him and the dark-haired girl tracing the back of his leg with her foot, Sirius cleared his throat. "Yeah... Remus, Daniel and Angel-bloke are on their way. They would portkey, but Remus and Daniel think it might knock out their control of the wolf a bit, so they have to do it the muggle way."

"Daniel?" Willow gasped, sitting down heavily by one of the tables, Hermione immediately kneeling down beside her and clasping the red head's hands between her own. "Oz? Oz is coming back? Back here?"

"Oz?" Sirius looked to Dumbledore for counsel.

"Daniel Osbourne, Remus' companion, was Willow's partner for nearly three years," the Head Master said, looking down at Willow with concern. "Do you believe this may prove problematic, Miss Weasley?"

"I-I dunno," she replied, chewing on her lower lip. "I mean, I kinda figured we would see each other again, but not so soon... what if he gets way mad at me because I'm already..." She looked at Hermione. "I don't want to make him mad."

Rising on her knees, Hermione kissed her lover's forehead. "Don't worry," she said softly, lifting Willow's face between her hands and looking into the red head's eyes with a reassuring smile. "This is what he wanted you to find, remember."

Willow nodded, although still looked doubtful.

"Love you, baby," she whispered, sliding her arms around Hermione. Her lover wasn't the only one to see tears sliding down her face and pulled Willow closer, kissing the side of her neck and embracing her tightly, protectively.

Dumbledore looked away from them to allow them a moment. Buffy moved closer and placed a hand on Willow's shoulder for comfort, one of Willow's rising to grasp it, squeezing her friend's fingers.

"Do we have any idea of what time frame we are looking at, Sirius?"

"Remus said perhaps a week or two at most. They would travel by plane, but he mentioned something about Angel having problems there."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Sunlight. I suppose it is safer for a vampire to travel in Daniel's van than it would be to... Sirius? Sirius, are you all right?"

"Vampire? Bloody hell..."

"Actually, mate," Spike waggled his fingers. "That's two vampires. One's a froofy ponce with bad hair."

"And the other one is Angel," Minerva McGonagall cut in smartly.

"Oi! Minnie! You cow!"

"How well you know me, Billy," Minerva smirked, then looked back at Sirius who looked like he had just walked in on an episode of the Twilight Zone. "And you have just been fondled by a Vampire Slayer."

"Another one?"

"You got me, baby," Faith blew a kiss up at him, grinning. Sirius looked from her to Buffy, then back.

"I do believe we've confused him enough," Giles chuckled, shaking his head. "So, Sirius, will you be remaining shortly? At least for the grand battle."

"Battle?" Sirius echoed dubiously.

"Do I dare to ask what might be going on?" Snape spoke from near the door.

Dawn beamed at him. "Buffy and Faith are gonna kick each other's asses! It's gonna be so cool!"

"D, we're only gonna spar. No ass-kickin'." Dawn gave the dark-haired Slayer a knowing look and Faith relented and grinned. "Okay, maybe a bit of the ass-kickin', if B asks for it."

"Albus," Snape said conversationally, turning to Dumbledore. "Is it too late to market tickets and produce merchandise for this event? I do believe we could make a considerable profit from it."

Everyone in the staff room, bar Anya, Dumbledore and Buffy, stared at the Potions Professor as if he had grown a second head.

"Buffy," Dawn whimpered. "He's making funnies. Make him stop. It's creepy!"

Severus simply tilted his chin and smirked, as if he had just succeeded in reducing a whole class of Gryffindors to tears.

***

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Rolling her eyes at the blonde, Faith nodded, hefting her own choices of weapons: a quarterstaff in one hand and sword in the other. "How many times do I gotta tell you, B? I'm lookin' forward to kickin' your ass again."

"Again? What again?" Buffy gave the brunette a look.

"Okay, maybe just kickin' your ass, then," Faith retorted, swinging the sword experimentally, checking the balance. "And hopefully, we're gonna finish without the knife-in-gut thing because that was pretty in a way that's not."

"No blood this time, k?"

"I can so work with that."

Armed with a quarterstaff of her own, Buffy's other weapon of choice was an axe, held loosely in her right hand.

Both of the young women were standing in the middle of the Great Hall, the students filtering in through the doors and taking up positions around them both, muttering and edging around to line the sides of the Hall.

"Anymore coming, Head Master?"

"It appears not, Professor Summers," Dumbledore said from the dais, where he was sitting with a large contingent of the staff body, many of whom were curious about the chance to see two Slayers battle.

Nodding, Buffy shouldered her axe and looked around the hall, as Giles and Xander closed the doors.

"You guys know what we are. Faith and I are Vampire Slayers, which means we're stronger and faster than any muggle," she spoke loudly enough for everyone in the Hall to hear. "And you have to know how dangerous we can be. There's a line marked around our fighting ground," She motioned to the white line Dumbledore had applied. "It'll stop things coming out, but you don't wanna be getting in here. Am I making myself clear?"

A wave of murmurs went around the hall.

"Get the feelin' they're not takin' you seriously, B?" Faith commented dryly.

Buffy smirked, looking around the hall. "Only a few of them have seen me fighting and I'm guessing most of the boys showed because we're wearing tight clothes," she said quietly. "I think this is going to be a shock for quite a few of them."

"My kinda shock," Faith said with a broad grin. "Wanna dance?"

"You bet."

Before the words had even left her lips, Faith's two weapons swung in from opposite directions, Buffy diving into a tuck and roll, coming up onto her feet, her own staff slashing out at Faith's legs, the Slayer jumping into a handless backflip.

She landed, only for Buffy's back swing to catch her ankles, knocking her flat, her body bouncing back with the momentum, Faith using her forearms as a quazi-springboard and flipping back onto her feet.

"Nice," she said, grinning and blocking an overhand swing with her staff, then a low blow with her sword, the force of the blow from Buffy's axe leaving the sword vibrating in her grasp.

Weapons locked, Buffy jerked her foot up between them, kicking Faith under the chin, the dark girl crashing back with the impact, but rolling and scissoring her legs out when Buffy moved in, sweeping the blonde's feet from beneath her, a swift slash of her sword sending Buffy's axe hurtling up into the air.

Reversing the blow, her sword met staff, which was whirled around in a sweeping blow, sending her blade skittering across the floor, as the axe clattered down on the other side of the hall.

"Good shot, B," Faith hissed between her teeth, as both of the Slayers rolled back onto their feet again, circling one another warily, armed only with their staffs.

"You know me," Buffy shrugged, grinning, then launched a series of rapid attack shots, which Faith blocked with accuracy to match the blonde. "Gotta get the shots when you know you can."

"Yeah," Faith acknowledged, allowing the attack, as it drove her backwards.

"You're trying to get to my axe, huh?"

"Am I that obvious?"

Buffy laughed, ducking a savage block that would have decapitated a demon, the speed of the fight both exhilarating and liberating, so rare was it to find an enemy that proved a real challenge. "Well you have been out of the game a while."

"You sayin' I'm gettin' sloppy?"

"Getting?" Buffy's blow darted beneath Faith's defences, catching the dark-haired woman in the ribs, knocking her back a step. "You're already there!"

"I may be sloppy, B," Faith countered, grinning widely, as she returned the blow, catching Buffy under the jaw, forcing her into a flip. "But at least my roots aren't showing."

"And I so know you did not insult the hair!"

"Whatcha gonna do about it, B?" Faith laughed. "Never gonna get a guy with roots like that!"

"Hand-to-hand good enough for you?"

"You bet!"

The rapidity of blows and verbal attacks matched ideally, almost every inch of the floor covered at some moment or other, both girls panting and breathless, but grinning wildly at one another, the adrenalin surging through them.

As one, both of them tossed aside their staffs, moving into closer range for a fight that could easily rival the battle they had fought with one another only a couple of years earlier, only without the hatred spurring them.

"So... the hair..."

"Whose to say I can't get a guy with it looking like this?" Buffy caught Faith by the arm, giving her wrist a hard twist. Backing into the motion, Faith reversed it, flipping Buffy with her own body as leverage.

Crashing down on their backs on the stone floor, Faith tilted her head back to look at Buffy. "You're tellin' me you go someone?" she demanded, doing a handspring back onto her feet and twisting in the motion so she came up facing Buffy.

"Not exactly," Buffy's foot caught Faith in the middle of the chest, the impact enough to send a demon hurtling across the room, but the dark girl didn't flinch, grabbing Buffy's ankle and twisting, tossing Buffy back onto her back.

"How not exactly?" Dodging a straddle kick with a flip over the blonde, Faith aimed a punch at Buffy's lower back, only for her wrist to be caught in a vice-like grip and to find herself on her back again. "How exactly is exactly anyway?"

"Faith, now is really not the time!" Swivelling, Faith slammed the edge of her rigid hand against the back of Buffy's knee, sending the blonde to her knees, catching her in a headlock as she dropped.

"What time could be better, B? Everyone's distracted!"

Slamming her head back against Faith's face, the launching the other girl over her shoulder, Buffy leapt back to her feet. "Yeah, but I don't want everyone hearing about it right this second!"

"So it's an it, then?" Faith was on her feet in a blink, both fists clenched in front of her chest. "You gettin' some deep down action?"

"Faith! The kids!"

"They can't hear, B," the dark Slayer laughed dodging a flurry of punches in a style that could only be compared to Neo in the Matrix, bending backwards and in the same moment thrusting the heel of her hand up under Buffy's breasts, sending the blonde careening backwards. "Old D didn't wanna risk me sayin' somethin' that might screw with the kids' heads."

Panting, pushing her hair back with one hand, Buffy shook her head. "I don't blame him," she said. "I'd wanna shut you up too."

"So I'm takin' that as a hell yes!" Diving at the blonde, they fell in a tangle, Faith's legs tangling around Buffy's to hold her still. "How was it, B? He get you squirmin' for him? Or is it a she? Red's changed teams... you got something you wanna tell?"

It was punctuated with a raw lick up her neck and Buffy yelled, tossing Faith off her body with a jerk of hips and shoulders. "Faith!"

"So that's a big no on girlie action, huh?"

"Way big no!"

Both of them scrambled back onto their feet, circling each other, fists raised almost in a pugilist's stance.

"So... I'm guessin' a big not on the Sirius guy, because you gave me the A-OK on him..." Her words were punctuated with a scatter of punches and kicks which Buffy dodged and wove between, both of them peppering each other with blows.

"Can we just fight?"

"What's the fun in that, B? Gotta have the banter!" A punch on her nose silenced her for a heartbeat. "Oh, c'mon, B! I know it can't be old D. Demon-gal would kill you and I know no one can get in Cranky's pants..."

"What?!?"

Faith grinned. "An and I had a lil bet on," she dodged another blow, catching Buffy's fist in her own hand and twisting. "She said cranky wasn't interested. I said he was. Paid him a little visit and she was right."

"So it was you that got him all crazy!" Buffy let the momentum of Faith's twist on her arm carry her and smacked down on the ground, her feet kicking upwards and catching Faith under the chin.

"How would you know about..." Scrambling to her feet, Faith stared at the blonde, dawning on her face. "Holy shit, B! Check you out! Always with the broody, glarin' sons of bitches, huh?"

Unable to hide a grin, Buffy shrugged. "It's the flaring coat thing, I guess," she replied, in fighting stance. "You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Not a word to a soul or soulless, B," Faith returned the grin, both of the Slayers straightening up. "And I get the feelin' this fight would have been a whole lot messier if I had screwed with your boy."

"Damn straight," Buffy nodded, then looked up at Dumbledore, who raised his wand, the barrier around the floor shimmering away into nothing, leaving nothing but an awed silence hanging in the air.

Faith looked around with a smirk, hands on her hips. "Think we scared 'em?"

"I think so," Buffy laughed, shooting a half-glance towards Severus who, much to her amusement, looked utterly dumbstruck by what he - and the rest of the people in the Great Hall had witnessed. "Wanna go get something to eat?"

Looping her arm through Buffy's, Faith said, "Sure. Your ugly little elf-guy'll bring us anything we want..." Her eyes drifted to Sirius as they strolled towards the door of the Hall, the pupils parting before them. "Or anyone," she added with a lecherous grin.

"God, Faith," Buffy exclaimed, laughing. "Is that all you think about?"

Faith beamed at her. "Pretty much."

***

"Anything?"

"Sorry, darling," Narcissa replied with sorrow that was frighteningly convincing. She raised her eyes to Lucius on the other side of the room, where he was surveying the book shelves. "I doubt we'll find anything of use in these tomes."

What she failed to mention to her beloved husband was that she had already read the necessary spell six times over and had manipulated the page, simply shifting a few pages around, although it had taken a painful amount of dark magic to do so.

"I'm gettin' bored, poodle," Glory groused. "I wanna get into that school and suck 'em all dry."

"We're working on it, my dear lady," Lucius' voice was rigid and crisp. He sounded very much like he wanted to hit her over the head with something hard or strangle her or both. "If you could give us even a suggestion..."

"Luce," Blue-green eyes darkened in caution. "Don't you get ratty with me. I'm so over you and I need results. If I don't get my key real soon, I'm not gonna be happy and you know how cranky I can be when I'm not happy."

Narcissa flashed a look up at Lucius, who looked paler than usual. Sweat was beading his upper lip and he swallowed hard, licking his lips. "We are doing the best we can, my dear, but as we do not yet know what we are looking for..."

"Hello, dumbass? A spell! A spell to get past the security and let me squish every one of those puny mortals like ants!"

Lucius' thin lips tightened in a line, his eyes flashing. "Of course, my dear," he said coldly and precisely. "But, for now, why don't you entertain yourself by taking Narcissa shopping and I will search further?"

"Are you sure you would not be better at shopping, dearest?" Narcissa suggested in a sweet voice. "After all, I know every book in this library and will be able to search out the better ones."

Lucius cast a malevolent yet comprehending look at her. "Very well, my dear. Good luck," Turning to Glory, he extended a hand towards her. "And now, my Goddess, will you accompany me?"

Apparently Glory's bad attitude didn't extend to potential shopping sprees and she beamed at him. "Sure, hon!" Looping her arm through his, they both departed the room and as soon as Narcissa was certain they had left the house, she dropped the book she was reading.

Running to the desk, she picked up a sheet of parchment and hastily jotted down the details of the spell that Glory and Lucius intended to use to bring down the barriers around the school, if they found it, and added some details about the series of counterspells for such an attack.

Signing with her initials only, she placed the parchment in an envelope and wrote the address of the recipient on the front in a delicate sweeping script, before hurrying to the family owlery, to find her own owl.

The open-windowed chamber was large and chilly, wind whistling through it and Narcissa clutched her shivering hands into her thick pullover.

"Hecate?"

An Eagle owl swooped down from the rafters, landing with a clatter on the nearest window ledge, uttering a curious hoot. Narcissa could understand why. It was rare for her to send letters and rarer still for her to use her private owl.

"Take this to him, my Princess," she whispered, tying the letter to the bird's leg and placing a kiss on its head. "And stay there." Hecate hooted indignantly. "It's for your own safety and mine, Princess."

Hecate nipped her finger affectionately, turning with the graceless walking waddle of an owl, peering out of the window into the late afternoon light. Ruffling her feathers, the owl shuffled forward and with a last hoot, launched herself and her letter out of the window and into the sky.

Leaning on the window ledge until she could no longer see the owl, Narcissa exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing that she had provided at least a little aid. "She is in your hands now, Albus," she whispered, turning and departing from the owlery.

 

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