The Eighth Weasley

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Forty-Six

Notes: I'm sorry, but I really am highly-amused by the Snape/Buffy happenings of the previous chapter! I keep giggling over it and seriously - me giggling = scary thing. As for this chapter - its the aftershock. Poor Snapey...

Also, Giles is given something to motivate him to be his bad-ass self and... well, it's safe to say that when our favourite watcher cares about someone, he really, truly cares about them. And when they get hurt...look out world.

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"Aggravating, frustrating, agitating, pernicious little trollop." Punching his pillow, Snape turned onto his belly and pushed his face into the deep green fabric, wondering if he would actually succeed in suffocating himself if he tried.

It had just passed New Year and he had not left his room since the fateful Christmas evening that had concluded with him and Professor Summers making out in the Hall like two blushing teenagers.

For that very reason too.

They had only separated that night, when Summers had heard her sister calling.

Without so much as a word, she had vanished.

Groaning, he flopped onto his back, his sheets tangled around his limbs, wishing with all his might that he could get his mind off the infuriating little madam who had the nerve to accost and challenge him in such a way, right outside his own quarters.

It wasn't that he had minded shocking her like that, knowing that she had never expected to receive a kiss, much less a very savage case of necking and groping in the dark of the halls.

It was the fact that he had enjoyed it that was irritating him.

Obviously, he mused, his arms framing his head, his hands tucked under the pillow behind his head, he needed to shag on a more regular basis so that sticking his tongue down the throat of the woman who irritated him more than anyone he had ever met - bar Potter and Black - didn't feel so bloody good.

Tossing the tangled black blankets off his body, he swung out of the bed, the stone floor cold against his feet, but he didn't care, reaching for his wand and illuminating the lamps with a gesture.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced towards his bookshelf that stood to his right, wondering if there was anything he could brew in those books that would make him forget the taste of the girl: spicy and hot, like cinnamon.

Not likely.

Raising a hand, he wearily ran it through his hair, more than aware that he seriously needed to get some sleep before term started in two days, or else, he knew, he was liable to poison a first year and 'accidentally' forget what the antidote was.

Going to the wall opposite the desk and bookshelves, he squatted down in front of the fireplace and blasted a ball of flame into the darkened hearth for the first time in weeks. Normally, he preferred the cold, but tonight...

No.

Crossing the room, he physically pulled his large, black, leather chair from the desk, settling it in front of the fire, which cast a warming glow up the dark walls.

His room was one of the few staff ones with no windows or direct way to look on the outside world, enclosed deep in the belly of the school, and it suited him perfectly.

A perfect square, one of the jet black walls was occupied by the grim-looking, black fireplace, one by the bed which currently lay in a state of tangled disarray, and one by the desk and bookshelves. The fourth simply served to hold the door.

There were no decorations in the room but for the gargoyles carved into the mantle, which he found oddly amusing. He hadn't even bothered to bring pictures to brighten up the room, which made Dumbledore shake his head and tut-tut whenever he visited the Potions Master in his room.

A single lamp stood on the desk, another on the small, grubby chest that served as a bedside table beside the bed, and one hung from the ceiling, none of them nearly strong enough to illuminate the whole room with more than a dull light.

Which also suited him fine.

Sinking down into the chair, the fabric of his dark pyjamas sliding against the seat, he rested his cheek on his right hand, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, as the warmth ebbed over him.

He couldn't say how long he sat there, but somehow, he managed to empty his mind briefly as he studied the flames dancing before him.

The fire crackled and snapped and he watched the deep blue heart of the flames, wondering what he was meant to do with the thoughts that were making it impossible for him to get some sleep.

His eyes felt heavy, but he kept thinking back to the days before...

It was driving him mad.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was seeing her face and he felt his fingers twitch at the thought of fastening around that pretty little neck of hers, even though he knew his arms would probably be broken before he got that close.

And, by Merlin! She was younger than some of the pupils that he had taught! She was more than half his age! It was ridiculous to even contemplate becoming involved with her.

NO!

He wasn't even going to follow that train of thought.

No involvement of any kind was going to come to pass between him and her.

Sighing again, he knew it was time to resort to desperate measures.

Raising his wand, he summoned a bottle of dark blue, thick liquid.

"The Draught of Living Death," he murmured, uncorking the small bottle, his nose wrinkling as the bitter scent reached his nostrils. "A sign of true desperation."

His fingertip covering the lip of the bottle, he tipped a single drop of the potion onto his skin, then recorked the bottle, standing to put it on the mantle. Returning to his bed, he lay down and closed his eyes as he smeared the potion on his tongue.

As expected, sleep came before he even had time to flick the lamps out.

They gradually faded into darkness and the Potions Master slept, but it wasn't a peaceful sleep by any means, as he tossed and turned in his dreams, haunted by the kiss of the most annoying little tramp on the planet.

***

"What is wrong with you?" Buffy muttered to herself.

Since Christmas night, she had avoided the Great Hall and places like that, in case she happened to run into the man she had ended up slamming against a painting and sharing smoochies with.

No, she didn't like him. Yes, he was depressingly dark and glowery and evil-looking with the cloak and the robes and everything. And big NO, she really didn't want to go anywhere near that road again. Hello pain and bad break-up.

NO!

She wasn't going to think about him in the sense of breaking-up-ness because that would mean there had been some kind of being-together-ness prior to breakage and that just wasn't what she wanted or needed, especially with Snapey, of all people.

But oh God...

The kisses...

They were like nothing she had ever had before.

Angel had always been so gentle and tender as if afraid that he would break her with a touch, then there was Parker who - looking back at it without the urge to hunt him down and rip his balls off - was exaggerating his nervousness, followed by Riley who was...Riley.

She didn't like to think it about him, seeing as he was a TA and a commander of a soldier-squad-thing, but he still was a farmer at heart and, apart from the one night when they were possessed, they would have a brief kiss and that was it.

She had often found herself wondering if he was thinking about potatoes when he was kissing her.

He was more about the sex, though, and even then, it was usually a one-time, quick hump in the blankets and then he would roll over and fall straight to sleep, leaving her bored and frustrated with him.

Snape, on the other hand, was savage.

Even Angel - a vampire, for God's sake! - couldn't compare to the ferocity of Snape.

Under the icy calm and quiet rage that always seemed to be simmering around him in her presence, he reacted in a way she had never imagined he could or would. He had been merciless, fierce, but oddly sensual and, she blinked at the thought, she had loved every minute of it.

Ick.

His tongue...her mouth.

Just ick.

Also, his mouth, her neck.

Ick.

She had managed to hide the vivid hickey that appeared on the right side of her throat, opposite the scars from the bite of Angel, with high-necked sweaters.

Seriously ick.

But that still didn't answer why she wanted to go and find him and do it all over again: the kissage, the gropage, everything.

Gyah!

"Buffy," she told herself. "You need to get laid, bad!"

Sitting upright in the massive bed, in the large room she shared with her sister, she crawled over to the nearest side, groping out blindly for the thick, dark drapes and almost plunging off the edge of the bed, when she reached them without realising.

Opening the drapes up a little, she glanced around the room, moonlight slanting onto the dark blue carpet on the floor through the lattice-worked windows. It sounded like Dawn was asleep at least...

Grabbing her dressing gown, she hauled it on around her, tying the cord at her waist, while her feet fumbled under the edge of the bed for her slippers, her toes hit by the chill of the air outside her snug, enclosed bed.

Standing up, she stretched and walked over towards the window, kneeling in the one window-seat they had, looking down at the grounds, which were sparkling as if they were sprinkled with diamonds, instead of frost.

Glancing up towards the night sky, she could see the gleaming crescent moon like a Cheshire Cat's grin, a small flurry of cloud skittering across the deep blue, stars spotted here and there.

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she wandered across to her sister's bed, to check that Dawn was where she was meant to be, instead of sneaking off to meet up with Duncan, to get in even more trouble than they usually managed together.

Opening the deep blue and gold drapes, allowing a slit of moonlight to wash over her sister's face, Buffy smiled tiredly. Dawn was there and she was fast asleep, her dark hair spilling across the fluffy white pillows.

With a sigh, she made her way across to the portrait hole on the far wall, pushing the painting open and ducking through the low arch to step into the Hall, where she was unsurprised to find Dumbledore standing, two cups of hot chocolate in his hands.

"Good evening, Professor Summers." He held out the blue mug to her, which she accepted gratefully, then nodded to a couch that was standing just behind him, near one of the wide windows that looked out onto the hall. "Care to join me?"

Buffy stared at the couch. It was bouncing on its feet...?

The stumpy wooden legs finished in little brass feet, upon which the brown, leather sofa was bouncing.

"Uh, Professor?"

"Ah, yes, this is one of my little...experiments. It follows me everywhere, when I let it out of my office, in case I ever have the urge to sit down." He smiled as the couch ran in an excited circle, the two Professors approaching it. "Sit!" he ordered.

Both Buffy and the piece of furniture obeyed.

"Now." Sitting down beside her, the moonlight pouring in through the tall, wide windows over them, he smiled. "Perhaps you would like to tell me why you had the urge to wander out of your room at four o'clock in the morning."

Buffy could feel the heat rising in her face. "Um...no reason...just couldn't sleep..."

"If you like," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "I could have Professor Snape brew a sleeping potion for you." Buffy's mouth opened and she went scarlet. The Headmaster chuckled. "I would take that as a no."

The Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts pulled a face at him. "So you know what happened..."

"Know?" He shook his head. "Not in it's entirety, but considering that we have seen neither you nor Severus since Christmas night, it suggested that something might have happened to make you wish to avoid each other more than usual."

Taking a mouthful of the sweet, thick hot chocolate, Buffy pulled her feet up underneath her on the couch. Pondering for a moment, she looked at Dumbledore and asked, "Is he always such a jerk?"

"In what sense?"

Buffy shrugged. "The lurking, the black capey-things, the glowering, the sneering, the bad-moodiness, the eyes...does he do that all the time, or am I just lucky?"

"Only if you are special," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a little more vehemently.

"Special...?"

The Headmaster's amusement was palpable. "I have never seen Severus so innately frustrated by a single person as he is by you," he explained. "I have seen him when he despises people, such as Sirius Black and Harry Potter, but you...you bamboozle him because you are...different."

"Different in a good way?"

Professor Dumbledore considered it, sipping his hot chocolate. "Perhaps I should tell you a little about Severus," he said. "He is a solitary creature, a creature familiar with darkness, which he cannot get past. It still torments him, which is why he is fixated on taking your position." Stroking his fingers through his beard, Dumbledore sighed. "The people he despises the most are the ones who have been touched by the darkness and succeeded in drawing back, where he failed."

"But why does he hate me, then?" Buffy was genuinely puzzled. "I haven't touched the darkness...at least not that I know of."

"Firstly, Miss Summers, Severus does not hate you. He never hated you. There is a world of difference between dislike and hate." The Slayer nodded. "But, in a way, you have touched the Darkness, in a way he cannot. You have fought it, hand-to-hand and defeated it. He has never been able to. He wishes to make amends for errors he made in his youth, but he..." Dumbledore sighed again. "He seems to have a mental block and cannot see that he has more than recompensed for his offences."

"And me being able to fight annoys him?"

"Well, partially the ability to fight, but also because you are you."

"Huh?"

"You are as much a puzzle to him as he is to you, Miss Summers," Dumbledore explained. "You are both created by oppositions within your own natures. You are small, fragile in appearance, yet powerful and stronger than you look. Severus has similar oppositions."

"So under all those 'I'm-a-bad-ass' robes, he's wearing lace panties?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled at the dry tone in the Slayer's voice. "Of that I am not sure, Miss Summers, but it may be possible." Buffy went pink again. "However, his greatest irritation with you is that you took the position he desired." The Slayer felt heat in her cheeks at the thought of positions Snape might want. "That is the one he will maintain, no matter how well you perform."

"Um..."

"And yes, you look delightfully pink at the moment, Miss Summers." Patting her on the knee, Dumbledore gave her a twinkle-eyed look. "But, to be serious for a moment, Severus' dislike of you emerged from you acquiring his desired post. It was nothing to do with you as an individual. Now, he has seen a little of what you are like in both nature and character."

"Like it would make a big difference," Buffy muttered.

Blue eyes gazed at her passively over half-moon glasses. "It has, Miss Summers," he said quietly. "When you arrived, in his eyes, you were simply an apparently naive, helpless and strange girl. Now, he has seen what you have lived through to reach this place and understands why I believe you have the abilities to teach here."

"Ah...my not-so-happy-and-sunshine-filled life."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is a life he can understand in moderation," he continued, never taking his eyes off hers. "His life has been less than easy and to find someone like you, who has suffered as much as he, in such a short life time and yet, can remain entirely you...if I know Severus, I believe he will try and understand you."

Buffy pulled a face. "Like I'd want him to do that."

"Wouldn't you?"

She blinked at the Headmaster, about to answer in the negative, but fell silent. If Snapey tried to understand her and work her out, would that mean he would be less of a cranky jerk around her?

That might not be a bad thing.

"You might," Dumbledore added, "attempt the same thing."

"Me?"

"Of course. I believe it might be beneficial for both of you." The Headmaster gave her a knowing look. "And I should warn you that if you keep hiding away, I may have to intervene."

"Intervene how?" Suspiciously eyeing the wizard, she had the oddest feeling he was about to giggle.

"By locking you and he in a room until you either kill one another or...find a way to overcome your difference."

"At this point, I wanna say that killing - definitely more likely than getting on with Mr. Cranky." Dumbledore smiled serenely and got to his feet, bending to take the mug from her hand. "Um...Professor, why do you have lipstick on your collar?"

Much to the Slayer's astonishment, Dumbledore's face flushed behind his beard. "I-I was...um..." Shuffling uncomfortably on his feet, he cleared his throat. "I believe that someone must have borrowed these robes..."

Oh-ho!

He was sneaking around to see someone.

"What were you doing up at this time of night?" she inquired, grinning as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, just like she used to when her mother quizzed her about her love-life.

"I...I had an appointment."

"Mmm-hmm...where?"

Blue eyes looked at her over half-moon glasses. "The astronomy tower," he replied, his voice quiet.

Oh, so he had been at the stargazing class thing up on the tallest tower of the castle. She knew there was...something about the Astronomy tower that she should really know. Something she couldn't remember.

"Oh well." Getting to her feet, Buffy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "I think I can get some sleep now, Professor." She glanced at the lipstick again. It was a shade of pink she only saw one person wearing, but that would be impossible...

"Good night, Miss Summers," he said, as she opened the portrait of an angel that covered her door. He tried to make it inconspicuous, but she saw one of his hands rise and rub at the lipstick stain.

"Good night, Professor."

***

Sitting in the small office, at the far end of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, a solitary candle burning on the desk in front of him, Rupert Giles was engrossed in the photographs that filled the book he was studying.

He had been sorting through the coursework that would begin as soon as the pupils got back, his organisational skills a little better than Buffy's, although she always did the majority of the work for the classes, based on his timetables.

However, as evening had descended, his thoughts had drifted from work and back to the book he was now looking at.

It had been many years since he had seen half the pictures in it, the album a surprise Christmas gift from Arthur and Molly.

It brought back so many memories.

Every page was jam-packed with both wizard and Muggle pictures of them, of their small group of friends at various stages during their time at Hogwarts, so many long years before. Had they really looked so young and carefree?

Tracing the features of one of the girls in one of the pictures, he felt a sad smile lift his lips as she swatted at his finger, trying to push it away, while her two companions in the picture pointed, laughing.

Ginger.

The tall, beautiful blonde Scottish girl, Virginia McKinnon - Ginger to her friends - looked like the odd one out in their group of madcap nut-cases.

She and the veritable midget, Cathlee, had been Molly's best friends when they had all arrived at Hogwarts, in the same year. That was when Molly had still been known by her full name and when all of them had still been alive.

And had still been friends.

Yes, he, Arthur and Ethan had been...rather notorious, but that was only when they had tried to be.

Any other time, they were known for being a close-knit group of four Gryffindors - him, Ethan, Arthur and Molly - a Ravenclaw in the form of Ginger and a Hufflepuff in Cathlee's tiny figure.

Now...

How they had splintered.

Taking his glasses off, Giles wearily rubbed his eyes, trying to stem the grief that still rose, just as it had when he had first heard the news about Ginger, through the few wizard connections he had maintained after leaving the school.

One of the McKinnons, her family had been wiped out by Voldemort during his first reign. Her death had been the worst and Rupert was sure that he knew why she had been chosen.

For so many years, the only ones left had been Arthur, Molly and Cathlee, Rupert's own world so distanced from theirs, his guilt at his past compounded by grief at what had happened.

From what he had heard, Cathlee had acted in a way very similar to him, when she had heard of Ginger's death.

Instead of mentally shattering and going down the dark path, as he had at the age of twenty-one, she had bypassed the dark age, moving straight into the duties of 'hunter', a type of Auror with the authority to do whatever was necessary to bring down the Death Eaters.

So small and fragile in appearance, she had caught many Death Eaters off-guard with her section of the squad, who - for the most part - seemed deceptively harmless. And yet, they had taken down many Death Eaters, due to being underestimated.

Nonetheless, Cathlee had never managed to capture the one Death Eater that she had longed to find. Even though evidence had been stacked against him, he had managed to slip the noose.

He had evaded their clutches, never to come to justice.

Replacing his spectacles, Giles drew a breath between his teeth.

The last he had heard about Cathlee was that she had suffered for the cause.

During her time as an Auror, she had lost the use of her left arm, had been blinded in one eye and was so badly scarred by battles that even her best friends would never have recognised her.

If she had stayed in contact, that was.

However, her desire for vengeance still burned strong nearly three decades on and she had continued to fight until the bitter end.

In the final days of Voldemort's second reign, she had been killed in battle, leaving nothing but the travel-aged clothes she wore and the room she sometimes inhabited in the Leaky Cauldron.

Her life, he knew, had been almost as empty as his had for so many years.

So intent on her cause, she had ignored all chances to love, to live.

All because of one of them dying, so soon after they had parted ways.

Part of Giles was convinced that was the final straw for Ethan, when he had heard about their friend. Yes, he was a trouble-maker and a rebel to the extreme, but after Ginger had died, he didn't seem to give a damn anymore.

Before, he had always known when to pull back, but then...

The smartest and most sensible of their group had gone. The one who always told them that they were being idiots. The one who always made sure that their pranks were foolproof. The one who had been like a sister to all of them.

Shaking his head, Giles slowly turned the page over, forcing down the pain of the memories, a weary half-smile coming to his lips at the next picture. He could clearly remember the struggle to get it.

Severus had been a damnable little brat when he had arrived at the school and the picture was as good a piece of evidence for it as any.

In fact, it was the only photograph they had of him, partially because he had been considered Rupert's 'pet project' and mainly because he usually avoided the camera at all costs.

It was only because of rumours that Severus was a teenage vampire that Ethan had agreed to try and catch him in a photograph, to prove that he did show up on film and was, therefore human.

Although, both Arthur and Rupert had agreed that Ethan actually wanted to prove that the dark boy was not human.

Grappled by Rupert and Ethan, Arthur behind the camera, the scrawny, grim-looking first year in the photograph looked like he had been fighting to escape for some time, glowering up at the laughing Giles, who had him in a headlock.

"I pity you, Sev," he murmured, chuckling as the younger Severus bit his younger self on the arm, kicked Ethan in the crotch and made a break for freedom out of the frame of the picture. "We were awful to you..."

Another prickle of guilt struck the former-Watcher, recalling what had become of the boy he had taken under his wing and protected for two years, the boy who had lost his childhood, any innocence he had, thanks to...

Clenching his teeth together, Giles closed the book over with a thump.

Getting angry with the man who was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in their close group would not change things, not now, no matter how hot his hatred for that son of a bitch burned.

Soon, he would have the chance that Cathlee had longed for, that he had longed for, for so many years, and he would strike the blow with both Cathlee and Ginger close in his thoughts, but not now.

Now, he had more important things to consider.

One of them being the formerly tall and scrawny dark boy, his first charge, now an equally tall and almost as scrawny dark man and the other being his small and super-powerful blonde charge.

Severus, he knew, had shut himself off from emotion for so long already: people he had considered friends had left him to his dark ends. The new friends he had found had betrayed him as they lead him into darkness. It was little wonder that only now, with the peace following the storm, he was finally learning to be alive.

Or, at least, Giles hoped so.

Perhaps, Buffy could be the one person to break down the dam, which was holding back all the emotion.

It would take time, knowing Severus' instinct to fight against anyone who tried to get close, but - one brick at a time - Giles knew that his younger charge had the ability to remove that defensive wall.

She was the only person who would be fearless enough to risk the terrifying ire of the Potions Professor and was the only person who had seen things that were as bad as anything that Severus had seen.

That was, he told himself as he stood up, if they didn't kill each other first.

***

"Go away."

"Well now," Dumbledore chastised amiably, stepping across the threshold, into the gloomy little room, his robes rustling on the stone floor. "I would hardly say that is a warm welcome, Severus."

Black eyes rose balefully from the book that Severus Snape was reading. "You were expecting a welcome?"

Dumbledore beamed at him. "So you are quite well, then," he said cheerfully. "We were rather worried that something might have happened to you to prevent you from attending meals in the Great Hall. It is reassuring to see you are your normal, cheerful self, dear fellow."

Severus glowered down at the book he was reading. He was seated in the large chair in front of the fireplace, a dull flame flickering around a thick, solitary black log in the centre of the grate.

There was a moment of silence as the Headmaster wandered around the room, as he seemed to amuse himself doing, every time he paid Severus a visit.

"Is there any reason that you have been evading the Great Hall, Severus?"

The hefty book was slammed closed and Snape rose to his feet, turning to glare at the old wizard, who smiled guilelessly back at him, as if he didn't have a clue what he had said wrong.

"I would rather have some privacy," Severus said, his voice cool.

Blue eyes blinked at him. "Is that so?" Dumbledore, inquired. "Because, you ought to know that it appears that you and Professor Summers have both found something that causes you to require more privacy than usual."

Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, like a man sensing a trap.

If he asked, he would place his head in the noose, but if he said nothing, his silence would be equally damning.

"You see," Dumbledore rounded the vacant chair, sitting down in it with a groan of relief, "Professor Summers has taken to eating in her room, avoiding all the busiest areas of the school. Perhaps," he added, that damned wicked twinkle in his blue eyes making Snape want to throw his book at the Headmaster's head, "you have been... rubbing off on her."

A hoarse choking sound caught in Snape's throat.

"What was that, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired, beaming even more brightly.

"So you know..."

"Know what, dear fellow?"

Severus scowled at him. "I knew that there was a good reason that Lord Voldemort wanted you dead, Headmaster," he muttered darkly. "Your cryptic routine is enough to drive the most patient man to kill."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, smiling. "So, do you intend to do anything?"

"About what? Killing you or otherwise?"

"And you claim that I am cryptic...dear, dear, Severus..."

Placing his book on the mantle, Severus folded his arms over his chest, pressing his lips together in a thin line. His eyes narrowed slightly in a way that would have most mere mortals cowering.

However, Dumbledore was no mere mortal.

He smiled.

"I trust you are, at least, a little more tolerant of Miss Summers."

Severus made a noncommittal sound.

"She really is quite the fascinating young lady, isn't she?" Dumbledore continued to talk regardless. "It's really rather rare to find such spirit, strength and power in one so young. And such wisdom. Very rare."

"Wisdom?" Snape echoed disbelievingly.

"Mmm," Dumbledore acknowledged, his eyes rising suddenly and locking with Severus. "You really ought to talk to her, if you do not believe me, Severus. She has a truly unique perception of the world. Anyone else in her position might have become disillusioned with the task that will be hers until the day that she dies, but she has accepted it and learnt to understand it in a way no one else could."

"While I am sure it would be very interesting to anyone who admires Summers..."

The Headmaster stood up sharply, still holding Snape's eyes. "Severus, do not let your desire for that position and your initial perceptions of Miss Summers cause you to see her in the wrong light. She is more than she appears, as you already know."

"I am aware..."

"Severus," Dumbledore's tone gentled, one age-spotted hand rising to silence the other man. "Do not fear her." Snape gaped at him mutely. "I do not believe that she would intentionally cause harm to you, or anyone for that matter. She has suffered the same hurts as you, but she has learned to trust again. You fear allowing yourself to trust her. You fear her."

"Fear her?" Severus tried to sound incredulous.

"You heard what I said, Severus," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice, his expression unreadable. "One day, you will have to learn to trust."

"I do..."

An aged hand came to rest on Severus' thin shoulder. "Someone aside from myself and Rupert, Severus," Dumbledore said, his brilliant blue eyes holding Severus' black ones. The Potions Professor looked away, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Talk to her, Severus."

"I can not believe that you are encouraging this."

The smile on the Headmaster's face positively glowed with mischief. "I have to do something to pass the time, Severus, and this is a good deal easier than learning to water-ski. Especially in these robes."

Leaving Severus with that rather...disturbing mental image, the Headmaster walked to the door and let himself out, leaving Snape standing in the middle of the room, a peculiar expression on his face.

***

"What's all this for?"

It was late in the afternoon and the sunset, reflecting brightly on the dazzling snow in the grounds, sent a wash of gold, orange and red into the tower room, where Buffy Summers was standing in the doorway.

Sitting on the floor, a large and very full ice box in front of her, Hermione grinned up at her fellow Professor. "I thought we might have a girly ice cream party," she replied, nodding to scattered of cushions all over the floor. "Just us girls."

"Yeah," Willow agreed cheerfully, flopping down onto the heap beside her lover, giving Hermione an affectionate look. "We haven't done it for kinda a long time and we can talk about our love lives and things! Like we used to!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "You do know that normally, we don't have the subject of your love life chairing the meeting and providing ice cream, right, Will?"

"I promise I'll be completely impartial," Hermione said, her eyes twinkling.

Shaking her head, Buffy pushed her boots off and stepped into the room, joining them on the cushions. "So, is it just going to be us, or are we waiting for somebody else as well?"

"I asked Anya," Willow replied immediately.

"Getting on with her now, huh?"

The red head smiled slightly. "She's not so bad, once you get used to the bluntness and the rudeness and...well, everything," she answered, grabbing a spoon and holding out a hand to Hermione. "Give it!"

"In front of Buffy?" Hermione looked mortified and Willow went scarlet, the brown-haired witch immediately snickering.

"I thought you English ladies were meant to be all prim and stiff-upper-lippy," Buffy noted, pointing at Hermione with her spoon as she claimed a large tub of chocolate ice cream. "You're really...not."

"Happy to know I'm breaking free of the stereotype," Hermione replied amiably. "I have to admit, though, I expected you to be a normal American girl. I expected blonde haired, fashion-conscious...at least you weren't a cheerleader..."

"Um..."

"You were?"

"Well, I woulda been, if I got into the team, but Amy - Percy's Amy - had a psycho witch as a mom and she pretty much wiped out the competition to get into the team in her daughter's body.

"I'm beginning to understand that 'school' and 'normal' are two words that will never fit together in the same sentence, where you two are concerned," Hermione said with finality. "I'm very glad I only had to deal with a Dark Lord during my school years. Your school sounds like a place of unnatural evil. I mean, talent shows..."

"Seconded," Willow agreed shuddering. "That was super scary!"

"And here I was thinking that demons and apocalypses were the worst thing we had to face," Buffy remarked dryly, digging her spoon into the sticky surface of the ice cream with vigour. "And demons...did we mention the demons?

"Just once or twice..."

"You have a demon bias," Anya's voice interrupted, as she stepped into the room. "I don't like you making demons negative all the time. It's not amusing."

"This coming from our resident ex-demon," Buffy laughed. "So, Anya, if you had turned back into a human, if you were a vampire, would you be rooting for equal rites for the undead?"

Anya shot a glare of mock-irritation at the Slayer. "Don't be silly!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I just think that your perceptions of demons leave a lot to be desired. Not all demons are bad."

"Let's look at you, An," Willow said. "You were a vengeance demon."

"Well, yes, I was bad," she admitted, as she sat down on the pillows. "But that's because of what humans wished for. I only made their wishes come true and that's not the... ooh! Rum and raisin! I love rum and raisin flavour!"

"When you say vengeance demon...?"

"For spurned lovers and people who had been cheated on," Anya answered around a mouthful of ice cream. "I let them get their revenge on people who had hurt them in whatever way they wished. It's all Xander's fault I'm mortal now."

"And you were going out with him? After he took your immortality?" Hermione's expression was one of confusion. "Wouldn't you have hated him for that?"

Willow raised her eyes ceilingwards. "You have to love the ex-demony logic."

"I did hate him for a while," Anya admitted candidly, licking her spoon. "And then I realised that he was well put-together and he had a large penis, so I decided that I should make the best of a bad situation."

"So didn't need to hear about Xander and his penis in the same sentence..." Buffy muttered, staring fixedly at her tub of ice cream.

"It was very impressive," Anya noted, beaming.

"I'm sure it was," Willow said, scarlet in the face. "But can we...kinda stop talking about best buddy body parts?"

Anya raised her eyebrows. "What do we talk about, then?"

"You two and what we're going to do about your single status," Hermione answered with a broad smile.

Anya and Buffy exchanged looks, then looked back at the two witches. "You're gonna try and match-make us?" Buffy hazarded.

"We just want everyone to be getting with the snuggly programme," Willow said, her fingers interlacing through her lover's. "I mean, you haven't dated anyone since Riley left, Buffy, and Anya..."

"I just broke up! I don't need a new orgasm friend right now!" Three faces turned to her sceptically. "All right, maybe I do like having an orgasm friend, but I don't want to upset Xander by having one when he doesn't."

"And I kinda don't have time for getting a boyfriend," Buffy added. "Like anyone would want to be involved with a Slayer with a short temper, a Hell-Goddess to fight and too much homework to grade."

Willow cast a small grin in Hermione's direction. "Well," she said. "We kinda... think there might be someone..."

"Oh?" Buffy looked genuinely surprised. "Who is it and why haven't you introduced us already?"

"You kinda...already met him," Hermione nudged her lover in the ribs and Willow hastily corrected. "Them."

Buffy's hand holding the spoon paused halfway to her mouth, chocolate ice cream dripping down onto her shirt, her eyes going round. "Them?" she uttered in a feeble squeak. "Them who?"

"Um..."

"Well..."

"You can't not tell me!"

Willow chewed on her lower lip. "Um...Ron...kinda likes you. And Sirius."

"Ron? And Sirius?" Buffy squeaked. "Omigod..."

Anya rolled her eyes. "Ron is just like Xander, with red hair, and Sirius...pfft," She made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Yeah, he is hot and he is nicely put-together, but his hair is too long and he's got a weird sense of humour."

"They both like me?"

"Yes," Hermione replied quickly, before Anya could comment. "We can barely shut either of them up about you when they're here. Surely you've noticed that they both like talking to you about everything?" Buffy went a little pink, making an odd choking sound. "Now, would you be interested in going out with either of them?"

"I-I-I don't have time for a boyfriend!" she exclaimed, poking at her melting ice cream with her spoon. "I have way too much going on right now and-and-and I have to look after Dawnie! And be a teacher! And the Slayer! I can't look after Dawnie, be a good teacher, a Slayer and have a boyfriend!"

"Why not?" Willow asked, raising her brows.

"Because I can't!" Buffy replied. "And I-I-I don't need a boyfriend."

"But don't you want an orgasm friend?"

"Or smoochies?"

"Or someone to cuddle?"

Buffy looked at her friends. "What is this?" she demanded, her face flushing. "Some kind of conspiracy to get me to go date someone?"

"You're saying you don't want someone to snuggle with?" Willow countered.

Buffy, her face going a deep shade of red, shook her head. "I-I don't! Whenever I get smoochy with someone, when there's a super-wiggy big bad around, I always end up getting in trouble because of them! Look at Angel with Spike and Dru! And Riley with the Initiative thing! I don't need that now!"

Willow and Hermione exchanged glances. "Well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head mournfully. "You can't say that we didn't try."

***

"I'm not intruding, am I?"

Motioning Giles into the sunny office, Dumbledore shook his head. "Of course not, Rupert," he said, smiling. The Watcher approached the desk, where the Headmaster was sitting, an elegant eagle quill in his hand as he wrote in a large book. "Is there something troubling you?"

Sitting down opposite the desk, Giles exhaled a breath. "A little, sir," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking about the past a lot, in the last few days."

"You have been remembering your friends?"

"Wondering how we could have let ourselves be...broken," Rupert said quietly. "We always vowed that we would never let anything come between us, and yet, when Gi... Virginia died, it was the thing that severed the connection. None of us were the same after that. Cath, Ethan...me."

"All people change, Rupert," Dumbledore said quietly. "You, of all people, should know that. Look at the direction your life has taken."

"But Cath...Ethan...they could have...I can't help but wonder if there might have been some way that I could have saved them...helped them..."

The Headmaster rose from his desk, walking to a cabinet that stood in the wall and opening it to withdraw a deep, round bowl. Bringing it back to his desk, he placed it on the surface, he gazed into it.

A figure emerged from the bowl, floating just above the surface: a seventeen-year-old Ethan Rayne, his arms crossed angrily over his chest, an amused look on his face.

"Course it wasn't a curse, Headmaster," the figure said, smirking. "I mean, just because the silly twat ended up bent over backwards for twenty-four hours doesn't mean it was a curse."

"Ethan was always closer to the darkness than anyone acknowledged, Rupert," the Headmaster said gently, raising his eyes to Giles. "If Virginia McKinnon's death had not been the thing to push him over the edge, then it would have been something else. Just because he listened to you for the most part at school, does not mean he would have listened in the world outside."

Giles nodded reluctantly. "But Cath...she...she was the sweetest girl in the world. I don't understand what had changed to make her be so fixated on vengeance."

"You heard how Virginia died?"

A pained look crossed Giles' face. "Badly," he replied tersely.

"I assume you did not hear who found her."

The colour drained from Giles' face. "Dear God...Cath?"

Dumbledore's face tightened in pain and he closed his eyes, his hands tightening on the surface of the Pensieve. Ethan's form melted back down into the bowl and a new figure emerged.

Small, wearing dark robes that were too big and hanging in tatters around a wiry body, jet black hair twisted into a tight braid, Cathlee Jacobs looked barely a shell of the bubbly, hyperactive girl Giles had known.

"She was still alive when I got there!" the figure was sobbing. "I-I-I had to take out three of them before I could get to her and she was screaming! She was screaming so much!" Tears were visible on the young woman's contorted face. "He-he-he killed her, sir! Right in front of me! Before I could stop him! I should have been faster... I should have stopped him..."

"Dear God..." Giles whispered, his eyes clouding. "And she never caught him."

Blue eyes held green and Dumbledore quietly answered, "She died by his hand."

"What?!"

"He was the one to kill her," Dumbledore said. "Though - by some manipulation of the system - he still managed to escape with only a slap on the wrists. He claimed it was Imperius and, by some absurd reasoning, he was no longer seen as a threat."

"After all that he did...after what he did to Ginger...Cath...Sev..."

The Headmaster nodded sadly. "He is very persuasive and has friends in all the places he needed, in order to acquire his liberty, while his former allies and associates were condemned."

Giles' expression darkened. "Before this is over," he said quietly, getting to his feet, his eyes on the kneeling figure of Cathlee, which was still floating over the Pensieve, sobbing. "I will see that bastard dead for what he did to them. All of them."

"He is still powerful, Rupert. Do not do anything rash," Dumbledore cautioned.

"I can be patient," Giles said, with quiet determination. "And when he comes out of his viper's nest, I will be waiting." A hand reached out, tenderly touching the transparent figure over the Pensieve. "He's going to pay." Giles said, in a tone, crisp with ice. "With interest."

***

"We have to talk."

"Agreed."

"Dumbledore caught you too?"

Snape nodded once, stiffly, motioning the annoying little hussy into his classroom and shutting the door behind her, making sure to slide the latch to make certain that they weren't disturbed.

The dungeon was cooler than usual, having been sealed up from Christmas, the air so frosty that it turned their breath into white mist. The torches were illuminated and crisp, bright sunlight filtered in through the narrow widows, high in the walls.

Still, he managed to pull the shadows at the furthest side of the room around him, crossing his arms, the darkness causing his eyes to almost vanish into the shadow, but for the malevolent glitter she recognised.

"So...what happened?" Buffy sat on the edge of the desk nearest them, folding her arms over her chest, gazing up at him. She was wearing his gifted robes once again, he noticed with irritation.

If she hadn't been so down-right annoying at this moment, she might have looked cute, the robes clearly too big for her small form, the fabric of her sleeves almost hanging down to her knees.

Still he forced his attention back to the question, resisting the urge to push some loose strands of blonde hair back, over her shoulders.

"You know very well what happened, Summers," he snapped. "You wanted to test me. I returned the favour."

"By sticking your tongue in my mouth?" She stood up, her voice rising.

"In case you had conveniently forgotten, Summers, I certainly wasn't the only one to partake in tongue-in-mouth behaviour," he hissed, taking a step towards her, his eyes glittering dangerously.

The small blonde took a step towards him, her eyes narrowed. "Well, Snapey, you were the one who started it."

"Which just happened to be because you accosted me outside my quarters."

"I didn't ask you to kiss me!"

"Actually, I beg to differ."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

With every word, they had been getting taking deliberate, angry steps towards one another, Buffy's head tipped back to glare at the man who stood head and shoulders taller than her.

Her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes flashed fire at him. "You really are the most conceited, arrogant, moody jerk that I've ever met, and since I know Spike, that's really saying something."

Snape glowered down at her. "I don't know how anyone can stand to have you around, you infuriating little hussy!"

"Likewise, Mr Eternally-Bad-Moody!"

"If you weren't a woman, I would..."

"Would what, Snapey? C'mon! Be a man!" She poked him in the centre of his chest.

"Desist," he snarled.

She poked him again. "Whatcha gonna do?"

"I said," he grabbed her by the upper arms, hard and tight. Buffy gasped, her heart skipping a beat, wondering if he was going to do what he had done to her several days previously. His voice was dangerous, "desist."

She was released immediately and the Slayer scowled, pushing past him hard and stalking towards the door. "Get outta my way, you big jerk," she snapped. "I don't have to take your crap."

"Summers." The angry note was still in his voice and she stopped at the door, not even bothering to look back. "We're not finished here."

"Oh yeah?" She turned around to glare at him, only to be slammed up against the door, his mouth coming down hungrily on hers, her arms instantly sliding up and wrapping around his neck.

Breaking out of the hard kiss, he growled, "Yes." before claiming her mouth again.

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

AN - I honestly don't know whether to love or loathe this pairing. I mean, I can't stand Buffy. I really really don't like her. And Snapey...he's one of my favourite characters. This ALWAYS happens! My favourite ends up sharing spit with my least favourite! Although, admittedly, I love writing this odd-couple, either when bickering or snogging. Its always fun, especially with Crankenstein :D

Also, so you know, this story is plotted in detail, to the bitter end, and there's no way that I'm changing anything. It's too neatly organised in a nice, shiny spreadsheet for me to change things now.

Anyways, coming soon in the next chapter of The Eighth Weasley - Hogwarts has some unexpected guests, a demon shows up in the Great Hall ("Not again," I hear you cry!) and a threat that has been looming for a while finally descends on a certain individual without warning. All this and more in the coming chapter!