The Eighth Weasley

Notes: I wrote a tiny segment of this scene last year and it kind of...exploded to life in my head today (Oct. 25th) at midnight and I just had to write the rest of it. Oh, and just to warn you, when I do Angry-Snape, I really DO Angry-Snape.

________________________________

Despite the fact that it was still early in the afternoon, no one in their right mind was anywhere near the Potions dungeon. Not many people would be there anyway, but now, especially...

Those who feared Snape were probably cowering under their beds with a teddy-bear, the ripples of his emotions spreading even further than he realised.

Something smashed.

It went without saying what kind of mood he was in.

He was angry.

No.

He was beyond angry.

He was furious!

With a savage sweep of his hand, Snape sent a rack of test tubes hurtling across the room, the glass smashing on stone and tinkling on the floor, the combined liquids hissing and sizzling, green fumes curling off it.

His fists slammed down on the workbench, a roar of anger escaping him.

Once again, his chance for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position had been quashed and, this time, by some stupid little girl, who probably didn’t even know how to fight off a Boggart.

It just wasn’t fair!

After everything he had done for Dumbledore, for the school!

His hands clenched into tight fists on the splintered surface of his workbench, his fingernails biting into his palms, his knuckles whitened until the bone was virtually thrusting through his skin.

Panting angrily, his crooked yellowed teeth grit together, lips peeling back from them, he searched around for something else to take out his frustration on, something he could break and leave for the house elves to clean

While most people went red with anger, the little colour in the face he had seeped from Snape’s already-sallow skin, leaving him deathly white, his black eyes glittering malevolently from beneath his dark hair.

"Damn her!" he threw back his head and shouted it again, smashing his fists down on the workbench once more.

He hadn’t even met the girl.

Seen her in passing in the Great Hall, before he had been informed of who she was and the fact she was taking his career of choice, yes, but he had never met the little blonde bitch.

"No time like the present," he growled, storming towards the door, bellowing an angry curse when his robes snagged on the broken leg of a chair that he had smashed just after Dumbledore had told him.

Jerking it free, landing a savage kick on the broken piece of furniture - which still didn’t make him feel any better - he thundered out of his classroom, his robes catching on his legs with every step.

Pulling the hefty door of the classroom shut behind him with savage force, he heard the wood splinter, his lip curling. It probably had swung open behind him, but he didn’t care about that now.

The halls ahead of him were clear of pupils. He could even hear fleeing footsteps in the distance and he sneered. He was feared by the pupils. He had their respect and downright terror.

As if any little blonde bimbo from America could compare to him as an expert in the Defence Against the Dark Arts.

***

Buffy Summers liked her classroom.

It wasn’t anything like any classroom she had ever seen before, but it was nice and the Head Master had given her permission to decorate however she deemed fit. Giles had insisted on books.

Lots of books.

In fact, so many books that he been forced to fill six crates with them. Those very crates which stood between the rows of desks, looking enormous and depressingly full in the dusty light that shone through the tall, narrow windows in the wall to the right-hand side of the desk, when looking out at the class.

She was sure she had already emptied two of the crates, but there still seemed to be an awful lot of literature to be unpacked.

Grabbing the third crate, which stood level with her hips, she easily heaved it over towards the wide desk that stood at the front of the classroom, bathed in the quiet afternoon sunlight.

All of the desks and chairs seemed so big and old, all antique-y and cute and like they had been stolen from the films of Pride & Prejudice and all those old costume movies, with different shades of wood, where they had been in the direct sunlight for too long.

They even had neat little ink-wells, which she thought was seriously cute.

Not only was she teaching a group of magic kids, but they used quill pens, just like they used to in all the old movies, sitting at old-fashioned desks with old-fashioned robes and everything else.

Smiling, she jerked the top off the crate, groaning at the tightly packed block of enormous Defending Yourself Against The Dark Arts books, many of them the demon books liberated from the Sunnydale High School Library before it had... uh... blown up.

Using a ruler to pry the first ones out, she managed to negotiate a pile out onto the desk, dusting her hands down on her trousers, the musty and dusty smell of the books making her nose tickle.

Heaving the stack of books onto the bookshelf beside the blackboard, behind the massive desk that was to be hers, Buffy looked around when there was a rap on the door at the opposite end of the classroom, a second before a tall, angry-looking man in black entered.

"Oh! Hi! Uh..." Distracted from the leaning tower of books for a second, she yelped as one of the larger ones slid off the top of pile and bounced off her head and landed with a heavy ‘thud’ on the floor. "Ow!"

Hastily pushing the rest on, bending to get the last, she rubbed her head.

"Sorry. Not really big on the book stacking. Usually leave that to Giles," she said by way of explanation, taking a chance to get a better look at her visitor.

He really was big on the glowering, she noted wryly, his greasy black hair hanging around a face that looked like it hadn’t seen the sun for at least a decade. And his robes, all black and creepy-looking.

Walking around the desk briskly and up the classroom, she held out a small, dainty, feminine hand to him, smiling broadly. "Buffy Summers. Nice to meet you."

The man looked down at her, his upper lip curling, black eyes glittering with an emotion she really didn’t want to identify. Suddenly, she had the odd image that she was holding her hand out to a cobra.

"Or not..." Withdrawing her hand, she pointed a finger up at him, forehead creasing in thought, then she grinned, a flash of recognition crossing her face. "You’d be Professor Snape, right?"

"Indeed."

"Not big on the wordiness, huh?" His eyes skimmed down her body, his upper lip curling a little more. "What?"

"That...ensemble. You are a teacher here, yet you dress like a common muggle."

Buffy looked down at her cream sweater, chocolate pants and matching boots, her brows wrinkling. "I like the way I dress," she said defiantly. "At least I don’t go all out in embracing the stereotype."

"Tell me, little girl," He took a slow step towards her, his black cloak flaring around him in a way that reminded Buffy a tiny bit of Dracula. And a big ‘Ew!’ on that mental image. "Do you have any knowledge of magic."

Apparently, he expected her to back off or be frightened or something.

"Nice glare you’ve got there, Snapey," She tapped him in the middle of his chest and was amused when he actually growled. She wasn’t sure if it was the use of the nickname or the poking in the chest, but God! Over-reacting much? "You’re almost scaring me." She hopped back a step to sit on the desk. "And yeah, on the magic. Got a friendly neighbourhood witch."

"But you know no spells yourself?"

Sitting on the desk, swinging her legs back and forth, Buffy grinned at him, aware that she was probably definitely bugging the crap out of this guy who was going for Angel’s dominating flarey-coat-King-of-Pain thing and would have been succeeding if she hadn’t known he was just a human. "Nope."

Snape's thin lips narrowed even more, his dark eyes glittering malevolently. "And you have no Wizarding blood in you?"

"Nuh-uh," She tilted her head to one side, eyes dancing. Apparently, this guy had no clue who she was and he definitely didn’t like her for some reason. She was sensing a whole lot of fun about to come her way.

"And you have been assigned the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts at this school?" She nodded brightly. He stepped directly in front of her, plunging her into shadow, his face obscured. He definitely knew his intimidation tactics, but he had obviously never met a Slayer before. She just looked up at him, as if they were in perfect light, smiling. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Summers," his voice was coated in ice. "What makes you think you are capable of the job?"

"You really wanna know why, Snapey?" She grinned at him and saw a flicker of annoyance and consternation in his eyes when she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "This is why..."

In a heartbeat, the Potions Master found himself pinned on his back on the desk, a razor sharp knife in the blonde's hand pressed against his throat, her other hand spread on his chest, holding him down.

Grabbing at her wrists, he tried to push her hands - and the knife - away from his bare neck, but was unable to make her budge even a millimetre, panic and confusion filtering into the rage on his face.

"See, Snapey!" she cooed sweetly. "I got the job because Dumbledore didn't want me to decapitate him with his own wand," She grinned down at the wizard. "I could probably do it too, you know...might take a while, wands being all blunt and woody, but hey! I could always try," She paused, then smiled genuinely. "Actually, he asked me and my pet vampire to come and work here cos we're too cute to not be seen by your pupils."

"Release...me..."

Buffy pressed the edge of the blade against his throat a little harder. "You didn’t say the magic word."

"NOW!"

Laughing, the Slayer stepped back, folding her arms over her chest as Snape sat up, pushing himself off the desk, onto his feet, rubbing his throat. "You know, Snapey, you’re never gonna make any friends with that attitude."

Snape's hand reached into the pocket of his robes for his wand, but the Slayer got there first, grabbing his right arm and twisting the wrist until his hand was almost backwards, the wizard hissing through his teeth in pain.

"Nuh-uh," wagging a finger at him, she tutted. "That's cheating. Now," She said with a bright smile. "Do I kick your ass and show you why I'll be a good Dada teacher? Or do I let you go?"

"Dumbledore will hear of this," the hook-nosed teacher gasped as the blade came up under his chin again.

"I would hope so, Professor," She grinned up at him. "You want the job of the Dada and yet, a small girl can still throw you onto a desk and could have cut your throat before you could even defend yourself." She tutted as he straightened his robes. "Not very good at all, Snapey."

Scowling, the black-haired teacher stalked towards the open door, his black robes flaring around him.

"Oh, and Snapey," she called after him with a demure look. He glared at her, a muscle in his cheek twitching furiously. "Wash your hair, would you? I'd hate to have to force your head under a shower."

The Potions Professor growled something that sounded very rude, before storming out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, leaving Buffy leaning against the desk, chuckling in his wake.

***

"I demand her departure at once!"

Professor Dumbledore had his back to Snape, as the Potions Master raved, as he had been doing for the last ten minutes. He was bent over one of the gleaming gadgets in his office, watching miniature replicas of the planets revolve around the sun.

Sunlight flooded in through all the high windows, making Uranus - yes, two hundred-years-old and he still snickered at that joke - shine, which was no doubt a bad omen for anyone who happened to be a dancing leprechaun wearing a sundial on his nose.

He made a mental note never to invite Sybill Trelawny to his office, unless this new toy was covered up, or he knew he would have at least a dozen deaths hanging over him before she left.

Straightening up, he glanced briefly at a picture of the graduate class of two years earlier that hung just above his planetarium, smiling at the faces of Potter, Granger and Weasley in particular.

However, seeing them redirected his attention back to the teacher who was currently chaffing at the bit behind him.

Wandering back around his desk, the Head Master sat down in the large seat, his deep green-blue and purple robes shifting around him, smiling as Snape continued to pace furiously, growling about something that had occurred with their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"Severus, do you really think that necessary?" He had wondered how the Potions Master would react to the fearless little blonde who had been called in to replace Remus Lupin.

"The little hussy damn near killed me!"

Steepling his fingertips in front of his chest, Dumbledore’s lips lifted in a smile beneath his beard. "Indeed?" was all he said.

"And she’s a muggle, Head Master!" Swinging around, Snape pointed an angry finger at Dumbledore. "How on earth is a muggle meant to efficiently teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? If a Dark Lord rises, what are the children meant to do?"

Raising a hand for silence, Dumbledore motioned for the Potions Master to sit in the chair opposite him. "Severus, are you questioning my judgement in this situation out of a true concern for the pupils or out of envy?"

Snape opened his mouth to retort and quickly shut it again. Spots of colour appeared on his cheeks and he glared at Dumbledore in a way that suggested he would very much like to hit him.

"As you are remaining oddly silent, Severus, I believe I should inform you of a little secret that Miss Summers holds," Black eyes gleamed bitterly at him, daring him to give an answer that would sate Snape’s anger. "I trust this will remain confidential between us, the staff and Miss Summers."

Snape made a grunting sound, which the Head Master translated as assent.

"Miss Summers is the Slayer."

Black eyes seemed to double in size, staring across at Dumbledore, who was merrily chuckling to himself. Snape’s mouth opened and shut several times, the anger in his expression replaced with astonishment.

"You did wonder why she wasn’t intimidated by you, did you not?" Snape glared at him, making Dumbledore chuckle again. "Ah, Severus, your face is an open book to me. You wanted her to fear you and run away home," He smiled, his eyes twinkling with glee. "Alas, Miss Summers has faced many things more frightening than you, if you can believe there is such a thing. I believe she has even journeyed to Hell, so your little act would hardly dissuade her."

"When you say the Slayer...?"

"I mean the Chosen One, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "She, alone, who stands against Vampires and Demons and the forces of Darkness. The Slayer," He paused for a hearty chuckle. "Although, in Miss Summers’ case, it ought to read she who - with her madcap band of friends and relatives - shall stand against vampires and demons... and befriend a few of them as well."

"Pardon?"

"That charming young lady, who accompanied Miss Summers," Dumbeldore’s blue eyes shone with an emotion that no one had seen in them for many a year. "Miss Emerson. She was previously a Vengeance Demon and I find her a rather enchanting, if blunt, young lady," Snape looked like he was torn between laughing hysterically or running, screaming. "And Spike is none other than William the Bloody."

At that, Snape exploded again. "You let him into the school after what he did the before?" he cried out angrily, the colour disappearing from his cheeks again. "He sided with Voldemort!"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. I did ask about that. If I recall correctly, he claims he did it because he ‘got bored’. He also remarked that he told Voldemort that he had bad breath and should probably refrain from eating so many mice." A chuckle escaped the wizard. "Apparently, the Dark Lord was not entirely amused."

Snape was looking disorientated by this revelation, which had been Dumbledore’s gleeful intention all along. "One...one wouldn’t think so."

"Apparently William’s lover at the time had to get him drunk and spirit him away, in order to prevent Voldemort from killing him out of frustration." Dumbledore couldn’t help chuckling. "No one quite irritated the Dark Lord like that particular vampire."

Now, the Potions Master almost appeared amused. Almost, but not quite. "And why," he asked, his voice steady and calm again. "Is William The Bloody fraternising with the Vampire Slayer by choice?"

"He has been neutralised," Dumbledore explained, wondering if the story sounded as much like a theme of a Science-Fiction film as he thought it did. "A Government agency implanted a behavioural modification chip into his brain. He is no longer able to harm humans."

Snape’s expression was sceptical. "And is there evidence to support this theory?"

"Well, on one of my visits to Sunnydale, he was living in a bathtub in the house of a Mr. Rupert Giles," Dumbledore studied Snape’s face carefully as he spoke.

He knew that Severus had practically idolised the Senior Gryffindor, in his early years at the school, when he had been briefly under the protection of the older man, before Giles had been withdrawn from Hogwarts for Watcher Training.

After all, Giles had been infamous for his ability in the Potions department, in spite of his prankster nature. He had also taken care of anyone else who proved to have a gift with the potions, until his father...

Snape’s fists contracted around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, a muscle in his cheek twitching, and the Head Master didn’t even need to ask what had aroused his anger again.

He had suspected that Snape’s affection for Giles’ overbearing and obnoxious father was so thin it was near transparent, after the one senior who had appreciate second-year Snape’s work was forced from his circle.

If he hadn’t known better, Dumbledore would have sworn that Severus saw Giles as almost a substitute for an elder brother.

"Is that sufficient evidence, Severus?"

Snape nodded, blinking. "Yes..." he said faintly. "Yes, I think so."

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore rose to his feet. "You are satisfied with my choice of teacher and her credentials?"

"Not entirely. What of the magical aspects of her classes? How is she supposed to teach them?"

"I wondered how long you would take to ask." Dumbledore walked to stand by the window, looking out over the clear grounds, a small smile on his lips. The soft sunlight washed in on his face. "She has a few assistants with her, all here voluntarily, including a Mr. Giles."

"Giles is back?"

The expression of delight that crossed Snape’s face was quickly smothered by his usual, surly look, but Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he watched the reflection of Snape in the window, knowing that the multiple invitation was definitely among his better ideas.

"Indeed," the old wizard answered. "He almost insisted on coming," He paused for a moment, tracing his fingertip along the windowsill. "Perhaps you agree with my decision now?"

Snape’s lip twisted slightly, as if he wanted to make some snide remark, but he settled for answering in a slightly stiff voice. "We will have to wait and see how well she performs, Head Master."

"Very well, Severus, but please," He turned. "Don’t irritate her anymore than you have to. She is a little stronger than you would expect." The closed look on Snape’s face told him more than words would and he turned back to the window, chuckling, as Snape stalked out.

If he knew Snape and the Summers girl, there would be fireworks before the week was out.

And personally, he was looking forward to it with great relish.

A small smile reached his lips, as he wondered if the charming Miss Emerson would like to share a bag of popcorn with him, when the inevitable explosion between the two strong personalities happened.