The Eighth Weasley

Notes: Starting writing ch. 37, wrote the main scene of this ch. and realised I had to fiddle, so here we have the lead in to the potential battle lines being drawn and good and bad gathering their allies to them. Muahah! Can you sense my fun?

Also, I'm currently grieving for a disk. Two months work of work was enclosed in the disk, a small series of which had not been posted anywhere, completely gone. No explanation why or anything. All I know is that I was finishing chapters and next thing I know, the disk wouldn't open and everything went downhill from there. Next chapter of The Chronicles of Lucius are now on hold, because they were on it too. And various other HP series :( I'm not happy.

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Poring over the creased sheet of parchment she had...borrowed from her lover’s pad, Willow Weasley’s attention was focused on solving the riddle provided by Buffy’s dream the day before.

Unfortunately, she was in a class.

She was in a class and unaware that everyone was looking at her, as the teacher gave her an exasperated look, one of his hands on his hip, the other tapping his wand against his knee.

"Miss Weasley."

"Hold on a second," Willow replied without looking up, marking some notations down on the page.

"Miss Weasley."

Holding up a hand, she started to scribble down a new thought, splitting seven, three and oh into columns, wondering briefly if there were any pillars in the school with the three numbers on them.

An elbow jabbed her sharply in the ribs and she yelped, flashing a hurt look at Leon Mzimba, who was jerking his head to the front of the class, where Professor Flitwick was looking down at her from his stack of books.

It was the first time she had ever seen the Charms teacher look serious and perhaps even a little bit angry.

"May I ask what you find so interesting, Miss Weasley?"

"Um..."

White eyebrows rose. "A secret, perhaps?"

"I’m not allowed to say it out loud," she mumbled, blushing beetroot, wondering what her classmates would say if she announced that she and her friends were trying to find a way to save the world.

Again.

"If that is the case, Miss Weasley, perhaps you would be kind enough to keep it for outside the class," Flitwick said calmly. "After all, it is known that Charms is your weakest subject."

Willow went scarlet, her ears burning and gripped her quill tightly.

"Accio this and see if you think it’s important," she mumbled, scribbling down just what she was working on, on the page and folding it, before holding the sheet in the direction of the teacher.

Flitwick summoned the sheet with a flick of his wand and unfolded it, his eyes scanning down the words. Much to his credit, he managed to contain his shock, only uttering a little squeak of surprise.

Folding the page again, he gave her a look.

"While this is a valid subject for study," he said, his voice even squeakier than usual, his eyes holding hers. "I would prefer if you kept it outside the class, lest it fall into innocent hands. Retrieve your page, if you will."

Willow nodded, withdrawing her wand to summon the page back.

Unlike the rest of the first years she usually studied with, Willow had been given some additional and more advanced charms to learn, although she was still having trouble with her wand control.

Flitwick landed squarely in her lap.

Everyone else in the combined first year class burst out laughing at the surprised look on the teacher’s face and the one of absolute mortification on Willow’s.

"Um...hi, Professor," she said sheepishly.

Leon, who was sitting beside her, was giggling as much as Flitwick was. "At least you managed to summon it properly, Willow," he pointed out, grinning from ear-to-ear. "And the Professor didn’t combust."

"Yeah, that’s progress," Willow admitted, her face redder than her hair as she lifted Flitwick back down onto the floor and let him hurry back to his little stand where he taught from.

"And now," Flitwick announced, as he climbed back onto the stand. "Since Miss Weasley has finally decided to pay attention and has mastered the basic summoning charm, perhaps we can move on to the lesson."

Tucking her page away, Willow blushed again and promised herself that she would pay full attention to every class from then in.

***

"It appears that we are going to have some guests soon."

Pausing over the cup of coffee she was drinking, Professor McGonagall looked at the Head Master, along with most of the other members of staff. "Are these guests of the good or bad variety, Albus?"

Pacing across the floor, Dumbledore looked seriously around at them. "As you all know, trouble has been brewing since the Hell Goddess has been seeking her key. It is because of her Severus was incapacitated and I’m afraid that he is not the only one to have been affected by Glory."

"So what’s the what?" Professor Summers asked. She was sitting around one of the tables with Professor Granger and Professor Flitwick who, after seeing the riddle they were struggling with, had decided to provide his aid where possible. "Who is it?"

"Harry Potter."

Several gasps sounds around the room and Granger’s eyes closed.

"His scar," she whispered. "I should have known. Is..." she looked up at Dumbledore in consternation. "Is he all right, Head Master?"

"He is currently in St Mungo’s, Hermione," Dumbledore answered gravely. "While Severus’ pain centred from his arm and affected the rest of his body by degrees, Mr. Potter’s radiated through his skull first. He regained consciousness this afternoon."

"Harry? Will’s brother-in-law?" Granger nodded. "Okay, I am so kicking some Hell-Goddess ass!"

"Do not react rashly, Buffy," Dumbledore suggested, making a calming gesture with one hand. "Harry will be fine, but he is being brought here tomorrow, for the same sanctuary that was provided for your sister."

"Willow’ll freak," Buffy murmured. "She hates it when anyone she knows gets hurt, especially family."

Granger glanced at the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Where is she anyway?" she asked casually. "I don’t remember seeing her since she went to Charms this morning."

"She said that she knew of someone who might be able to solve the puzzle of this dream," Flitwick put in brightly. "She said something about him being a ‘master of the sneaky and cryptic like he was in the books.’"

Hermione Granger’s eyes went wide. "Of course!" she exclaimed, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense. "How on earth could we have forgotten that he was the one who developed the logic puzzle protecting the stone?"

"Huh?" Summers looked blankly at them.

"Snape," Hermione replied, smiling broadly. "If anyone can solve cryptic puzzles, it would be Snape."

"Snapey?"

Professor Flitwick beamed across the table at her. "Severus, your closest friend," he said cheerfully, giggling when she flashed a dark look at him. "Everyone forgets that the dear fellow is really very clever."

"A smart ass, you mean," Summers muttered.

Flitwick gave her a thoroughly naughty look. "Oh and he has one of them too."

Summers and Granger stared at him, very proud of themselves when they managed to actually blink.

***

The pain had finally receded so that he could breathe clearly once more, the wheezing rattle cleared from his lungs. The ache in his bones still lingered, but it was bearable, under the influence of various numbing potions.

Seated in the dungeons, Severus Snape had never been more relieved to leave the infirmary wing than he had that morning.

It had taken some convincing on his part to persuade Madam Pomfrey that he was well enough to be left on his own. To prove his point, he had stood up and scowled at her, until she had relented and told him he could go.

Of course, he had passed out on the bed as soon as the little medi-witch disappeared through the drapes, but that didn’t matter now. He was out of the wing and back in the security of his favoured surroundings.

Since he had returned, the younger Summers had already invaded, bringing with her a small cauldron full of a near-perfect draught of Angel’s Kiss, an obscure potion for pain relief, which she claimed to have found just ‘kinda lying around...in places’.

Lying around.

The answer only a teenager could come up with.

He smiled slightly, delighted that the girl had actually used her initiative and decided to try to brew some potions without his direct order. She had a genuine gift with the subject and he was pleased to see her testing herself.

That she had managed to brew Angel’s Kiss with only the most basic of ingredients was impressive.

It has worked remarkably well too, which had truly surprised him.

He would have to keep a closer eye on her, lest she try something too advanced and bold, in case anyone was caught in the flow by accident or design.

A quiet but firm tap on the door caused him to raise his eyes.

"Enter."

The door creaked open, a sylph-like figure easing into the room, her loose red hair around her pale face - still vivid in spite of the shadows of the class - making her instantly recognisable to him.

"Miss Weasley," he murmured. "This is a surprise."

It had been weeks since she had been in the class.

After the success of her first class and many discussions among other members of the staff, it was decided that - for the rest of Autumn term - Weasley would focus on eradicating her weaknesses, so she could join the senior classes in the new year.

This had meant that her sessions in the potions classes - where she was already up to the standard of the seniors - were replaced with additional charms, transfiguration and arithmancy classes, which were her greatest weakness.

Walking briskly forward, the red head gave him a smile as she drew nearer the desk he was sitting at. "I figured that I’ve been letting Buffy do all the annoying, so it’s my turn now," she said.

"Indeed," A brow lifted. "You seem very sure that you can irritate me."

"I made you laugh once. I can annoy you."

There was a lazy chuckle. "That was before your charming friend with the ever so natural blonde hair became involved in the scenario, Miss Weasley. You are the gnat of annoying, while Summers is the great white shark."

She pulled a face at him. "Says you."

"Obviously," he smirked, his eyes hooded. "And you are here for what purpose, other than to attempt to outdo your...associate’s skill at being painful?"

A sheet of paper was slapped down on the desk in front of him. "Actually, I’m here for an important reason," Weasley replied, her expression turning serious. "I know you’re a real smart guy..."

"Your perception astounds me, Weasley, but I would hardly consider it a subject of great import."

A huff of annoyance escaped her nostrils. "Will you let me finish?" He made a graceful gesture for her to continue with one hand, a smirk on his lips.

Weasley was so much easier to agitate than Summers. She had a giddy nervousness that flared up from time-to-time when she was both annoyed and afraid, which he found very amusing. Summers, on the other hand, tended to react in similar ways to all situations: by biting back when bitten.

"Buffy had a wiggy dream and we’re trying to work out what it means and since you’re uber-cryptic lurking guy and did that potions puzzle thing when Harry and everyone were going after the Philosopher’s Stone..."

"That was mere logic," he interrupted in a level tone. "There was no...uber-cryptic, as you so eloquently phrase it, involved, Weasley, so if you would be kind enough to elaborate on your presence and why it continues to infect my atmosphere."

"You’re doing the interrupty thing again!" She pointed a finger at him. "This is way important and if you would stop with the interruptions, I would get to the explaining and everything!"

Snape chuckled softly. "Explain then, Miss Weasley. Why are you here?"

"Uh..." She looked a little stunned that he had asked the question directly.

"How very eloquent you are, for an American."

"Hey!"

"And so patriotic," he added with a smirk. "I am still awaiting an answer, Miss Weasley. What is contained in the document you are beating against my desk and is it of significance pertaining to your presence here?"

"Huh?" she stared at him, then looked down at the page beneath her hand, which was looking rather...rumpled. "Oh! Yeah! Paper-thing - it's the stuff Buffy remembers from her dream and we’re still trying to work out what it means, so I kinda brought it to you, to see if you could stop being Mister Cranky Ass for once and do something helpful with it."

"Mister Cranky Ass," Snape echoed dryly, the words sounding absurd with his very proper English intonation. "You really are doing very little to champion your case by insulting me, Miss Weasley."

She glared at him and his smirk widened. "No wonder Buffy thinks you’re an annoying jerk," she mumbled.

"And I am less than interested in the wonderful Miss Summers’ opinion of me," he replied lazily. A pale-skinned hand unfurled. "If I may...?"

Shoving the folded sheet into his hands, Weasley crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but it had a less than intimidating effect. Honestly, she was about as terrifying as a kitten.

Smoothing out the page, he looked down at the scribbled words. "Is the dream written down in sequence?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do try and say ‘yes’, Weasley," he sighed, not looking up from the sheet before him. "Even your limited American lexis should be sufficient to allow a simple, three-letter, one-syllable sound of concurrence."

"Would you stop being all picky about the way I speak?"

"But you make it so easy, Miss Weasley," he replied, his glinting eyes rising to her, his lips curving.

She looked angry, but that still did nothing to make him quiver in his boots. Her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance and her cheeks were flushed almost as dark red as her hair.

"I’m gonna tell Buffy you were being a cranky jerk," she said.

"My God, I am positively shaking with fear," he replied dryly, his eyes back on the page. "Tell me, Weasley, when was this graduation incident, when Summers had the first dream that mentioned seven-three-oh?"

"It was a year and a half ago, in the summer in 1999," Weasley answered, sounding a little confused. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Picking up his quill, Snape dipped it into the ink well, then started to write in the margin of the page. "Summers stated that this...Faith girl claimed she was ‘counting down from seven-three-oh’, correct?"

"Yeah...yes."

Snape’s eyes rose to the red head and he almost smiled as she corrected herself and tilted her chin defiantly. "If you are counting down, that does suggest that you are leading to a certain time, does it not?"

"I-I guess so."

"Then," he continued slowly, writing steadily in the margin as he did so. "You must consider what you are counting down from. Since this number has been mentioned again, recently, and is once again pertaining to a countdown, it would suggest that it was not counting down in seconds, minutes or hours, but in days or weeks. I would believe it to be days, which would mean seven-three-oh would be seven hundred and thirty days."

"Oh!"

"And, when seven hundred and thirty days are halved, you are left with two sets of three hundred and sixty-five."

"And there are three hundred and sixty five days in a year!"

Snape nodded, smothering a smile. "How very astute you are, Miss Weasley. Thank you for finally bothering to catch up. Now, if my assumptions are correct, it means that whatever is coming will happen two years after the first dream, which will be some time in the next six months."

"That is SO obvious!"

"And yet, you were not aware of it until I pointed it out to you, Weasley," he said, flexing his aching hand slowly. "Obviously, your powers of observation are inherited from your father, who did not notice that your mother was pregnant until she handed him the child."

"Don’t you insult my parents!"

"You have obviously never heard the tale of your eldest brother’s birth, have you, Weasley?" Snape said, an odd, amused twinkle in his black eyes. "But now, back to this dream. Am I correct in assuming that the bisection of the hall is symbolic of the two sides who will be involved?"

The witch studied him, then looked at the paper. "Buffy thinks so," she replied, pointing to the sketch that the Slayer had done of the positions. "There are more people on our side, which is good, but she said there were a lot on theirs as well. The blond guy is the main one."

"And this ‘Ben’ character. What role does he play?"

"He was an orderly at the hospital when Buffy’s mom was ill, but we don’t know why he was there. He looked like a totally normal kinda guy...at least normal in the Hellmouthy way, with no horns, fangs or tail or anything."

Snape rubbed the hollow of his cheek with his thumb pensively. "Interesting. Do trivial elements of Summers’ life often feature in her dreams?"

"Not unless they’re real important."

There was a long silence, as the Professor looked over the drawing again, his brows creasing in thought.

"She stated that Glory was behind her, here," he said, pointing to the staircase in the small sketch. "Then, when she turned away briefly and turned back, Ben was standing in the same place exactly."

"So Ben could be connected to Glory somehow?" Weasley looked rather dubious at the thought of it. "But he...he seemed so nice!"

"So, I hear, did Angelus."

The girl gave him an anguished look, then nodded. "So we find out where Ben is, if we can," she decided firmly. "Then find out what he knows about Glory and what we can do to stop her."

"And we ignore the fact that we are clearly having delusions of grandeur about our abilities," he finished, arching a brow at her when she scowled.

"Look, Mister Cranky Ass, just because you don’t believe we can do this and stop Glory and save the world, again," she snapped shortly. "Doesn’t mean that you have to go all bitchy britches on us every time we suggest something! At least we’re trying, which is more that we can say for you!"

"And what have I just done by solving your little riddle for you, Weasley?"

Weasley glared at him. "You just like being a lurky, broody, crank-meister way too much," He raised a brow, as if to ask her why she was stating the obvious. "Would it be so hard for you to smile or play nice once in a while?"

"Weasley, playing nice is for people with time, patience and sugar flowing in their blood-stream. I am not nice, I never have been nice and I don’t intend to become nice because some red-haired witch with too much lip thinks I should be happy."

"Well, can you maybe...I dunno...cut down on the PMS-ing?"

Snape laughed. Then covered with a cough. "PMS, Weasley?" he tried to growl, but he was almost smiling at the thought. He had heard his temper being called many things but never had it been attributed to PMS. "This is the way I am."

"I don’t get it."

"That not everyone exudes sunshine and light? Welcome to the world, Weasley."

"No, Cranky Ass," she retorted. "You. You got a good job, you’ve got people who care about you," he snorted and she glared at him. "Like Dumbledore and Giles, you get to spend all day every day doing what you like most and still, you sulk and bitch in the dark and scare kids just cos you can. Don’t you even try to be kinda happy?"

"Miss Weasley," he started to stand, then thought the better of it, his body screaming in protest. "Have you ever considered the fact that I may already be quite content with my lot? Simply because I do not show it, does not mean I am any less satisfied."

"But don’t you wanna...you know...find someone special? Settle down?"

Snape gazed at her, suddenly understanding. "Ah, Weasley, I see. In the rapture of your own little...union, you have decided that it is unfair for anyone else in the world to be single, whether they prefer it that way or not."

"Little union?" Her cheeks went scarlet. "No! No union! Haven’t been doing anything of the kinky and naughty unionising kind!"

His lips curled. "Mmm-hmm?" Snatching the sheet of parchment, she fled to the door, her face flaming. "Oh, and Miss Weasley," he called after her, as she stepped out into the hall. "Give Miss Granger my regards."

Her whimper carried back to him as she slammed the door shut, leaving the Potions Professor chuckling to himself in the dungeon.

***

"And who do we have here, baby?"

Lazing on the couch, Glory raised her eyes to the next candidate. There had been so many disappointments in the last few hours, she was beginning to doubt that there was anyone who would be able to perform the task she had in mind.

Lucius motioned the dark-haired young woman forward. "Someone willing to help you find what you’re looking for, my dear."

On the other side of the room, Draco snorted over the book he was reading. His father flashed a warning glare at him, which he ignored. It was clear that the younger of the men despised Glory for the place she had assumed in his father’s affections, usurping the position of his mother.

"Is that so, cupcake?"

The woman before her swayed on the spot, blue-grey eyes fluttering, her alabaster skin deathly white in the soft light of the candles. "There’s such a knocking coming from the door," she whispered. "Mmm…soon, it must be opened or everything will fall down! Like a ring, a ring of rosies…"

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Rubbing her hands down her body, the woman murmured a purr of low approval. "I can feel it tingling around like worms in my belly," she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she stared down at Glory. "But the naughty girl with sunshine in her hair…she has your key and the door shall not open without a key!"

Glory sat upright, studying the brunette. "Well, well, baby, looks like we got us a winner here," she smiled.

"You and the secret one who hides away deep inside of you will know me," the dark woman sang softly. "Even though, he who slips and slides inside does not know of all your true faces."

A curious look crossed Glory’s face. "You know, sweetie," she said, sliding onto her feet and holding out a hand, which the dark woman took without hesitation. "I think we’re gonna get on real well."

***

"Omigod! Harry!"

Called from her dormitory to the infirmary by the Head Master, Willow Weasley stopped short at the sight of her brother-in-law and sister, one hand coming to her mouth in shock.

"Don’t…shout…" Lying in the bed, Harry Potter looked like he had faced death, yet again, and come close to losing the battle, his face greyish, his eyes blood-shot as he squinted at Willow.

"What happened?" Willow asked, looking from him to Ginny, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding one of Harry’s hands between hers. "Ginny?"

"It is the same situation that affected Professor Snape, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore was the one to answer the question. "Glory’s touch caused a reaction similar to that which Voldemort’s presence had on Mr. Potter."

"In this case," Harry muttered. "Bloody headache…at worst possible moment…just ask the missus..."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Don’t be dirty, Harry," she said, her voice cracking. Willow rounded the bed and wrapped her arms around her sister immediately, Ginny leaning back against her gratefully. "He was on his broom...Quidditch game...fell off from fifty feet up..."

"Landed on my head...so no permanent damage, eh?" he quipped, squeezing Ginny’s fingers gently.

"You could have been killed!"

Harry winced. "Gin...not loud...please..."

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she touched his brow. "I just...you just fell...I-I’ve never been so scared..."

"He’s gonna be all right now," Willow assured her twin, hugging Ginny tightly. "I bet Professor Dumbledore is working on all kinds of neat charms to protect the school and everything in it."

The Head Master nodded seriously. "Miss Emerson, Mr. T. Bloody," Willow and Ginny both giggled a little at the name, "and Minerva are devising ways to utilise some of the old magics to protect the school and grounds."

"Are you sure it's safe to let those three work together, Professor?" Willow asked dubiously. "I mean, Spike and Anya are bad enough..."

"I do believe it’s a good deal safer to let them work together," Dumbledore said with a suggestion of a smile. "Confined to one room, than to have them spread throughout the castle, causing mayhem."

"Speaking of mayhem, where’s Buffy?"

There was a blatant twinkle in Dumbledore’s blue eyes as he surveyed the young witch. "I do believe that she has gone to the Great Hall to meet our guests, along with some of the staff body."

"Why do I suddenly feel very suspicious?"

Harry chuckled. "Because you’ve started to understand old Dumbledore’s way of thinking," he replied in a tired whisper. "Best go and see for yourself, before too much damage is done, Will."

"Reassuring much?" she retorted, giving her twin’s shoulder a squeeze. "You gonna be okay here, Ginny?" Ginny nodded, smiling faintly up at her. "Okay, mister," she turned an accusing finger to Dumbledore. "If anything of the bad, icky, or cursey variety has happened, you are so gonna regret it!"

"Respectful as always, aren’t you, Miss Weasley?" the old wizard chuckled.

Willow just stuck her tongue out, before striding out of the wing.

***

"Always a pleasure to see you again, Black," Professor Flitwick piped up, bouncing on his toes beside the tall wizard, who smiled broadly down at him. "Do you intend to remain long?"

"Long enough, sir," he replied cheerfully, scanning around the Hall for anyone who might be the famed Vampire Slayer or one of her merry minions, whom he had heard so much about.

He, along with the older Weasley sons, had been sent scouting out on Dumbledore’s request, almost a month earlier, for anyone who would be willing to take a stand against the most serious threat their world had ever faced.

However, Harry’s near-fatal fall, at the Quidditch World Cup trials, had forced him to rush back to make sure that his Godson was safe and was going to live.

Then, of course, Dumbledore had managed to contact him again, offering a safer haven for Harry than anything he knew he could possibly provide, with the protection of the Slayer to boot.

Bill and Charlie were chatting amiably to Professor Granger, who seemed to be in a sunny mood. Edging closer, his nostrils flared a little, his animagi senses kicking in and he grinned a little.

Well, well, well, Hermione...that was certainly a turn up for the books.

Now, who was the lucky bugger...?

"Look, you cranky jerk," a female voice cried in the entrance hall outside, catching his attention and distracting him from the scent that was all over the brown-haired witch. "I know you’re in pain, so if you would stop being so damn stiff-upper-lippy and noble and let me help you move a bit faster, maybe we could get into the hall sometime before Glory actually gets here and tries to kick our asses!"

"Summers," Black mentally winced at Severus Snape’s voice. "I have no need of an irritating blonde crutch. Now, cease in this ridiculous behaviour!"

"No way, Crankenstein," the voice retorted. "I’m helping you drag your sorry achy butt into that hall whether you want me to or not."

"Summers," Snape’s voice sounded even more irritable than usual. "I would be most gratified if you would leave my posterior out of this conversation, release my limbs and allow me to move under my own volition."

"Too late, Mood-meister," she answered back. "We’re here already."

The sight was truly an amusing one to behold and - had Sirius been less stunned by what he was seeing - he knew that there was every chance that he would be on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Snape was practically being carried by a stubborn-looking blonde with a determined look in her eye. One of his arms was around her shoulders, although it didn’t look like he had placed it there by choice, and the other was pinned by his side.

It took an expert observer to notice that Snape’s feet weren’t even touching the ground beneath the robes that were trailing along the stone floor.

Deposited back on the floor, Snape’s well-known death glare was directed at the stubborn-looking blonde, who smirked at him and straightened her black trousers and red pullover.

The blonde looked around, then spotted Sirius, hazel eyes widening in recognition and she was moving towards him far too rapidly for him to turn and flee in panic.

"Hey!" A hand was stuck out to him and he was sure he felt his knuckles crackling when she gripped his fingers and squeezed. "You’re Sirius, right? The guy who can turn into the freaky big black dog? I’m Buffy Summers."

This was the Slayer?

This tiny, fragile-looking little blonde creature was the Slayer?

"You do speak, don’t you?" she inquired, studying him intently. "I mean, you’re not some kinda big hairy wildman who just grunts and stuff?"

"I-I speak."

"Two syllables, Black," Snape sneered. "A true record."

"Kiss my arse, Snape," Sirius snarled, a small hand on his chest stopping him from pushing past the Slayer to go and land one on the Potions Professor’s smug bastard face. "It’ll be the only action you’ll get this century."

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," another female voice interrupted. "Especially if you don’t know where his ass has been!"

"Anya, sweetie, please..."

"Well, it is accurate, Xander..."

Sirius was at a bit of a loss.

Normally, his tirades of abuse directed at Snape weren’t interrupted by a pair of blonde girls, one physically restraining him and the other commenting on his...was it his personal hygiene, sexual preference, a combination of the two or worse?

"Snapey," the blonde in front of him glanced over her shoulder. "You gonna behave or do I gotta carry you back to your room and make you?"

So she wasn’t afraid of him then.

Definitely the ultimate Slayer.

Any other Slayer would no doubt be cowering in their boots when the Death-glare was directed at them, but Sirius almost grinned maliciously to see Snape scowl and skulk back into the shadows in silence.

"And don’t you get all smug, Mister," Buffy turned back to face him and tapped his chest. "You were making Snapey even more bad moody than usual and he’s had a bad week, so leave him be, kay?"

"Um...yes..."

What else could he say?

NO! I’ll turn into a big black dog and attack him if I like!

Something told him that if he even tried that, the tiny blonde in front of him would beat him senseless to teach him a lesson. She smiled at him in a way that only served to reaffirm that suspicion.

"Now, if the boys are gonna play nicely," the Slayer looked from one to the other, smiling broadly as if oblivious to the fact that they were both baring their teeth in her general direction. "We’re all gonna sit down and discuss the problem of a psychotic Hell-Goddess bent on destroying the world."

"WAIT!"

"Oh, hey, Will," Buffy smiled as Willow hurtled in, looking as if she expected to see blood, guts and gore splattered all over the hall. Stopping short, she blinked around, looking a little bemused. "What’s up?"

"I thought there was some kinda trouble with...Sirius!" A red-haired whirlwind slammed squarely into Sirius’ arms and hugged him, the wizard caught off-balance and staggering a little.

Then he caught a whiff of her scent, his eyes widening.

"Holy shit!"

"I didn’t realise that your hugs were that good, baby sister," Bill chuckled at the shell-shocked look on Sirius’ face. "Looks like you grabbed onto something he wasn’t expecting there."

"BILL!"

"Ahem?"

"Charlie?"

Both the red-haired men were caught in tight headlocks that their youngest sister classified as a ‘hug’. "What are you guys doing here?" she demanded, slapping their chests. "You didn’t tell me you were gonna visit!"

"And spoil the surprise, sis? Not a chance," Charlie mussed her hair with a rough hand and she grinned back at him, swatting his hand away. "So what did you do to old man Sirius to get him the howl like that?"

"Nothing!"

Bill snickered. "Right, Will, he just yells for no reason."

"What can I say?" Sirius gave Willow a look, his mouth lifting at one side as she blushed crimson. "She smells good. Very good," his blue eyes twinkled at her, then at Hermione, who went equally red. "Very unique perfume you wear, Willow."

"Sirius!"

He just gave them a knowing smirk, then turned back to the Slayer with a dashing smile. "So, Professor Summers, you were saying something about a Hell-Goddess?"