Heir Of Voldemort

A few days after chapter 13

Notes: Since I´ve passed the major, fun, character-massacring chapters, I was sure I would slow down the pace with writing this story and start working more on my stuff for university - unfortunately, that plan didn´t exactly...work. I have so many ideas for the next seven chapters, it´s ridiculous.

And yes, people, Xander will features more - the first thirteen chapters were just scene setting...well, kind of... Either way, Xander is going to have to find out about his heritage at some point and surely you didn´t think I would let Cassie have it that easy ;) C´mon, people! I character-torture for fun! There are seven chapters left! This is just the beginning! :-D I feel an evil cackle coming on!

Muahahahaha!

Ah, I feel better now.

There´s also a small scene that I shoved in here inspired by a scene from `Phantom´, the Susan Kay novel about Phantom of the Opera, which I took off on my own mad tangent. This story...man, its taking on a life of it´s own...

And, just before anyone starts jumping on me and pummeling me, I don´t have any particular ship here and I know that someone is bound not to like what I´m doing. If that is the case, tuff-titties. This is simply the way the story is going, so I write it as I see it and nothing more.

Thanks, again, to all the lovely reviewer types! Hopefully, I´ll still manage to spring a surprise or two on you before I finish this baby - if not, I really have to consider changing my choice of career!

Also, not mine. Nothing is mine. Except the oddness, death, murders, massacres and general nasties. Boo hoo. I still poor and impoverished and waiting on my Chinese to be delivered...food. Food good.

And on to the fic...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only a few of them there.

Had word spread, it would probably have been the most attended funeral in the history of the wizarding world, but word hadn´t spread and only the closest of friends were in attendance.

It was a grey day, the sky overcast and dull, sunlight barely even visible as a smirr of light behind the clouds. A stiff wind occasionally hit them, but they remained where they were.

Ronald Weasley, brown eyes dry of tears simply because he had none left, stood to the right of Hermione Granger, who now bore a scar on her left temple similar to that which had made the friend they were burying so famous.

Her small hand was held in Ron´s larger one, neither of them speaking, as they sadly watched the coffin disappear into the maw in the ground.

A short way away from them, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin stood, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, all of them garbed in robes of black, still bearing the looks of exhaustion and grief that marked the faces of so many wizards and witches who had been involved in the battle.

A brief, emotional eulogy was given for the Boy Who Lived by Sirius Black, as the famous Harry Potter was finally laid to rest, barely a stone´s throw from the grave of his own parents.

It was short.

Not because there was a lack of things to say about Harry, but because so many had died, it caused grief to linger over every single friend and relative who had been lost in the struggle.

For his part, Ron was relieved that it was over quickly.

Just over a week previously, he, his mother and his brothers had attended the funeral of Arthur Weasley, something which had completely drained him of energy and his capacity for reason and emotion.

When word came in, from some source who had contacted Professor Flitwick about a surge in darkness, and they were told that war was coming, he truly hadn´t cared.

Nothing had seemed to matter in that moment.

All he had known was that his beloved father, his daddy, had gone away forever and wasn´t coming back. Now, he was lying in a box, never to be seen again, never to get a chance to play with his grandkids or see his children marry...

It had been Hermione and Harry that had brought home that reality to him.

The one who had murdered Harry´s own parents, the one who had kidnapped and tormented his baby sister, the one who had been instrumental in his father´s death was about to try and wipe out the wizarding world as they knew it.

Despite the numb grief he had felt, the lingering ache in his heart, he had risen to the task at hand, joining his two friends to stand with the remaining teachers and any of the witches and wizards who were brave enough to fight with them.

Then, Percy´s body had been deposited on the step at the back door of The Burrow, his face bloated, eyes bulging out of the sockets, almost beyond recognition. If it hadn´t been for the shock of red hair...

Bill had wanted to burn his body on a bonfire in the back garden, or pitch him off a cliff, or something, anything, that would prevent the traitor from being buried with the rest of their ancestors.

That had caused even more emotional upheaval.

With emotions running high already, Charlie´s statement that - no matter what he had done - Percy was still a Weasley had earned him a punch in the face from Bill, who had immediately received a slap from their mother.

If anything, that hadn´t helped.

His family, already torn apart by the deaths of several members, fighting amongst themselves had made Ron want to run back to his nice, safe four-poster and curled under the blankets until everything went away.

That´s where Hermione had found him.

She had just wrapped her arms around him, her hot cheek pressed against his neck and he hadn´t been able to stand it for a moment longer, his face screwing up, as he tried to hold in all the pain and misery that had been building up in him for days.

To his surprise, when he started to cry, snot, tears and everything streaming down his face and making a right mess of Hermione´s blouse, she hadn´t complained or got annoyed, but just rocked him and held him tight, just as he needed her to.

Afterwards, she had sat back from him, pulled a wad of tissues out of her sleeve and gently wiped his cheeks dry, giving him the little smile she always did when she half-proud of, half-exasperated with him and Harry, but this time, with so much affection, he had been stunned.

That was the minute that he knew that he loved her, something that made him both confused, scared and determined.

He hadn´t said anything to Harry about this revelation, but when they were fighting, side-by-side, and Harry has seen Voldemort coming towards them, he had turned to Ron and urgently whispered, "Take care of Hermione."

That was the last thing Ron had heard him say, before Harry had broken into a run towards Voldemort´s upraised wand, yelling for the Dark Lord to kill him, instead of Ron or Hermione.

Now, as they stood by the graveside, their fingers interlocked, Ron glanced at her, unsurprised to see tears trickling quietly down her pale face, her long hair pulled back in a severe bun.

"C´mon, Hermione," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, smiling sadly as she curled in against his chest. He could almost picture Harry rolling his eyes at them. "Let´s go home."

Nodding, she let him direct her around and, arms around each other, they started to walk towards the gate of the cemetery.

***

Amber liquid glinted in a small glass.

"Here´s to us! Long may we be bloody amazing!" Ethan laughed aloud as Cassandra threw her head back to down another shot of expensive whisky and fell straight off the edge of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. "Ow."

"All right, luv?" Crawling unsteadily to the edge of the bed, he offered her a hand, which it took her several attempts to actually grab.

"My arse hurts," she complained to him, climbing back onto the bed and sprawling out on the bed beside her long-term lover. "Why do I always hurt my arse when we´re celebrating anything?"

"Because you´re a kinky little tinker?" Lying on his back, his right hand behind his head, he raised his left hand and tapped the tip of her nose with a smile. Cassandra returned the smile, cuddling against him, folding her arms on his chest.

"He´s gone..." Her chin resting on her crossed arms, her eyes closed, she released a genuine sigh of relief. "Alex is finally safe."

Ethan snickered. "You live on an active Hellmouth, where a psychotic vampire just tried to open a demon portal that would have destroyed the world and regular demon-type things happen every day of the week and you say he´s safe?"

A hand swatted his chest. "Pedantic git," she mumbled, struggling to kneel back up on the blankets beside him. "Oh! And I had to tell you something about the... oh... whatsername?" Flapping her hands urgently, Cassandra looked like she was searching her slightly inebriated memory. "Little one...blonde... kills demons and...Buffy! The Slayer person!"

"What of her?" Leaning up on his arms, Ethan couldn´t help smiling as she slapped her forehead, looking genuinely adorable. Without the threat of Voldemort hunting her down, she had finally managed to relax for the first time in eighteen years.

"Gone!" She threw her hands up. "Alex says she went to try and sort things out with her ex and no one has seen her since then," Leaning forward, swaying slightly, she added conspiratorially. "She´s the one that killed Angelus...stopped him."

"Just in the nick of time as well," Ethan nodded. "I let Flitwick know something was up, so they knew Vollie would be trying something. I´m guessing that they managed to get to him when the portal was closed."

Cassandra´s face sobered slightly. "D´you know if they found little Ginny?" Her lover´s green eyes closed and he turned his face away from her. "Oh," Her lower lip trembled. "B-but that doesn´t mean she´s...dead, does it?"

Sitting up, Ethan grasped her shoulders, trying to start to speak several times. When the words finally came, they were shaking. "Cass, this is Voldemort. When a witch disappeared because of him, how often do you remember them coming back?"

"But Ginny..."

"Cass..."

"NO!" Her fists hit his chest. "Ethan, she can´t be dead! If she was killed, why haven´t they found her body? You know how much Voldemort liked to have family members find the bodies!"

"Cass..." Her fists continued to pound against his chest, the blows growing weaker as Cassandra started to sob in misery, grief and frustration. Ethan patiently waited and gathered her in his arms. "I know, luv, I know."

"I-I really hoped, Ethan..." she sobbed, her shaking fingers gripping his shirt. "I hoped she´d get out all right..." Nodding against the top of her head, he continued to silently hold her as she wept in his arms.

***

A fire was crackling in the grate, the pale yellow and orange flames spreading odd illusions of light and shadow up the walls of the basement, illuminating the single slouched figure seated in the chair in front of the hearth.

Still clad in his formal robes, Snape gazed into the flickering flames, his elbows propped on the high, padded arms of the ancient chair which were looking worn from use, his folded hands pressing against his chin.

It still struck him as strange that he was back in this hidden place, his own home.

Most people wouldn´t class it as a home, but it was all he had known, all he was comfortable in.

His whole life was enclosed in two small rooms.

Where he currently sat, brooding in front of the small fire, the fireplace occupied the centre of one wall, wide enough for two people to share it´s warmth, but he had never bothered to test that figure.

A blackened kettle stood on a shelf to one side of the grate, along with a couple of pans and all the dishes he possessed, seldom used. They tended to get pushed to one side, his cauldrons and bottles for potions taking more priority.

There was a rather threadbare and singed brown rug just in front of the fireplace, on the stone floor, but the rest of the floor was bare, impeccably tidy, with a few stacks of paper lined neatly up against the shelves.

Against the opposite wall, in the corner his double bed stood, his single luxury. With a dark oak bedstead and heavy, dark blankets, he knew it looked like it was taken out of a frightening Gothic children´s story, if such a thing existed.

Every other area of wall space was lined with broad, deep shelves, most of which he had heaped with either books and tomes about potions, or with the substances he used to make potions that featured in said books.

Between two large bookshelves on the wall to his left, a door opened into the small, sterile white bathroom, the only other room in the basement he called home, a white bath, the deep, four-footed metal ones taking up half of the floor space.

He had not left this sanctuary of his, the one place he chose to reside, aside from Hogwarts and the one that no one but Dumbledore had known of, since the day that Voldemort had told him to take the body of Virginia Weasley to her family home.

He had, of course, done no such thing.

His black eyes focused on the dancing blue heart of the flames wavering in the grate, the crackling of the burning wood the only thing he was aware of. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the dusty clock on top of the mantle.

Shifting in his chair, his eyes growing heavy, he felt his lips rising slightly as the small clock started it´s quiet chiming.

It was time.

Behind him, he heard a feeble moan and rose, hurrying across to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

Using his wand to light the tarnished brass lantern that hung on a hook above the bed, he gazed down at the girl, hoping he hadn´t overdone the dosage of the Draught of Living Death.

"Child?"

Ginny Weasley´s eyes fluttered weakly for several seconds, before opening, the light making her blink, squinting up at him, her pupils huge. The corners of her lips moved in a way that suggested she was trying to smile, but lacked the strength to do so.

"Can you hear me?" Her chin dipped down a millimetre. "And see me?" Again, she nodded a little. One of his hands took hers. "Can you feel that?" Once more, her chin dipped, her eyes sinking closed. "Child, listen to me," His other hand rose, touching her cheek. "You have been lying in this state for several days..." The tip of her nose wrinkled slightly, making him chuckle. "I don´t want to embarrass you, but if you want, I could bathe you."

"I..." her shaking voice was barely a breath, her lips barely parting to let the words slip passed. "Smell..."

Snape smiled, his thumb brushing across her cheek softly. "Well, I didn´t want to be the one to say anything but..." He saw the tip of her tongue trying to poke between her lips at him and knew that she was going to survive. "Wait here, child."

Rising, he went into the bathroom, turning on the lion´s head-shaped taps, the deep tub filling quickly. Chewing on his lower lip, he paused before adding a spurt of bubbles from his wand into the steaming water, if only to shield the girl´s modesty.

Ginny hadn´t moved when he returned to the bedside, which didn´t surprise him.

To convince the Death Eaters that she really was dead, which would hardly have been surprising considering the condition she was in when he had reached her, it had taken a larger dose than usual of the powerful sleeping potion and he fervently hoped that she wouldn´t suffer any unpleasant side-effects.

He pulled the thick blankets back from her emaciated form, his arms sliding beneath her legs and back, easily lifting her up against his chest, her worn body as light as a feather, drowned in one of his nightshirts.

With her weary head resting against his shoulder, he made his way through to the bathroom, the warm flutters of her breath against his neck the most comforting thing he had felt in months.

Kneeling down on the white-tile floor, Snape unfastened the three buttons at the collar of the shirt, sliding it from her body and over her head. Reaching over the side of the bathtub, he checked the water wasn´t too hot before removing his outer robes and lifting the girl´s thin body into the bath.

Much to his surprise, he didn´t feel as uncomfortable as he knew he should as he gently let the water splash over her bare skin. Nor did the girl, her tired eyes telling him that she trusted him implicitly.

Taking in her body, he wanted to weep for the condition the child was in.

Yes, he had kept her drugged for several days, to allow her body to recover from the injuries sustained without her suffering, but before that, from her time in captivity, she was barely a husk of her former self.

With every laboured breath that she took, Severus could see her ribs ridging against her pale skin, her arms and legs frighteningly thin and fragile-looking. Her small breasts had shrunk as she had starved, leaving her wasted.

Her once-pretty face told the same story.

She was whiter than usual, still recovering from the vast amount of blood she had lost only days before, her cheeks deep hollows where the weight had shrunk from her in the final days of her imprisonment, dark smudges beneath her brown eyes.

A sigh escaped Ginny´s lips, as Snape gently helped her to lie back in the water, the luxuriously hot fluid rippling up to her neck, making her skin tingle in a very pleasant way, her long hair floating around her.

Picking up a rough sponge that was bobbing heavily in the water, Severus gently started to sponge the girl´s thin face and neck, Ginny managing to make her lips smile up at him as he did so.

A short while later, her tangled hair washed, her body clean, Ginny was lifted out of the bath and wrapped in a coarse towel, Snape muttering apologies to her as he dried her, the fabric warming her as much as the water had.

Had she been able to, she would have told him so, but - exhausted - she simply let him dry her thin body, carrying her back to the bed, where he tenderly dressed her in a fresh nightshirt and brushed out her hair.

Placed back onto the springy mattress, against thick, soft pillows, fresh sheets tucked up to her chest and covered over with a warm blanket, Ginny tried to form words of gratitude, but her lips refused to co-operate.

"Just rest for now, child," Severus said quietly, as he helped her to drink a little cool water from a goblet. She nodded weakly, letting her head fall back against the pillow, her eyes unbearably heavy.

She felt his fingers gently brushing loose strands of hair back from her face as sleep took her.

***

The tone around the dinner table was sombre.

The normally-crowded table seemed so much emptier than usual, even though only three of their number were absent. The men at the table were trying to be civil to one another, the other three shifting uncomfortably.

At the head of the table, Molly Weasley absently pushed a piece of meat around her plate with her fork, oblivious to the tension radiating from her remaining sons. She barely ate anymore, her eyes no longer shining with the energy she always had.

Like her husband was, her eyes were dead.

"Hermione and me went back to Hogwarts the other day, mum," Ron tried to start a conversation. "They think the school´ll be ready for a new bunch of kids by the time September comes, since You-Know-Who is gone again."

"Mmm."

"What about the pupils who were taken home? Will they redo years?" Charlie asked quietly.

He didn´t look up as he spoke, his right eye still dark and swollen, thanks to his elder brother´s fist which had bashed him for the second time in as many months, when Charlie had carefully broached the subject of telling the Ministry about Percy´s change of sides.

"McGonagall thinks so," Ron nodded, poking a piece of potato. "Hermione and me have been offered a chance to do seventh year again, if we want to do it properly, but I don´t think it´ll be the same without..." He trailed off.

"How´s Hermione coping?" Fred asked, much to Ron´s surprise. The twins weren´t particularly attached to the muggle-born witch, but - it seemed - that Voldemort had done something useful and brought the wizarding community closer together.

Rubbing his eyes, Ron shrugged and sighed. "It´s hard to say. She doesn´t like to cry and she keeps going for that stiff-upper-lip thing, then breaking down," His gaze went to his plate. "She misses him. I do too."

"Did you ever get the chance to tell Harry about you and her?" Charlie spoke up.

Once again, Ron was stunned by the astuteness of his quiet elder brother. No one else in the family had noticed that he and Hermione were seeing each other. "I-I think he knew, somehow. He told me to take care of her, just before he...you know..." he answered, his voice shaking slightly.

"What´s this about you and Hermione?" Molly´s voice made the five men look around in surprise.

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. "We´re...um...we´ve kind of become a bit of an item," he answered, scarlet, looking up at his mother. "We...I know it´s quick, but we... we were thinking about getting hitched."

For the first time in weeks, Molly smiled. It wasn´t much more than a tiny shift outwards of her lips, but it was more than anything they had seen, since Arthur had died. "That´s wonderful news."

"I didn´t want to say anything before...since it´s so soon after everything..."

Molly raised a hand to silence him. "Ron," she said. "I think this is just the kind of thing we need to hear," she sighed. "After all, if something good comes out of this...I might have a daughter-in-law..."

"You haven´t gone and knocked little Hermione up, have you?" George put in with a dirty leer. "That´s why you´re getting married so quick, isn´t it?"

"George! No!" There was a pause. "Not yet." Even Bill chuckled at the embarrassed look on Ron´s face, when he realised what he had said. "I think Hermione´ll want to do more study first."

"Well, that´s a given," Fred snickered.

"You don´t mind, mum?"

Molly´s smile widened a little. It did little to disguise the sorrow in her eyes, but her sons knew it was a start and that they had to take things slowly. "The sooner the better, I think, Ron," She looked down at her plate, then up at him. "And what´s this about grandchildren for me?"

"Mum!"

***

Meanwhile, in Snape´s hidden home, the only Weasley daughter was still sharing a sanctuary with one of the Dark lord´s former unfortunate minions.

Her strength was gradually returning, thanks to potions he had brewed for her, but until she had been able to regain the energy to walk again, he had done everything for her: carrying her to and from the small bathroom, feeding her by hand when she was too weak to lift her food, soothing her when she woke in the grip of a nightmare.

Despite the dark gloom of the underground home, she somehow felt safe, knowing that Severus was there with her and that he would protect her from anything outside their hiding place.

He had started to relax around her as well, no longer wearing his stiff, formal robes, choosing to don slightly more comfortable black trousers and a black shirt that was oddly Gothic in fashion.

It looked strangely right on him, she noticed, as she looked up at him.

As they did every evening - which she could only tell because of the clock seated on the mantle - she was sitting on a cushion at his feet, in front of the fire, leaning on his thigh, as he read one of his potions books, neither of them needing to speak.

The fire was warming and comforting and cast a strangely kind glow over Snape´s angular features.

Ginny looked up at him again, briefly wondering how she could ever have been truly intimidated by him. Yes, when he did display his ice-cold anger, he could prove to be spectacularly frightening.

However, now, she could see him as something else.

When he was in the security of his home, at peace, safe, he so very different.

Even the way he had cared for her as she recovered, so gentle and patient, never pushing her to do something she couldn´t, never getting frustrated or angry when she had broken down, and she had found herself fascinated by it.

His silken voice, his reassuring words, when she had woken from nightmares had soothed her. He had let her cry as often as she needed to, always there at the moment she cried out in pain or fear, holding her and soothing her.

Watching him now, she took in every millimetre of his face, the flicker of the flames warming his pale skin, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his cheek resting against it as he read.

Every line of his face spoke of an intense focus and confident, calm knowledge, his passion for the things he cared about marked in his features, especially as he read of them, as he did now.

The corners of his lips were lifted slightly in a small smile, as he skimmed through the book, glancing briefly towards her, apparently surprised to find her watching him so intently.

"Child?" He laid the book down in his lap.

"Hmm?" She continued to gaze up at him, her chin resting on her folded arms, which lay on his left thigh.

"Why are you watching me?" She shrugged, sighing a little as his hand came out and gently stroked her hair. He studied her for a moment, deliberating over something, then delicately began. "Child..."

"No."

"You don´t know what I was going to ask, child."

Brown eyes dipped down. "Yes, I do," she whispered. "I can´t go back. Not yet."

Closing the book over, Severus placed it down on the floor, then returned his hand to her face, cradling her left cheek gently, his thumb stroking her still-pale skin. "Child, they are your family. They deserve to know."

A single, hot tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek, splashing against his fingers.

"Oh, child..." He offered his hand, her smaller one slipping into it immediately, and he helped her to her feet, drawing her down to sit in his lap. With a quiet sob, Ginny curled against him, pulling her legs up, letting him enclose her in his arms.

Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, as the raw sobs came - for the hundredth time - her face buried in his the crook of his neck, burning tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

Murmuring to her in that soothing voice she had become so familiar with - for all she knew he was be reciting potion formulas to her, his voice so low and gentle - she felt her sobs receding and sniffed hard as he continued to stroke her hair and back.

"I can´t face them. N-not now," she whispered miserably, staring up at him, as he tenderly smoothed the tears from her cheeks. "L-l-look at what I did..."

"You did what anyone else in the same position would do, child," he said, nodding in affirmation, when she started to shake her head. "Believe me. I have witnessed it many times, but none were so brave."

Gulping down another sob, Ginny blinked at him. "St-stupid, you mean," her voice sounded harsh to her own ears. "A-and I-I-I let him g-g-get me pregnant...the wizard who m-m-made me k-kill my own father..." One shaking hand spread on her concave stomach. "H-he couldn´t do that by f-force...I l-let it happen."

"You had a lot on your mind, child," His hand came down to cover hers. "You can not be held responsible." Her face bowed, Ginny´s silent tears splashed down onto his hand, where it covered her smaller one.

"I-I really wanted it to die..." she whispered, her voice shaking. Severus´ brows wrinkled. He had not heard her speak of her pregnancy, even when she recovered. All she had asked was that it was gone. "I-I didn´t hate it...but...I..." She looked up at him, shame etched on her face. "I-I remembered Cassandra...what she has had to do with h-her son...I didn´t want to hide a child like that...didn´t want to live in fear...in case they tried to take it away...make it like him...use it..." She drew several sharp breaths, her voice tight and trembling with emotion. "I-I...I think I would have loved it...it was mine..." Her fingers dug into her belly, through the material of the shirt she wore. "A-and now...its gone..." A soft whimper escaped her. "How can I be a decent h-human being, when I wanted rid of it? How...how can I be any kind of good person, when I-I wanted my own baby to die?"

Severus didn´t know what to say, his eyes clouded with pity, his lips parting with the intention of forming words, but no sound escaped from him.

Wrapping his arms around her, her body curled so closely to his that they could barely be identified as two separate beings, he just held her and let her cry silently for the child she had lost.

***

"Where´d´you think she is?"

Sitting in the empty library, scanning through books of demons, Willow looked up at Alexander. "Huh?"

"Buffy," The dark-haired youth flopped down in a vacant seat opposite his long-time friend, glancing at the cage that held the red-head´s wolfish boyfriend. "Where´d´you think she is?"

"I-I don´t know," Finally out of the wheelchair that she had been left in, after the library had come under attack, Willow had run straight back into her research role as soon as she was able. Her brows wrinkled. "Do...you...you don´t think she might be... you know...kinda...dead?"

"I-I..." Alexander thought about it for a few minutes, then shook his head in a negative. "No way. This is Buffy we´re talking about. She´s probably just taking a few days time out and she´ll be back and slay-happy before you know it!"

"You think so?" Willow raised her eyebrows, sounding deeply sceptical.

"Hey, would I lie?" He gave her his most confident broad smile, raising a small smile in return from the red-haired girl. Inside, though, he knew he wasn´t nearly as confident as he sounded.

When Willow bent back over the books she was reading, researching the latest Hell-critter to be loosed on the world, Alexander´s mask of calm and confidence slipped, his eyes closing.

Something in his gut told him that Buffy, his friend and one of the few people that he truly cared about, was hurt, if not physically, then emotionally, and the thing that made that feeling worse was knowing he could do nothing to help.

She had fled and he could only assume that it was something to do with Willow doing the spell.

As he had dragged Giles out of the mansion, catching a glimpse of Buffy fighting against Angelus, he had wished with all his might that the spell would work, wishing for some small part of him - the magic he had always longed to have - to help Willow, even if he was utterly useless in the magic department.

At that thought, a pang of guilt struck him.

He should have told Buffy Willow was going to try the spell again, but something told him, that same little voice of intuition, that - had she known - she wouldn´t have fought as hard as she did.

If she had known her hunny might be returning, she would have been careful, in case she hurt him.

Knowing she was fighting Angelus, not Angel, made her stronger and Alexander had had the uncanny feeling that Buffy´s battle against Angelus was more important that just closing Acathla and preventing the suckage of the Western Seaboard into Hell.

Sometimes, he wanted to kick his crappy intuition´s ass.

Thanks to it, he had made some bad decisions, like going after Buffy in the sewers to help find Jesse almost two years previously or every night when he went out on patrol with her since then, but still, they panned out in the end and things would turn out all right...usually.

Except this time.

Buffy was gone.

She might even be dead in a ditch for all he knew. Yes, his intuition - he was really beginning to hate it - told him that Buffy was alive, but it didn´t exactly reassure him when she had vanished out of the wonderful world of Sunnydale.

Turning his attention back to the library and to Willow, who was thumbing through a heavy book, he forced a chipper note back into his voice. "So, what´s the big bad now that the Toothy wonder is gone?"

"Xander..." Willow chastised affectionately.

"I know, I know, he was Buffy´s snugglevamp, but he´s gone now," He clapped his hands together in a show of mock enthusiasm. "So, c´mon, Will, hit me! What are we dealing with and how fast do I have to run to get away from it?"

"Dear Lord..." Giles groaned, from his position behind the desk.

***

"I sent your brother, Ronald, an owl," Hanging up his travelling cloak, Snape looked across the room as his companion. "I informed him of the current situation and told him that you´ll see them when you feel you are ready."

Ginny made no reply, sitting in the chair in front of the fire, gazing at the flames. It didn´t take a genius to work that she was crying again.

Severus Snape approached the chair, his hands coming to rest on the top of the back and he looked down at her. She didn´t even seem aware of him, her hands twisting a piece of string into a knot, then undoing it again.

Almost three months had passed since Voldemort had been defeated once again and, every day since then, she had wept at least once or twice, sometimes coming to him and curling against him, sometimes just remaining alone.

"Child?" It got no response. "Miss Weasley?" Again, nothing. "Virginia," It was the first time he had used her full forename.

"Don´t call me that," she said quietly.

"It is your name, child."

The girl slid out of the seat, standing and turning around to look up at him. In spite of the tears shining on her face, she looked a good deal better than she had when he had first brought her to his home.

Once more, she was wearing one of his baggy, black shirts, which was large on him and simply enormous on her fragile form. Even buttoned to the top of the high collar, the length of her throat was bared. It hung past her knees and her hands were hidden by the long sleeves.

Her body had filled out again and - while still thin - she looked so much healthier.

"It doesn´t fit me," she said, her voice low.

"What?"

"That name. Virginia," She looked down at the floor, at her feet which were clad in an oversized pair of woollen socks. Edging past him, she made her way towards the bed. "I´m not one anymore. I don´t want the name. I´m just Ginny."

He watched her, bemused, as she climbed onto the bed, sitting down cross-legged, in the middle of the mattress, smoothing the fabric of the large shirt she was wearing over her knees.

"Child..."

Her brown eyes looked up at him as he approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, as he had done so many times. "Why do you call me that?" she asked softly, as he brought a hand up to cradle her cheek.

Her words made him start.

Why DID he call her that?

And he knew he didn´t even have to answer his own question.

He started to pull his hand back from her sharply, but her small hand caught it, gripping it between her two smaller ones. "Please," she said, not looking away from his black eyes. "Why?"

"Child...Miss Weasley..." Shifting, he tried to rise, but she held onto him. With a cry of anger, he pulled free and stood up, stalking across to the fireplace and spreading his hands on the mantle. "Don´t ask me that."

He heard the creak of the bed, then her padded feet crossing the floor. "But I want to know," she said.

"And I said don´t ask me, child!" He spun to face her, frustrated, confused and a little angry, the girl backing up at the expression on his face. The hurt and fear he saw in her eyes made his heart break and he reached out, gently laying his hands on her shoulders. "Child, I´m sorry..."

Her brown eyes moved to the hands on her shoulders, then back to his face. "I just want to know why," she said, her voice shaking.

"Because..." He looked away from her face. No. He couldn´t, wouldn´t, say it aloud, not to her or to anyone else. He would shame her, shatter her trust in him. He would frighten her even more. "Child...I can´t..."

One of her small hands touched his cheek, making him start. Her touch was soft and she lifted his chin to make him look at her, meeting those brown eyes. "Please, tell me," she whispered.

Clenching his teeth together, he bowed his head again, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "I..." His voice sounded rougher than it usually did. "Its because I want to remind myself that you are a child, a pupil...and I am your teacher."

"Not anymore," she said sadly, her fingertips soft against his skin. "I haven´t been a child since I was delivered to him." Her hand slid into his hair and she pulled him down to her, kissing him.

Snape jerked back from her, shaking his head, steering her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. "Child..." he pleaded. "Don´t tempt me. You´re still a pupil and I am still a teacher..."

"Not today, Severus," She easily pushed his hands from her shoulders and stepped in front of him, her hands spreading on his chest. "Today, we are only the survivors."

Rising up on her sock-clad toes, she cupped his face between her hands and touched her lips to his.

Severus´ hands seemed to rise of their own accord, settling on Ginny´s hips and drawing her closer. The brief brush of their lips became something more as she kissed him again, timidly.

He had to be imagining it.

He had to be.

This couldn´t possibly be happening.

It had finally happened.

He had gone insane. He must have, to be imagining something as wonderfully mad as this.

The tip of a warm tongue brushed against his, making him shudder with pleasure, the warm female body that was pressed against him suggesting that he was anything but imagining this.

He felt one of Ginny´s dainty hands slide over his shoulders, tangling into his hair, as she moaned against his lips. One of his own hands slid down her body, slipping beneath the shirt she was wearing, her thigh soft against his palm.

Breaking out of the kiss, he stared down at the girl in his arms, stunned. What the Hell was he doing? Did he want to damage her more than she already was? Did he want to ruin her?

Stepping back from him, Ginny - smiling shyly, her cheeks rosy - looked up at him from beneath pale brown lashes which, he had noticed several weeks earlier, flecked gingery in the right light.

"Severus," her voice was trembling again, he noticed, jolting when her hand took his - which also happened to be trembling. How very odd - and started to lead him across the floor. "Come with me."

"Child..." he started. "You...you don´t have to..."

"I know, Severus." She turned back around to face him, as they reached the bed. Her eyes met his briefly and she smiled, a little shyly, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I...I love you."

Snape closed his eyes with a groan that was half-despair, half-relief. He shook his head. "You silly child," he whispered, slowly opening his eyes. "You should not have said that."

Her fingers hesitated. "Wh-why?"

Black eyes met brown. "Because, my dear Ginny," he said, one hand coming up behind her head, tangling through her hair, his mouth curving in a genuine smile. "I will simply have to reciprocate."

Then he kissed her, as they sank down onto the bed together.