The Eighth Weasley

Under The Influence

Notes: This is one of those ideas I had stupidly late at night (when I was meant to be getting up at 7am on a Saturday to do my laundry - I'm a student. I wait til I'm down to my last wearable pieces of clothing, then hope and pray I'll be up in time to get a machine - for those of you who are wondering, I managed (4 loads...my all time record)), so it was a bad time for me to have it, even the suggestion of it taking root a bit too quickly for my tastes.

I'd been working on finishing Potions v. Dada (chapter 31) and I'd just hopped off the computer when the muse hit, hard, fast and mercilessly. What had been a joking idea I had been vaguely considering decided it was coming out to play. My intention of being in bed by 2am was ruined.

Two hours later, I had a whole new twist that wouldn't have happened if this chapter idea hadn't cropped up and now...now, the bloody story is turning out to be one of those epics that looks to be at least 60 chapters. All I can say is thank God that it's always got fairly short chapters, especially compared to my other crossovers (Heir Of Voldemort in particular)

And - yes, this is going to be a ramble - if you've ever had one of those ideas which won't leave you alone until you have it written, you'll know what I'm talking about. I went through this with Heir of Voldemort. I could get nothing done, for sheer force of ideas and now, its happening all over again. I could just cry.

But in a good way, cos hot damn! I love some of the ideas spawned by this!

The funny thing is, the events of this chapter actually centralised my plotline that had been meandering in no direction, in time for me to go back and change things when I hit ch.20. Now, looking back, I can't even imagine where this would have gone, if I hadn't got this twist (although I do know my pairings would have been very different. Xander and Hermione. Eesh. How things change, eh?)

______________________

"How long are you all gonna stay?"

Molly Weasley was sitting in one of the cosy lounges of Hogwarts with her husband and youngest daughter, who had been filling her in, in detail, about what had been going on at the school since her last letter.

The rest of the Weasley clan was being liberally scattered throughout the school to various rooms, where they would being staying over the Christmas period.

The family had agreed to gather at the school because of Glory's threat and since Willow was known to the Hell Goddess, she didn't want to risk her family by having their location pointed out to the demon.

There was also the additional bonus that Amy would be able to visit, with Percy, and Bill would be able to report in from his end of the communication line about what they knew was happening.

"We'll probably only be here for a day or two, dear," she replied, beaming at Willow, who was sitting on the hearth rug at her mother's feet, in front of the fire, both of them armed with large mugs of hot chocolate. "We wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Way? In the? Oh no! You won't be in the way!"

"Well, your brothers all have work as well, dear," Molly reminded her daughter. "I know that most of them can't stay very long, although I do think that sweet young friend of yours, Amy, might have persuaded Percy to take a few days off."

Willow choked on her hot chocolate. "Percy? Days off? Have...have pigs started their own transatlantic air haulage company?"

"That's what your brothers said," Molly chuckled. "And yes, she really does seem to be able to wrap him around her little finger." She looked down at her mug. "I wonder if someone might have gone and fallen in love with a little witch..."

Unnoticed by Molly, Willow went a rather fetching shade of red.

"Do...um...do you think we should go down and check on them? I mean not...not everyone has met everyone else and I kinda don't want Fred and George meeting Spike before Professor McGonagall is there."

"Spike is still here?"

Willow nodded, grinning. "Yuh-huh!" she said. "Him and Professor McGonagall are... well, they're kinda like best friends in a way that they pretend that they're not, but everyone who isn't a student knows that they really are."

"So," Molly put her mug down, getting to her feet. "When Percy came home, ranting about how the school has gone downhill with the Deputy Head Mistress allowing vampires to look up her skirts, he wasn't joking, was he?"

"Nope! That would be Spike."

Looping her arm through her daughter's, Molly couldn't help smiling. "I'm looking forward to meeting him now, dear," she admitted. "Especially if he is as good-looking as you mentioned..."

"Mom!"

"What did you expect, dear?" her mother laughed, as they emerged into the hall and headed towards the staircase that lead towards the Great Hall. "I am you mother, after all. Any quirky tastes you have come from me."

"That's not something a lotta people would be proud of, mom," Willow remarked.

"You should know by now, dear, that I'm not like a lot of people."

"I'll say," a male voice cut in and Molly swung around. Charlie ducked under the cuff aimed at his head, grinning broadly at them. "All right, Wills? Sorry I'm late. Got stuck with a hatchling."

"I guess I can forgive you, then," Willow replied, trying to look grumpy and failing miserably. "C'mon! You wanna meet Spike with everyone else? I think McGonagall is keeping him occupied for now."

"Occupied...how?"

Willow snickered. "You don't wanna know."

Charlie went an odd shade of green. "That just gave me the worst possible visual I think I could have had right now."

"Consider yourself lucky, Charlie," Molly advised, as they ascended the staircase to the Great Hall. "From what I heard, last time Percy was here, he caught Professor McGonagall with the vampire's head up her skirt."

"Dear Merlin..." Charlie moaned. "I didn't need to know that."

Willow and Molly just laughed, as they entered the Great Hall, in time to see Spike and Professor McGonagall locked in what looked like mortal combat of the exploding snap variety, the Deputy Head Mistress' hand hovering over the deck of cards.

"You're telling me," Charlie muttered, "that that bloke is a blood-sucking fiend?"

"SNAP!"

The explosion of the pack of cards as Spike slapped down his card was deafening, the empty Hall's acoustics reverberating the sound back, as the pair started coughing over the black smoke billowing around them.

Willow beamed at her brother. "Yuh-huh. Wanna be the first one of the family to meet him?" Charlie looked from her to the vampire, a dubious expression on his face, which his sister cheerfully ignored. "Hey! Spike!"

It took several minutes for the vampire and the Professor to emerge from the cloud of smoke, by which time, several more of the Weasley clan had wandered back into the Great Hall.

"Afternoon, Red," Spike coughed out as he clambered over the table, scattering the remnants of the exploding snap pack on the floor. He paused at the sight of seven Weasleys staring at him. "Bloody hell..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Either there's something in those fumes, or you're multiplying..."

McGonagall, after rounding the table, gave him a smug look. "Like rabbits, you might say," she remarked dryly.

"Minnie," the vampire cautioned. "Don't make me want to drain you dry."

The Deputy Head Mistress gave him a thoroughly innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about, William," she replied, casually brushing a few flecks of ash off her robes. "You, on the other hand, look like a rabbit in the headlights."

The vampire scowled at her, stomping down from the dais, upon which the High Table stood. "So, Red, this is your family, eh?"

"Yeah," She grinned around at them. "Everyone, this is Spike. Spike, this is my mom," As she identified them, she nodded to them. "Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, my dad and Ron."

"We think Percy might be avoiding you," Fred put in helpfully.

"So he's scared of me?" Spike perked up a little.

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes as she came alongside him. "Aye," she said, exaggerating her accent more then she usually did. "Because yer a vicious brute! With big, nasty, pointy teeth!"

"Minnie, I'm warning you!"

Willow, though, had a hand over her mouth and was doubled over, giggling.

"What does a vampire have to do with a demonic rabbit from Monty Python?" Bill asked, warily stepping back when Spike flashed a golden-eyed glare at him. "And pretend I didn't say that."

"Bloody hell!" George gaped, staring at the vampire's face. "That's what it looks like when you...you know...go...well, bitey on people. Does that," he gestured to his own face, "hurt?"

"This?" Spike said, studying the ginger-haired man. "Nah. It's the teeth in your neck I'd worry about." A dangerous smirk tilted the corner of the vampire's mouth up. "I'd offer to show you, but..."

"But I'd stake your bony ass if you even tried," Willow finished smartly. "I'm not having any of my family eaten on Christmas Eve!"

"Not even a nibble, Red?"

"Spike, this is my resolve face," she pointed at herself. "You are not eating any member of my family while they're here."

Heaving the sigh of a wounded victim, the vampire shook his head mournfully. "I'll just have to wait until they leave then, won't I, little Red?" His eyes went to Molly, who immediately matched her daughter's 'resolve face'. "And I'll be leaving your mum well alone, if I want to keep my nads intact."

"Bloody hell..." Charlie muttered. "She hasn't even said anything to him and he can already tell exactly what she's like."

"Charles Weasley," Molly turned to him. "What do you mean by that?"

"What he means, Mrs Weasley," Spike said sincerely, with a dashing bow, which was counteracted by a wicked grin. "is that you are about to take away his ability to have children."

Charlie immediately did the wisest thing possible and hid behind his big brother.

Spike grinned at Willow. "Y'know, ducks," he remarked with an approving nod. "I think I could get to liking your family."

"Why does that worry me?" the red head countered.

The vampire smirked. "Because you know me?"

"Yeah," Willow agreed reluctantly. "That's exactly the problem."

***

Brushing her hair, before she lay down for the night, Dawn Summers was humming to a tune that Bob had planted in her head, the mirror in a good mood after receiving a tiara of tinsel in the spirit of the season.

It was late on Christmas Eve and Dumbledore had finally suggested that they should all call it a night after possibly one of the craziest meals Hogwarts had seen in nearly its full millennium.

Seldom were all the Weasleys able to be in the one place for a meal, let alone all be in one place together, in the presence of the Slayer who Ron fancied the knickers off, the witch Percy would give up work for, the vampire who cheerfully threatened to kill them all and the former school friend of their father, who was as nutty as their old man, once they got talking.

Arthur and Giles had resorted to a manly bout of pinkie wrestling after the evening meal, which had involved several charmed foods that had lead to Dumbledore turning into a cactus, McGonagall transforming into a warthog - which Spike took great pleasure in poking fun at - and most everyone else into something small and furry.

Even Molly hadn't been able to keep her face straight long enough to lecture both her sons and thing only got worse when it came out that Rupert Giles had somehow managed to spike the drinks at the High table with a potion of his own making, which made the drinkers sound like they had been inhaling helium.

Dumbledore had found it hilarious, although his usually uproariously laugh sounded more like it should belong to a hyperactive lemming.

Harry and Bill, two of the men with the deepest voices after Dumbledore, has burst into a Bee Gees song, Staying Alive, with their new and not-so-improved squeaky voices, which Spike had interrupted with his own version of the lyrics.

He had promptly been turned into a large, white rabbit by Professor McGonagall.

It went without saying that, in the wake of the meal, very few of the Weasley family were able to take his constant death threats seriously.

All in all, it had been a fun, yet incredibly surreal meal and Dawn had loved every minute of it.

"Saw you talking to Wills' big brothers," Buffy said, as she pulled her own hair back into a ponytail, moonlight slanting in through a chink in the curtains, a fire roaring warmly in their fireplace, staving off the winter chill.

"Yeah," Dawn acknowledged, tossing her brush to the dressing table and punching the air triumphantly, when it landed on the desktop. "They're so cool!"

"Mmm...and I heard that you were seen talking to Fred and George..."

"Uh..." Dawn's attempt to look innocent only succeeded in making her look even guiltier than before. "Yeah? And?"

"And," Buffy climbed into her own four poster bed. "If I remember right, Fred and George run a joke shop and you and Duncan seem to have been spending a lot of time playing with potions and that trick you played on Spike..."

"Hey! He was going to be mean to Willow and Hermione!"

"And I suppose that makes everything all right?"

Dawn shrugged as she hauled her own blankets over her legs. "Well, yeah..."

"And you're not going to tell me what you were talking to them about?"

"Duh!"

Buffy chuckled, pulling her thick blankets up to her chin, the lights dimming around them. "I'll find out, Dawnie," she warned, yawning widely. "When I do, if you're into something ubercreepy, you're in so much trouble."

The only response she got from her sister was a snore.

Snuggling against her pillow, Buffy smiled drowsily. "Night, Dawnie."

***

Snape hated Christmas.

He always had.

Everything about it.

Merriment, festive cheer, smiling, happy children.

It all made him nauseous.

However, he had made the foolish promise to Professor Dumbledore that he would attend the Christmas Day meals. He didn't have to say anything or do anything, except be in attendance.

If a pupil so much as looked at him, he knew he would probably wring their neck.

Easing out of his bed chamber, he closed the portrait over the doorway and glanced down the hall, wishing - once again - that he could go to his lab and work on some nice, slow-acting poisons, preferably to do away with that annoying little hussy, who was still holding her own as the teacher of Defence Against The Dark Arts.

Heaving a sigh, he made his way down the arch-roofed corridors, to the black stone staircase that led to the ground and upper levels of the school, the air warming as he ascended, the dark and gloom of the dungeons bleeding out into the vivid greens and reds of the Christmas decorations.

Dear Merlin, how he despised Christmas.

He could hear ringing laughter and happy chatter from the Great Hall from several corridors away, lurking in what shadows were left along the stone walls, thanks to the fairies casting light everywhere.

There were only a few people remaining this Christmas, as far as he knew, which was a small blessing.

Unfortunately, among them, he knew there would be Summers, the eighth Weasley and the Muggle boy. The vampire, the ex-demon and Summers' sister, much to his surprise, he didn't mind so much.

Perhaps because the vampire reminded him of himself in an unusual way: sarcastic, dry, sinister in his own way.

Emerson.

Well, what wasn't there to like about her? She was a former demon, she had a mind on her that would make the London sewage and waste system look positively sterile and she saw no point in hiding either of those facts.

It proved amusing on many occasions.

And the sister...

Well, she was a veritable expert at irritating Professor Summers, making the Slayer lose her cool almost daily, which was always a good thing in Professor Snape's book. On top of that, she had an exceptional gift with potions that he had seldom seen before in anyone at the school, Muggle or otherwise.

She was also sarcastic, quick-tempered, sharp-tongued and cynical, very much like him. Oddly tolerable as well, for a teenager.

Yes, Dawn Summers was tolerable.

Now, if only her blasted sister would take a few pointers...

"Merry Christmas!" A ghost flitted past, giving him a cheerful wave.

Snape scowled.

Nearly-Headless Nick paused. "Not in the Christmas mood, eh?"

"It so happens that I have managed to acquire a potion that includes an anti-root that can dissolve the anti-matter that ghosts are made of," the Potions Master growled, his expression dark.

Nearly-Headless Nick looked amused, the corners of his lips rising. "That would be a no, then?" He patted Snape on the shoulder and it felt like a rinse of ice-cold water had streamed over the spot. "You better hurry. The feast has already begun." Stalking away, Snape tried to ignore Nick's cheerful call of "Have fun!"

"Obnoxious undead arse," Snape hissed through his teeth, making his way around the elaborately-dressed Christmas trees that lined both sides of the entrance hall, casting a pleasant glow around the hallway, glittering with icicles and candles.

Ignoring a small choir of singing house elves - which he was sorely tempted to kick, when they started warbling as he passed them - he swept into the Great Hall, where he immediately stopped dead, his hands clenching by his sides, his jaw locking.

It was as if his worst nightmare had come true.

Two of the largest long tables had been pushed together to form one table, around which almost thirty people sat. As he had entered the hall, ten red-haired heads turned in his direction.

The Weasleys.

All of them.

Which could only mean that Potter would be with them.

His eyes slowly moved around the square table.

William, his wife - the veela-descendant - Fleur, Percy and his charge, Amy Madison, Peter Pettigrew's niece, Charles, Harris and Emerson occupied one side of the table.

The next one was filled by Ron who looked rather pale, which was hardly surprising, considering his neighbour was Spike. Next to him, Cameron and Summers Junior sat beside Potter - yes, there he was - and Ginny, along with the laughing Hagrid.

The next table seemed to be the Teacher's table, where he could see Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Giles and Hermione, who sat on the corner, next to youngest Weasley.

Alongside the girl, her mother sat, then her father and the twins, as well as the young first year that the youngest Weasley had befriended, Leon Mzimba, who seemed to be in the raptures.

Snape's stomach twisted painfully and he wondered if it would be so wrong to turn and walk back out of the hall, despite Dumbledore gazing at him, that blasted amused twinkle in his eyes.

And then, of course, things could always get worse.

"Snapey! You came!"

Ah, yes.

There was the crowning feature of what was already turning out to be an absolutely wonderful day.

Every one of the Weasleys was doubled over, sniggering at the Slayer's words, as just beyond Giles, on the far corner of the table, he saw Summers leap to her feet and wave to him.

As usual, she wasn't wearing standard robes, like almost everyone else at the table. A loose red sweater hung on her, over black trousers, a ridiculous-looking Tiara - no doubt from a cracker - propped jauntily on her curled blonde hair.

The blue robes, he noticed absently, were not present, which was another small blessing, as she did tend to be rather distracting when she wore them.

The muscles in his cheeks felt like they would shatter when he forced a tight, thin smile in her direction. "Miss Summers." He had given up on telling her not to use the nickname, as it only seemed to make her use it more.

"I saved you a seat." She gave him that annoying, awful, American smile of hers, as he made his feet walk towards the table, shooting a malevolent look at Dumbledore, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in innocence.

"I will only be here temporarily," the Potions master gritted out through clenched teeth, as he forced himself to sit down in the seat next to the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Giles chuckling on his left side. "I have work to..."

"You really are boring, you know," the blonde next to him remarked, giving him a nudge that could have shattered his ribs. His jaw tightened, but he made no sound of pain or otherwise. "It's Christmas Day! Everyone else is having fun, so why not loosen up for once?" Black eyes turned to her, expressionless. "Or not..." She picked up the cracker in front of him. "Can I pull it for you?"

There was a choking sound from further up the table, drawing attention to the youngest Weasley, who seemed to have swallowed something the wrong way and was going a funny shade of purple.

"Willow?"

"Buffy!" She pointed at the Slayer. "Bad words! Naughty images!"

Emerson grinned broadly. "She's right! I'm surprised that I didn't notice it first. Perhaps Willow having regular and very good sex is helping her to see things my way," the ex-demon commented. "Your words could be taken in a sexual way, if you take into account that you could be pulling on..."

"ANYA!"

No one could be sure who it was that voiced the squeal the loudest: Summers or Weasley.

Snape was, however, certain that the Slayer's squeal had perforated his eardrum.

In the middle of the next side of the table, he could see the Slayer's sister giggling behind her hand, the vampire smirking. Harris looked mortified and was staring at his plate, while Dumbledore just chuckled. A couple of the Weasley brothers sniggered initially, until they caught up with what the full sentence had been.

Fortunately, though, the revelation about the youngest Weasley's sex-life was of more concern to her elder brothers and her parents, who were staring at her crimson face, distracting them from the Slayer's accidental innuendo.

The Potions Master took the chance to shoot a murderous look at the Slayer, while no one would notice. She, however, noticed, and flashed him that annoying American grin of hers again, knowing just how much it irritated him, before turning to the scene playing out in front of them.

"Willow...?" The Weasley mother was staring at her daughter.

"All right," Ronald punched his palm, looking around the table. "Who is he? Who is the git that decided to boff my little sister without marrying her first?"

"RON!" both Granger and the youngest Weasley squeaked.

"But I thought that you and Oz had decided to just be friends..." Mrs Weasley began, then apparently saw the blush flooding the faces of both her daughter and brown-haired witch sitting beside her. "Oh!"

"Oh?" Weasley Senior looked at his wife. "What do you mean, 'Oh'?"

Snape rolled his eyes at the Weasley father. Two young women, sitting practically in each other's laps, who had been whispering to one another since he had entered the hall, and now, were both ruby in colour. What else could she mean 'Oh' about?

Granger and Weasley Junior exchanged glances, then Granger nodded, smiling. Weasley number eight looked around the table at her father and brothers, who all seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ronald.

"Um...I have something to tell you."

"I'll say! Who is the manky git?" one of the twins demanded, outraged. "You were meant to get a ring on your finger before you did the deed!"

Willow looked indignant. "You didn't mind so much when I was sleeping with a werewolf! You know he wouldn't have eaten you if you had complained to him and none of you did," Percy coughed. "Okay, Percy did, but I can't get married to my new lover, even if I want to."

"Why the hell not?" William exploded.

"Because," Granger answered, grinning mischievously. "I'm not a man."

Seven Weasley and two Potter jaws hit the table.

Snape suddenly felt very glad that he had forced himself to stay at the dinner. This was certainly a lot more entertaining than he had expected.

"You...you're kidding," the other twin mumbled faintly.

"Nope!"

Ronald raised a hand, pointing at Granger, then at his youngest sister and back again. He looked like he was stunned, horrified and possibly a little ill, his face white as a sheet, his freckles standing out like fluorescent orange spots. "But you...and her..."

"You're both girls..." Percy whimpered, his forehead creased as if he was having trouble adjusting to the concept of his sister getting more girl action than he did.

"We had noticed that, Percy," Granger answered. "Although," she looked at the youngest Weasley, with a deep and soulful expression in her brown eyes. Snape was convinced he was about to vomit, "it wasn't that important."

"Ginny..." Potter looked at his wife suddenly, a paranoid look on his face. "You... you're not interested in witches, are you?"

"Harry, don't worry! I'm just her twin. I'm not her," Willow Weasley laughed. "And I'm not totally gay. Nor's Hermione." Again, they exchanged looks and tiny smiles. It was quite honestly the most sickening thing that had ever been seen in Hogwarts. "We both just kinda...liked each other."

"A lot," Emerson put in. "Which is why they started having sex a lot." A thoughtful look crossed the ex-demon's face and she started to ask, "Do you use your wands, since neither of you has a penis...?"

"ANYA!" This time, it was a competition between Granger and Weasley for the loudest squeal of embarrassment.

"I knew there was a reason that I liked having her around," the vampire chuckled from the far end of the table, raising a glass of dark red wine - or perhaps it was blood. Snape didn't want to ask - to Anya. "Demon-girl, you make every meal a cabaret."

Emerson grinned at the commendation. "See, Xander!" she exclaimed. "Someone appreciates me when I speak. Stop mumbling at me to shut up! You aren't my boyfriend anymore, so you can't tell me what to do!"

"Miss Emerson," Dumbledore spoke, looking straight across the table at the girl. "I would be most displeased if you did, in fact, stop talking. It would make conversation frightfully dull."

Snape gaped at the Head Master. Dumbledore didn't even notice he was being observed, which was definitely a first. What the hell was going on around here?

Much to his increasing astonishment, the former demon flushed and shyly ducked her head, flashing a coy smile across at Dumbledore, who also went a bright shade of pink, his eyes going down to his plate.

Dear Merlin...

Dumbledore wasn't just interested in Emerson for her amusing conversation skills, her bluntness and forthright manner. The Head Master had a crush, yes, a teenage-style-head-over-heels crush, on the former Vengeance demon.

And what made it worse was that Emerson apparently wasn't at all shocked by the behaviour of the old wizard...or would he be young wizard to her?

Snape glanced at her former boyfriend, who was staring at his plate, blushing furiously and pointedly ignoring her. Well, having someone who wasn't embarrassed by her...outbursts, it was hardly surprising that she found Dumbledore's polite advances acceptable.

Shaking his head, Snape chuckled as he returned his attention to his plate, which had filled with a full pile of Turkey breast and trimmings, boiled and roast potatoes that were liberally steeped in thick, luscious gravy and vegetables of all varieties.

"What are you laughing about?" he heard a voice mutter in his ear, which reminded him sharply that he wasn't meant to be enjoying himself.

He was sitting with a group of the people that he despised most, during a festival he deplored and he was definitely not going to let any of it prove enjoyable for him in any way, shape or form.

"Nothing, Summers," he growled, stabbing a Brussels sprout with his fork.

He felt her eyes resting on him for a moment longer, then heard her laugh quietly, and turn to ask her sister what she thought she was doing, drinking out of Potter's wine glass.

***

"Well, that went better than I expected."

Hermione, folding the sheets down on the bed, looked up as Willow re-entered their bedroom from the small bathroom. "How did you expect it to go?" she asked, fluffing the pillows.

Pausing in a patch of moonlight on the floor, Willow shrugged. "We weren't hexed or exiled from the family," she replied, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge, brushing her hair. "That's always a big plus."

"I suppose so," Hermione smiled. "And did you see the look on Ron's face?"

Grinning weakly, Willow nodded. "Poor Ron. I've never seen him go that shade of green before."

"Think they'll get used to it?"

Dropping her brush on the bed beside her, Willow caught her lover's hand and drew Hermione along the bed to her. "They'll just have to," she replied, lifting the other witch's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. "I'm not about to let you go."

Kneeling down between Willow's feet, her hands resting lightly on the red head's knees, Hermione raised her hand to cup Willow's face. "After what we went through last week, I don't think I'd be able to cope without you."

"I love you."

"I love you," Hermione answered in a whisper, rising up until she was face to face with her lover. Both her hands framed Willow's face and she smiled. "Now, I have to give you your Christmas present."

"Another one?"

"Mmm," Hermione acknowledged into the kiss, one hand sliding around to cradle Willow's head, silky red hair trickling between her fingers in soft, loose strands.

Willow's hands rose to pull Hermione closer to her, sliding up her lover's back, as the kiss increased in ardour. With both of them wearing snug, winter pyjamas, Willow moan of frustration as she encountered a row of buttons was matched by Hermione's.

"Clothes," she panted, fumbling with the buttons. "Off. Now."

Reaching for her wand, Hermione gave Willow a sensual grin. "You know, this is a short cut, don't you?"

"Duh! The sooner clothes are off, the sooner better smoochies will happen!"

Within seconds, all pyjamas were dispatched and Willow scooted under the sheets of the bed, squealing as the cold material came in contact with her bare skin. "You could have put a warming charm on!"

Discarding her wand, Hermione slid in beside her lover, one arm drawing Willow closer. "And what," she asked huskily, as she brushed Willow's hair back from her cheeks, "would be the fun of that? After all," One hand moved down the red head's side, "there are plenty of ways to get warmed up."

"You gonna help me?" Willow asked with a playful pout.

The pout was caught in a fierce kiss, which more than answered the question.

***

The dark hall was quiet as Snape, wand illuminated and raised, reached the portrait of a solitary hooded figure standing on a wind-whipped, night-shadowed moor, that opened into his small sanctuary.

However, he couldn't get away from the feeling he was being watched.

"Come out, Summers," he sighed.

"Good guess, Snapey," The blonde woman emerged from behind one of the cylindrical black columns that lined the hall, leaning against it with her grin firmly in place. "How'd'you know it was me?"

She was still wearing the red and black ensemble she had been wearing at the dinner earlier in the evening and apparently hadn't noticed the rash of goosebumps on her skin, which were apparently trying to remind her that she was cold.

"I can't think of anyone else quite as irritating who would waste valuable time to lurk outside my private quarters in the dark," he answered coldly. "And you carry the most infuriating scent with you."

"Scent, huh? What are you? A dog?" His eyes flashed angrily. "Easy, Snapey! I was joking," she laughed, clearly more amused than afraid of his anger. "So...what do I smell like?"

"Will you leave me alone if I tell you?"

"Tonight, maybe. On a permanent basis...not likely."

"Miss Summers, you are the most infuriating individual I have had the misfortune of encountering." She smirked, arms crossed over her chest. "Very well, if it will make you leave now, you smell of white musk and vanilla. Both of them sweet fragrances, so very unlike you."

She laughed, softly. "My my, aren't we bad-moody tonight."

"You said you would depart."

"Not right away, I didn't." She gave him that wicked look that suggested she was up to something. "You really don't like having me around, do you?"

He scowled down at her. "Miss Summers, I would rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick, repeatedly, than spend time with you of my own free will." Her eyes gleamed wickedly and he wondered what the little hussy was plotting.

"So you wouldn't dream of abusing the legend of this, then?" He glanced down at her hand and mentally groaned at the sight of the sprig of mistletoe, which she was rolling between her forefinger and thumb.

"You are aware that it is deadly, are you not?"

She shrugged. "What isn't?" she grinned, hazel eyes glittering oddly by the light of his wand. "So, Snapey, are you going to take advantage of me handing myself to you on a plate, or are you gonna do the crank-meister thing and glare at me?"

The Potions Master was bewildered for a moment, then his lips tightened.

Another of her little tests, was it?

She wanted to see how far she could push him, what pressed his buttons, what he would and wouldn't do in reaction to her smart-arse tricks. Admittedly, she was ahead of anyone who had tried the same thing before.

Many people had tried to understand his inner-workings, but he wasn't about to let a little hussy with the strength of a titan get the better of him.

Grabbing her arms in a bruising grip, he jerked her towards him. "Don't annoy me, little girl," he snarled, before crushing his mouth down on hers.

Buffy managed to get out a squeak of surprise a second before Snape's lips met hers, her hazel eyes widening in shock. She hadn't expected him to do anything, except maybe glare at her for a little longer or make a wise-ass comment.

One of his hands slid from her arm, gripping her around the waist and she groped out for something to hold on to that wasn't somehow attached to Snape, but there was nothing there.

Somehow, he had gotten her away from the solid wall she had been leaning against and now, she only had him. She whimpered as she realised she was totally reliant on the dark man above her to keep her upright and she knew he knew it too.

A muffled gasp escaped her as his tongue brushed silkily along her lower lip and he took advantage of the brief parting of her lips to invade her mouth, his hand sliding over her hip to push against her tailbone, holding her hard against him.

The touch of his hand on the base of her back made her tremble, her eyes closing as he let his other hand rise to twist into her hair.

It was wrong.

It had to be wrong.

He was Snapey! Gross, bad hair, icky teeth, big nose, glowery, looming, bug-the-crap-out-of man-in-black Snapey!

But, oh God! He knew what he was doing. His tongue flicked sensually against the tip of hers, and it felt like an electric charge had just shot down her spine, making her shiver against him.

Grasping at his upper arms for some kind of stability, the robes coarse against her fingers, her legs shook beneath her, as she tried to work out just what the hell was going on, but all thoughts were blending together in a whirl of colour.

Her hands seemed to have taken a mind of their own and slid up to his shoulders, crushing him against her.

Thrusting a hand into his hair, which was a lot softer than it looked, she jerked his head back from hers, panting. Her lips felt swollen and she could barely breathe. It felt like the whole hall had suddenly got a lot warmer.

Snape was staring down at her, a wrinkle in his brow suggesting that he was feeling as confused as she was, his breath as raw as hers through his parted lips, his cheeks spotted with faint patches of pink.

"Just so you know," she panted, still holding onto him, knowing that - if she let go - she would slither to the floor in a heap, "I don't like you."

Drawing a long breath, he curled his upper lip. "I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual," he growled, before jerking her forcefully back into his arms and kissing her again.

This time, the Slayer didn't let him take the lead, forcing him back up against the portrait that covered his door, her mouth ravaging his, her hands wound through his hair, as they battled for dominance.

Neither of them even noticed the wand slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor, flickering out where it fell.

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

AN: All right, all right, all you mad people who have been asking if Snape & Buffy will get it on. No. Obviously, they never will. Considering how long I've been holding off with this, I'll be genuinely amazed if I have any readers left by the time I post, considering the size of this thing.

And still - 30 chapters to go.

Bloody hell...75 frigging chapters, most of which have soared over the 10 page mark... that outdoes JKR in length by a long shot and this has almost all been written in less than 6 months (along with my 340 page series Heir of Voldemort (80% of which was written in Oct/Nov along with a 1/3 of this story (Egads - ever get the feeling I can write a lot)) and numerous other smaller fics since I started writing HP fic in earnest - how I wish I had never stumbled onto fictionalley. HP fans = absolutely spiffing readers, hence I have to post a LOT cos they are all so nice! I'm assuming being 'prolific' is a good thing as well... *waves to all* Hope you like the fic, btw! I'm amazed you're still reading! Bloody big old thing, isn't it?).

But anyway, babble-fest over, I still have to send dubious thanks to the YGTS? gang for getting me started on HP. This was my first ever attempt at HP fic. I showed them the first chapter and they all went squealy on me and told me to write more and now...egads! 75 chapters! (I might have mentioned that before - heaven help anyone who decides to read this from start to finish in one go!)

Ack! Babbling again! Will stop now - Coming soon, in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Buffy and Snape have to deal with what happened. Dumbledore provides sage words of wisdom (look out for his couch! I want it!).