The Eighth Weasley

Author’s Notes: This is another of those filler chapters, really, and you know I only do them if they’re absolutely essential to the story. In this case it most definitely is.

Oh, and we have a chance to see some of the opposition and I’m seriously considering bringing Malfoy back into it, simply because if he gets a chance to annoy her again, I have a distinct feeling he’ll take it. Actually, I have considered it anyway. I always consider Malfoy-ness. Yummy Malfoy (Senior and Junior preferably, although not quite in as kinky a way as it could be) goodness...or badness. Either way, sexy-as-hell bad boys for me to swoon over.

Also, apologies for some of the Buffy characters if they seem out of voice - my excuse remains the same - I haven’t seen S1/2/3/4/5 in absolutely ages, I’ve only seen 11 episodes of S6 and I have seen none of S7.

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"I’m getting bored, Jinx!"

The pack of hardy little demons were busy rushing around their effulgent gleaming wonderousness’ luxurious, penthouse apartment but Glory was lazing on a chaise-lounge in the centre of the room, one hand lightly resting over her forehead and closed eyes, looking a little drained.

A few of her minions were scuttling around, the chief one, Jinx, warily approaching the chaise.

He was about five-foot tall and clad in sackcloth robes that looked like a miniature monk’s habit, his skin scaled and dark red-brown. Black eyes stared nervously at the reclining Hell Goddess.

After all, the fabulous Glorificus was one of the most powerful demon entities to ever enter Sunnydale and she held all the supreme powers of a Goddess from a Hell Dimension.

Okay, yes, they had kicked her out of the dimension for trying to take over and make it ‘Gloryworld’ – Hey! A damned mouse in this dimension got his own world, so why not ‘Gloryworld’? – the ungrateful idiots that they were, but she was still a Hell Goddess, dammit!

Although there was that minor issue of her sanity vanishing on regular occasions...

That usually meant she had to top it up by...borrowing from some of the lesser beings that inhabited the Hellmouth, provided by her minions.

It had the unfortunate side effect of leaving insane humans behind, but as long as she was sane enough to co-ordinate her wardrobe and threaten her minions, Glory couldn’t care less.

"How-how-how can we help, oh dazzling Glorificus?" A yelp escaped him as her other hand shot out and grabbed him by one of his bat-like ears and yanked him closer to the couch.

"What did I tell you about using my name, Jinxy?" she sighed in frustration. "And you know what you can do," she released his ear, wiping her hand on the couch, and the demon staggered. "Find me my goddamned Key."

The squat, bumpy-looking demon minion scrambled out of reach of Glory’s hand, his robes hiked up to his knobbly knees. "We are still searching, your most radiant-luminousness," he whimpered, cringing when she crooked her finger at him.

"Searching isn’t good enough!" One of her deceptively delicate hands grabbed him by the front of the robe, hoisting him off his feet. "I want finding, Jinxy. You know. The kind of finding that means that I have my Key without the Slayer ruining more of my clothes? Is any of this getting through?"

"We-we-we truly sympathise with the d-d-damage placed on your wardrobe, your glimmering beauteousness!" he squeaked, trying to squirm free of her grip and run for cover as she glared at him.

"Mmm...the Gucci...it was a one of a kind..."

Glory’s hand draped over her eyes and forehead again, a quiet moan escaping her, as her eyes closed.

"Are you..." Jinx studied her cautiously. "Do you need something, your illuminous gleaming radiance?"

Her half-closed eyes looked at him and she smiled unsteadily.

"Perhaps a little pick-me-up would be good..." Her hand waved in circles in his direction. "It-it’s starting to scratch away...scratch-scratch-scratch away inside my head...know what I mean, Jinxy?" He nodded sympathetically, although he had no clue what she was talking about. It was safer to agree with whatever she said than to get thrown across the room for asking what she meant. "I guess I should try and take my mind off it...have you got me anything?"

Jinx eagerly clapped his lumpy hands together and two of the other minions scuttled out of the door, returning several minutes later with a dumpy man in a suit with a long trench coat over it.

"This salesman came, your radiant delicateness!"

Struggling to sit up, Glory swayed where she sat, her head rocking on her shoulder as the minions - like evil mini-monks crossed with Oompa Loompas on crack - hustled the overweight man towards her.

"What you wantin’, lady?" the man demanded, sounding a little frightened.

A gleaming sheen of sweat was washed over his red, round face and above his upper lip and his hands were shaking around his sales case, which was held up against his slightly larger than average paunch.

Mind you, considering the...things that were gathered around him, prodding him and exclaiming about how juicy his mind was, it was more than a little justified that he was getting nervous.

"Come..." Glory moaned, gesturing him forward.

He was pushed to his knees in front of her, staring.

The minions smiled knowingly at one another.

No doubt he was in awe of the absolute radiance of her wonderful glimmeriness and her lusciously curly golden tresses and hideously smooth features and...oh, she was simply too wonderful for them to describe.

One of Glory’s hands rose and she pushed the man’s hat off, letting it bounce on the floor, revealing a bald crown, gleaming with sweat.

"Look, lady, I dunno who-who-who you are or what-what you want from me, but I’m married..."

Swaying, an insane smile coming to her lips, Glory’s eyes fixed on his face, as her fingers moved in circles on his temples. "Uh...huh...married with bells on and a little bride all dressed in white..."

Both she and the man cried out as her fingers plunged through his temples and into his skull, light streaming out from the spots where her fingers had penetrated his mind, the man’s voice rising in a cry of pain, while hers soared in rapture.

Gradually the cries trailed off.

Yanking her fingers free, a broad smile on her face, Glory let the salesman droop at her feet, mumbling about the light. "God, I feel so much better now!" she trilled enthusiastically, leaping to her feet. "And what the Hell am I wearing?"

"A very attractive combination of dark grey training pants and a Khaki T-shirt, your gracious swoon-worthiness!" one of the lesser minions called out eagerly. "It has never looked so glamorous on anyone but you!"

Glory sniffed. "That might be true, but I can’t go looking for my Key when I look like this..." she stalked towards her wardrobe and disappeared into it’s depths, as the minions exchanged proud looks.

It truly was a privilege to work for her radiantness.

Apart from pain, the humiliation, degradation and beatings...

But who truly paid attention to those things anyway?

***

Lying on her belly on her bed, her feet kicking lazily back and forth, Willow was writing to Buffy. Oz was lying beside her, on his back, one hand behind his head, as he watched her write, a small smile on his lips.

Sunlight was streaming in from all sides, drenching the room in a flood of afternoon light, the white gauze drapes whispering in the Autumn-scented breeze that was rippling into the tower.

Her nose wrinkled, Willow was scribbling on the paper with furious concentration, her forehead creased and her lower lip caught between her teeth. Pausing at the end of a line, she glanced at her boyfriend.

Pale eyes gazed back at her, twinkling.

"What?" Pushing a swathe of red hair back from her eyes, she mock-glared at him, laying her quill down.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at me," she laughed, playfully pushing his face away, only to squeal when he kissed her palm. "Oz!" His eyes half-closed, he studied her, that familiar almost-smile on his lips. "You are gonna be in so much trouble if you keep doing that, Mister!"

"You had your thinking-face on," One of his hands came up, sliding into her hair, his fingertips skimming the cusp of her ear. Willow shivered at the contact. "I like your thinking face."

"You do?"

"All Willow-faces are good," he murmured, gazing up at her, his fingertips moving in small, lazy circles on her scalp. She blinked at him mutely, her lips parted. "Even that one." His thumb brushed down her cheek, tracing along her cheekbone.

"Oz..."

"Mmm?"

"Hermione’ll be back from that staff meeting soon..."

One of his eyebrows rose slightly, but his fingers kept playing lightly through her hair, her eyes fluttering closed.

A gasp escaped her when she felt the mattress shift beneath them, as he moved closer, the heat of his body close enough for her to feel through her casual T-shirt and trousers. A warm breath made the hairs on her neck rise.

A tingle passed through her and she tried to form words. "Oz..."

"Sh..." he whispered, his lips skimming against her neck, like a brush of silk against skin that suddenly felt feverishly hot, his hand cradling her cheek.

The soft stroke of his lips under her jaw and along her jawline made her tremble, one hand shakily rising to cover the one cradling her face, turning the palm in to her own kisses.

A feathery kiss touched the corner of her mouth. "Hermione’ll be back soon," he echoed her words teasingly, his forehead brushing against her temple.

"Screw Hermione," Willow gasped as one of his hands brushed down her back, making her arch.

"I would prefer you," he murmured, before claiming her lips in a kiss.

With a wave of her hand, the drapes whipped closed around Willow’s bed, as she fell into her lover’s embrace.

***

"You are aware why you have been called here, are you not?"

Every member of staff body of Hogwarts was present in the staff room, some seated, some standing, all looking up at the head master with some measure of understanding and expectation.

Dumbledore, standing the stretch of light spreading through the arched windows, was gazing out on the grounds. He didn’t turn as he began to speak, his voice barely a murmur, but carrying to them all.

"A dark power is rising," His fingertips brushed along the off-white stone of the window ledge. "It may not be close to us, but it - if permitted - will encompass our world and destroy all that we have striven to raise in these past years."

"Do we know what it is, Head Master?" Granger was the one to ask. She was seated on one of the low, comfortable couches that stood around an equally low table in the middle of the room.

He turned, pausing to brush some dust from his flowing sleeve. "I am afraid that I know exactly what it is, Miss Granger," he replied gravely. "And I am aware of how it will succeed, if we stand aside and do nothing."

"How...bad is it?"

"It is worse that Voldemort," Everyone in the room flinched, their faces twisting in horror at the news.

There was a long silence, looks exchanged.

"The darkness is in the form of a woman, who currently resides in South California in the United States of America," he said, pacing across the room. His robes rustled, the only sound but for the breathing of his audience. "However, should anyone in this room see her, do not be fooled. She is no muggle...nor simply a magical being. She is a Goddess from a Hell dimension. Should she succeed in her plans, a gateway between her world and ours will be opened, bringing with it the ruin of all."

Someone uttered a curse.

McGonagall’s face went a little white, her hands spread on the back of the chair that she was standing behind. "Albus, are you sure of this?"

Blue eyes looked at her. "Yes," was the only answer he gave.

"How can a Goddess be defeated?" Snape asked quietly. "It was difficult enough to defeat the Dark Lord and he was a half-muggle."

Dumbledore came around in front of one of the couches, Sprout leaping up and to one side to allow him to sit down. The Head Master gave her a grateful look, settling himself and adjusting his robes around him.

"There is a way," he said calmly. "That we can prevent her from doing unnecessary damage, by concealing and protecting the mystical object which she seeks. That object could be the one to destroy our world."

"Shouldn’t we destroy it before she gets to it?"

Dumbedore shook his head, his beard rasping against his embroidered robes. "I am afraid that," he replied. "Even from a moral standpoint, it would be a crime to destroy this Key."

"Do we know where this...thing is?" Granger asked.

"Yes," the reply came with a trace of satisfaction. "The Key is under the protection of the current Vampire Slayer, who also resides in South California."

"The Vampire Slayer?" Lupin echoed.

"I believe some of you will have heard of her...and met her at some point during this summer," Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in the direction of Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who both nodded.

"How is a little girl, who has a duty to fight vampires and demons, supposed to protect this magical object?" Snape demanded, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes locked with Dumbledore’s, gleaming questioningly.

Dumbledore almost wanted to laugh out loud. How very typical it was of Severus to doubt that anyone save him could defend anything against the Dark Arts.

"Ah, that is a good question, Severus. Perhaps, I ought to have informed you that this particular Slayer has been performing this duty for five years now. I believe, if my calculations are correct, that this is some kind of record?"

Snape’s expression hardened. "That does not answer the question, Head Master."

"Severus, this young woman had saved the world from the forces of darkness more times than I dare to even contemplate, even sacrificing that which she loved the most to save the world she barely knows," Dumbledore said gently. "She will protect the Key with her life."

"Does she know she has the Key?"

"I believe so, Miss Granger."

"And if she can’t protect it?"

Dumbledore eyes went to his hands, which were folded together. Odd, he noticed as he considered his answer, his freckles perfectly formed the constellation of Orion on the back of his left hand.

"Head Master?"

"Oh!" Blue eyes rose. "She will be able to contact me, should she need aid," he replied with a smile, glancing down at the group of freckles again.

They were really quite fascinating things, like the scar of the London underground on his knee.

He reluctantly suppressed the urge of showing them to Professor McGonagall, despite the odd desire to let her see. Something told him it wasn’t quite the right time for showing off freckles.

"And if she does require our assistance?"

Dumbledore raised bushy eyebrows. "Well, obviously, Severus, we will give it to her," he replied. "I mean, I do appreciate warmer weather now and again, but I think Hell-on-Earth may be a little hot for my tastes."

Professor Granger giggled behind her hand.

"How could we aid her, Albus? We aren’t exactly...equipped to fight a Goddess."

The Head Master leaned back to study the light playing through one of the high windows on the wall. "We aid her in any way that we can," he answered calmly. "I trust her judgement. She won’t come to us unless she truly believes she is incapable of protecting the Key and when that day comes, we shall aid her."

"And if this Goddess attacks Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "If I may quote the Slayer on this subject," A few shrugs passed around the group and his eyes glinted impishly. "We kick her sorry ass back to Hell."

***

Pushing the front door closed behind her, Buffy shrugged her backpack off her back and deposited on the floor at her feet in the hall. "Mom, I’m home," she called, loosening her hair.

"Ain’t that precious? Nice to see that some people in this world still care about their old mothers."

The Slayer went rigid, turning to look into the living room.

Glory, her left arm propped on the arm of the chair, waved her fingers at the Slayer, a smile on her lips. "Hey, sweetie," she cooed. "Hope you don’t mind me dropping in uninvited, but I heard a whisper that you had my Key."

"Get out of here."

"Ooh, spunky," Sitting up, the blonde woman grinned at her without humour. "I’m not leaving until I get my Key."

"I don’t have it," Buffy lied, her hands clenched into fists as she walked a little way into the living room. "Where’s my mom?"

"Oh don’t worry about her, Precious. She was napping on her bed. She wouldn’t know anything useful but you..." A perfectly manicured finger was directed at the Slayer. "You know something."

"I don’t know anything about your Key," Buffy’s eyes widened in panic, as Dawn wandered in from the kitchen, eating peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers. She made a slight gesture with her hands and Dawn stopped walking, one sticky finger in her mouth.

Raising her eyebrows, Dawn looked at the back of the head of the woman in front of her. Her eyes returned to Buffy and she understood.

"Come on, Slayer, I know you have something..." Glory leaned forwards in her seat, cupping her chin in her right hand. "You want to tell me or do I rip your house down and find it myself?"

Motioning with her fingers, her eyes still on Glory, Buffy glared at the woman. "I don’t have your Key," she repeated, mentally sighing as Dawn started to back towards the kitchen. "I don’t know anything about it."

"Hold on, cutie," A hand pointed in Dawn’s direction, the dark-haired teen freezing on the spot. Twisting in her seat, Glory smiled up at her. "How about you? Do you know anything about my Key?"

Folding her arms over her chest, Dawn assumed hostile-sulk position. "No."

"Your sister stole it from me and I really want it back," Glory gave Dawn a mock sympathetic look. "She ever steal your stuff?"

"All the time," Dawn’s fingertips drummed on her upper arms and she flashed a frightened look at her elder sister, who nodded for her to stay calm.

"Its annoying, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," Dawn scowled, looking impressively moody. "Having a sister sucks."

"And I bet it would really annoy her if you told me where my Key is, huh?"

Dawn gave her the huffy teenager look again. "If I knew I would tell you, but no one ever tells me anything," Buffy felt like applauding her sister for the little scene. "I’m just a kid, according to them!"

Turning, she stomped off and thundered up the stairs.

Glory turned back to Buffy. "Cute kid," she remarked, as she came to her feet. "If I don’t get my Key, I think I’ll kill her first."

"Over my dead body," Buffy snarled.

Glory smiled coldly. "That could be arranged, sweetie," she said dangerously. Then, she stepped around Buffy. "I’ll be back, little girl. I’m going to find my Key and you’re not going to stop me."

Arms crossed over her chest, Buffy followed the blonde woman with her eyes until Glory disappeared out the front door.

As soon as she was gone, the Slayer ran to the telephone and dialled Giles’ number with shaking hands. He answered instantly. "Giles..." she whispered urgently. "Glory was here...she threatened Dawn...yeah...we need help..."

Placing the telephone back in the cradle, Buffy glanced up at the ceiling, to the place where her sister’s room was located.

A smile reached her lips.

Things were about to get very interesting.