The Eighth Weasley

Notes: This chapter has taken a while to write and post, mainly because of my uni malarky. Big surprise there, eh? Not only am I - according to my tutors - incapable of forming sentences (I'm a fiction writer! Not a bloody literary theorist! It's a whole different language!), but I have to rewrite every chapter of my dissertation so far.

Yes, I know they were rubbish, but that's not the point! Also, I had a plan for this chapter, but I lost it in the chaos that was my paper shuffle. It has just resurfaced amid my notes on Coriolanus. And, you know, this is the first chapter in months, which hasn't had huge chunks written in advance.

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"Good morning, Buffy."

Squinting in the beam of sunlight pouring in through the gap in the curtains, Buffy Summers smiled weakly at the sight of Giles.

It had been less than ten minutes since Snape had departed, leaving her trying to gather her scattered wits, so seeing Giles there provided a stabilising reminder that the world wasn't as mad as she was sure she was going.

"Hey," she murmured, struggling to sit upright. By her side instantly, her Watcher helped her, his face liberally dashed with stubble, his eyes ringed with dark circles. He looked even more tired than she felt and that was saying something. "What's up?"

"Perhaps it would be better for me to know how you are feeling..."

Hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion and Buffy shook his hand off her arm, raising a hand and forcing his face around to hers, her expression turning questioning. "Giles, you're avoiding the question. What's happened?"

Giles met her eyes, then looked down, one of his hands taking one of her hers. "The demons that attacked you were a distraction," he said, his voice strained. "They had to be sure you would be absent."

Buffy stared at him in shock. "You... you mean, they got to Dawnie?" she whispered.

"I-I-I'm afraid so," Giles nodded, his other hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder in a wordless gesture of comfort. "It was Malfoy, but we know that Dawn is safe for at least a few months."

"At least a few months?" the young woman echoed, her eyes moving dazedly around the room. "I-I don't get it... how could he have got into the school? I mean, the way powerful magic things... they're meant to protect the school."

"We're not entirely sure, Buffy," Giles replied quietly, his own expression tight with concern. "But we are working on a way to find Malfoy's home, as it is most likely that he would have transported Dawn there."

"But they'll hurt her..."

Buffy had already started to push the blanket back from her legs, trying unsteadily to get out of the bed, but dizziness got the better of her and she dropped heavily back down onto the mattress, clutching her head.

"Buffy, we know that Dawn will be safe until May at least," Giles repeated, grasping the Slayer's arm and drawing her back onto her bed. "Causing her harm would be sheer stupidity on their part."

"How... how do you know that?"

"Faith," he replied, a tone of muted surprise in his voice. "She, Wesley and Charles made... discreet inquiries at the shop where they purchased weapons and discovered that, should Glory capture Dawn, there is only one point of the year when their ritual would succeed and that is not until late May or early June at least."

Pressing her hands down on the mattress beneath her, Buffy brought herself into a fully upright position, wincing. "You guys are looking for a way to find her and bring her back, right?"

"Of course," he replied, nodding immediately. "We have been working on it since she was snatched. I believe Wesley and Spike are currently working through possible locations. Faith and Charles are currently testing the arsenal they collected."

"And everyone else?"

"Willow is trying to control her magic," Giles answered. "She lost control once more and she thinks she will be of more aid if she can control it better. Xander has taken Cordelia to Hogsmeade. He believes she needs to have a break, as her visions have been growing increasingly painful."

The Slayer nodded. "What... what about Snapey? Does he know?"

"Of your situation?"

"About Dawn," she corrected a little too quickly. Giles raised a brow in question and Buffy haltingly said, "She likes him and I kinda get the feeling that Crankenstein likes her as well. I figured he'd wanna know."

"I'll see that he is informed. Do you know when he left here?"

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, trying to act nonchalantly. "A few minutes ago, I guess," she replied, hoping she sounded a little casual. "He gave me some icky potion to drink, then stomped off somewhere."

"Probably to his quarters, then," Giles acknowledged, glancing out of the window as he continued, "You are aware that he spent hours working on potions to save your life and did not leave your side once?"

"He... he did? Snapey?"

"I would say he did a rather good job of it, wouldn't you?" Green eyes drifted to her face and she could have sworn she saw the Watcher smirk at her.

Buffy gave her Watcher a deeply suspicious look. " So you're telling me," she said dubiously. "That Snapey, the one guy in this school who can't stand me, spent hours making weird soup things to save my life?"

"And spent over thirty hours watching over you to make sure that you were not adversely affected by the potion, which he tested on himself to be sure it would not kill you. He refused to let anyone else take his position," Giles said, smiling at the stunned look on Buffy's face. "Life's a funny thing, isn't it?"

Narrowing her eyes, Buffy studied him. "Are you sure you're not joking?"

"Get some rest, Buffy," he said, getting to his feet. "Madam Pomfrey will have some breakfast brought for you and when you're ready, the rest of us will either be the training room downstairs."

"So you were joking?"

"I shall see you later, Buffy."

"Giles!"

"Enjoy your breakfast."

"Giles!" Flopping back down on the bed as her Watcher disappeared through the drapes, Buffy clapped both hands over her still-white face. "I hate it when he does that," she moaned.

***

It was still cold.

She knew it was morning because of the narrow slit of warm light which had cut sharply through a tiny crack at the top of the black, gleaming stone of the walls, the second time it had done so.

Curled in the corner of the tiny stone box that had been her prison for nearly two full days, Dawn Summers hugged her knees tightly to her chest, the bone-numbing chill of the cell penetrating her to the bone.

Her face was burning, sweat trickling down her cheeks and the back of her neck, and she knew that she was getting ill because of the cold, damp air, her stomach growling in a desperate plea for food.

No food had been brought since her capture and her lips were cracked and dry, blood crusting them. Tears were pointless, as well, she had realised after crying during the first night, leaving her cheeks caked in salt.

She hadn't seen anyone in two days, not since the white-haired guy had tossed her into the cell and left her there.

It wasn't like she remembered seeing it in the movies, with the mattress in the cell and bread and water. It was way worse than that. No mattress. No bread. No water. No warmth. No light. Nothing. She had started crying for her mom within hours.

The guy...

He was a bad guy.

Worse than anything she had met before.

At least Angelus had only wanted to kill her.

Lucius Malfoy didn't care one way or the other. She was enclosed in a cell and she would stay there until she died, if what he said was true. He didn't mind if she starved, screamed or begged. He ignored it for the most part.

Shivering violently, her teeth clattered together loudly in the stony echo of the cell and she tried to force back the burning sensation in her eyes, blinking hard, the tears only making her cheeks sting more.

Forcing her mind back to her sister, she tried to convince herself that Buffy would be all right and that soon, Buffy would find her and she would be safe and her sister would kick Malfoy's ass.

She would kick it into a whole different shape and then a whole different dimension.

Trying to swallow, Dawn's throat felt painfully swollen and she pressed her head against the cold wall of the cell, the stone icy against her burning skin, making her half-gasp, half-sob.

It wasn't good.

Why couldn't Glory just show up and kill her already?

Anything was better than sitting, curled in a ball, in a horrible dark cell with gross slime on the walls, no heat and no light and not even her way annoying sister to keep her company.

She didn't even have any of her potions in her pockets of her robes to help her, not even the blood-warming potion that she had made to stop herself and Duncan from getting cold in Snape's dungeon.

Duncan...

What if he wasn't okay?

"No," she whispered to herself, her lips cracking and beading with fresh blood that left a nasty metallic taste in her mouth. Duncan couldn't be dead, he just couldn't be. He would be fine and she would kick his ass for scaring her.

Shifting painfully, her body stiff with cold, she pulled her damp robes tightly around her legs, shivering even harder, her fingers so numb she could barely close the fabric around her body.

Her tongue scraped along dry lips, catching more of the bloody droplets that were trickling down her chin, and she pressed her eyes closed, resting her forehead on her upraised knees, trying to find as much warmth in her body as possible.

Buffy wouldn't leave her here. Buffy wouldn't. They'd be on their way to get her out and she would be fine. She had to believe that Buffy wouldn't leave her here. She had to keep believing everything would be all right.

Curling into an even tighter ball in the corner, Dawn kept whispering it over and over like a mantra, "She'll come and get me... we'll be fine... she'll come and get me... we'll be fine..."

***

Ben didn't know how long he had been walking for or where he was walking to for that matter. He was following her mental instructions, returning to the place where her plaything lived.

He had woken up in a field, under a tree, several humans apparently waking around him, every one of them babbling inanely, which lead to the assumption that Glory had been partying and had left him to deal with the victims.

And the hangover.

As the sun had crept up, cold and bright, a fine shimmer of frost on the grass and the budding trees around them, the light had made him realise just how much his head hurt and how much he wanted to soaking in a warm bath.

Or drowning in it.

He couldn't really be sure as the headache had intensified, making him absolutely certain that not only had she drunk and drained a lot, but she had really wanted to make him suffer for annoying her.

It had taken the utmost effort to stagger to his feet, in order to make his way back to the mansion that had become him shelter.

Of course, he had then almost fallen over at once, due to a combination of factors, the main one of which was the six-inch spike-heeled stilettos that his feet were tightly crammed into.

For the hundredth time in a week, he had rained insults down on her, making his way out of what appeared to be a cornfield and onto the nearest path in the vain hopes of making his way back to the house and dying quietly in a corner.

How Glory had left them both stranded in the middle of Cornwall, he didn't want to know. How she had got there, he did, because if he could use the same mode of transport to get back...

Stumbling when the heel snapped of his left stiletto, turning on his ankle, he cursed under his breath, bending to tear the thing off and almost bursting the back seam of the ridiculously tiny cocktail dress she had left him in.

Muttering a string of colourful obscenities in all the languages that Glory's native mind had cursed him with, he savagely ripped the other shoe, which was several sizes too small, off and started hobbling down the lane.

Sharp stones and sticks bit into the soft soles of his feet, making him sputter more abuse in the direction of his internal Hell-Goddess, as he limped onwards, oblivious to the scant warmth of the wintery sun on his skin.

Above him, the sky was blue, cloudless and crisp with frost, every breath he exhaled misting instantly in a cloud of white before his eyes.

His skin a rash of goosebumps, the skimpy silk peacock-blue dress barely covering him from chest to mid-thigh, he staggered onwards, ignoring the odd look he received from a warmly-dressed jogger.

Making a mental note to scream abuse at Glory as soon as his headache receded, the dark-haired young orderly sniffed in a dignified fashion, straightened his torn skirt and continued to limp down the path as if being spotted in the middle of the countryside on a winter morning, wearing little more than a scrap of blue fabric was the most normal thing in the world.

***

While the morning had begun brightly, clouds were beginning to gather gloomily on the cusp of her horizon, curly wisps bled with grey and black, which suggested that the bright weather they had been blessed with recently was about to come to an abrupt and dampened end.

Standing by the window of his study, one hand braced against the window frame, Lucius Malfoy was gazing out onto the grounds, his brow furrowed with a mixture of consternation and muted anxiety.

Glory had gone for 'a walk' allegedly, two days earlier, shortly after he had made his way to the school, to snatch the Slayer's sister, and the Hell Goddess had yet to return from her little outing.

It wasn't that he was worried about her well-being, but he did hope she would return before the whining brat imprisoned in the basement decided to rudely hop off the mortal coil before the trade for the key could take place.

Behind him, he heard the door of the study and railed around, expecting to find Glory standing there. "Where the devil have you... oh," A somewhat strained smile crossed his lips. "My dear."

Narcissa gazed placidly back at him. "Lucius, I heard someone crying somewhere in the house yesterday," she said, an agitated look on her face. "I couldn't sleep last night because of it."

"Concerned, my dear?"

"Tired, Lucius," she retorted, shooting a glare at him. "I want a decent night's sleep and if you don't tell me what's going on in this house, I may have to take it apart stone by stone until I find what's making that racket and kill it."

"Kill it?" Lucius started. "Isn't that overreacting slightly, my dear Narcissa?"

Eyes that were heavy with exhaustion, marked by deep smudges of darkness beneath them, stared back at him with a flare of annoyance. "Lucius, you do recall how much I appreciate my sleep, do you not?" Her husband winced, clearly remembering. "And you do also recall how... exasperated I tend to get if I don't get my sleep." She smiled thinly. "I believe that killing is warranted in such circumstances."

"Ah..."

"So, Lucius," Folding her arms, she glowered at him. "Would you mind informing me of what is going on and silence that infernal wailing? If we need to have another exorcism, I will not be amused."

"Well, you see, my dear," He motioned her towards the couch by the fireplace, which stood to the right of the door. Stretching out at one end, Narcissa watched him as he leaned one arm on the mantle, talking down to her. "You are aware that Glory is not of this world, aren't you?"

Narcissa nodded. "She had mentioned it on occasion."

"She requires a particular key to return to her home dimension and a young woman, called the Vampire Slayer, has this key which Glory requires promptly." He smiled thinly down at his wife, one hand resting on his hip. "In order to retrieve it, we have taken the precaution of acquiring her younger sister in order to have a bargaining chip to trade for this key."

"So you've brought a whiney little school girl to my home to let her interrupt my sleep pattern?" Narcissa snapped irritably. "Dammit, Lucius, couldn't you even put a sound-proof spell her cell or something? What on earth is she crying about anyway?"

"I assume that she is afraid of the dark."

His wife gave him a disbelieving look. "Lucius, you truly have no grasp of the subtleties of kidnap, do you?" He looked aggrieved by the statement. "This capture has given you an excellent opportunity to turn one of the Slayer's own against her and you leave the child crying for her mother in the dark."

"What do you mean?"

Narcissa raised her eyes ceilingwards. "What I mean, my dear, naive husband, is that you could have corrupted the child. Turned her to your way of thinking and sent her back to retrieve the key for you."

"Brainwash her..."

"But not by magic," Narcissa agreed, her ruby lips curving in a slow smile. "If you had treated her with kindness to begin with, when you brought her here, you could have brought her to our side by now."

"So it is too late?"

The woman shook her head. "Not at all, Lucius," she said. "While she would see you as cruel, let me go to her, persuade her that I am her friend and confidante, then turn her to our side."

Lucius' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would you do such a thing?" he asked. "I know that you hate Glory, so why would you wish to help?"

"The sooner that whore gets her key, Lucius, the sooner she will be out of my home and my life," Narcissa responded coldly. "If I have to manipulate a pathetic child to ensure that she will be gone, I will do so."

Pushing off from the fireplace, Lucius approached the couch, sitting down close to Narcissa and lifting one of her hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You, my dear," he said with pride. "Should have been a Slytherin with such cunning."

"You underestimate me, Lucius," Narcissa murmured casually as his lips touched her wrist, moving slowly up her arm. "Because I am blessed with a Ravenclaw's intellect does not mean I am without wit."

"Brains and beauty... my dear, you are an intoxicating combination," He was pressed against her, his lips brushing her throat. Narcissa reclined back against the arm of the couch, saying nothing. "Perhaps I have neglected you a little lately."

"Perhaps," she said in a lazy voice, turning her head to accept his kiss, neither resisting or encouraging his advances, as his fingers deftly unfastened the clasps of her gown. "Should I not see to the child?"

"Shortly," Lucius responded, lifting her chin and gazing at her. "For now, I wish to give some of my attention over to you, for being even more deft and Machiavellian in thought than I imagined possible."

Narcissa smiled slightly, her eyes hooded. "You flatter me, Lucius," she said softly, but did not contradict him.

***

"Anything?"

His glasses resting on the book in front of him, Wesley rubbed dry eyes and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he replied, leaning back against the high back of the chair at the broad table. "Re-plotting an unplottable building can only be performed by the caster of the original spell."

"I doubt Malfoy is about to run to our side and help us with that," Giles muttered, half to himself, his fingers running down the page of the latest book he was studying, a line appearing between his brow.

"If I may ask..." Green eyes lifted to Wesley. "Why do you hate him so? What has he done that caused you to dislike him?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Spike offered from the other side of the table. While it had taken Wesley a while to adjust to the concept of a soulless demon helping them, they had got on unusually well. "I have been wondering the same myself, old man."

The three of them had been working constantly in the large unused classroom which also served as their weapon store room, only taking brief breaks to sleep for a few moments here and there or to get something to eat, to keep up their energy.

Seated around a table, which was weighted down with mountains of papers, scrolls and books, the bright morning light that was ebbing through the windows glistened on the dust that hung in the air.

Closing over the book he was using, Giles looked at both the other men. "It's enough to say that I do not think Dawn is in a safe place at the moment," he replied tersely, his expression grim.

"And yet," a fourth voice said quietly. "You didn't think to ask me for aid."

Wesley made a muffled squeak that suggested he was startled and whipped around to find Severus Snape standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, his expression inscrutable.

"Severus, you ought to be resting," Giles sighed. "You have been awake far too long without a break."

"The young Summers is missing, Rupert. Surely you did not think I would heed your note and leave an assembly of moronic cretins to do a job that only someone with more than half a brain cell is capable of," Snape moved towards the table, his steps slow, a little laboured. As he grew closer, the paleness of his face and the shadows beneath his eyes grew even more pronounced. "And you are aware that I may be the only person who knows the vague whereabouts of her prison. This is no time to be sensitive about my emotions."

Wesley's eyes widened. "You know?"

"I know vaguely," Snape corrected, his eyes scanning over the table. He located a map, withdrawing it from the pile and spread it in front of him, his eyes moving rapidly over it. "I have been to the mansion in the past and, while I can not be one hundred percent certain, I do know the vague locale to within a mile or so."

"So you know the filthy sod who nicked the Niblet," Spike murmured, black eyes snapping up to meet ice blue. "Lemme guess. Along with Giles' tale, it isn't one of sunshine and roses and whiskers on kittens?"

"An accurate summation," Snape acknowledged, returning to the map.

"So fill us in, then!" the vampire said. "Let us know what we're dealing with and what it is that has your knickers in a knot! I mean, how are we meant to fight him if we don't know how bad he is?"

The tension in the room seemed to intensify with every word the blond vampire said and Giles and Snape exchanged looks, then Snape slowly nodded.

"It is only fitting," he said, sinking down into one of the vacant chairs. Continuing to pore over the map, the shaking in his hands would have gone unnoticed if Wesley hadn't been watching him closely. "Tell them."

"Lucius Malfoy and I attended Hogwarts in the same year," Giles began, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "We didn't really meet until part way through first year, when he found out my muggle-born origins. It goes without saying that Malfoy is more than a little biased towards the pureblood line of thinking."

"Anti-muggle?" Spike inquired.

"Mildly," Snape put in with a bitter little laugh.

Giles nodded. "He also had a connection to the one known as Voldemort. We're not quite sure how or when they first associated, but Lucius was one of his favoured ones from the start. Cold-blooded, ruthless and dangerous."

"Sounds like a charming individual," Wesley said sourly.

"The problem was that he could be," Giles stood up and began to pace across the room, heaving a sigh. "He could be suave, charming and I don't doubt that he was highly intelligent. Unfortunately, one of my close friends during our school years developed a fatal crush on him."

"He killed her?"

"Far worse than that, I'm afraid," Giles said quietly. "In our fifth year, he decided that he would not mind... utilising her, to sate his pleasures. He tried to force her into an intimate relationship and when she refused, I'm certain he would have raped her, had I not been looking for her. I beat the bastard to within an inch of his life, which I am certain did nothing to aid his... lack of affection for muggle-borns."

"So you dislike the man because he attacked one of your friends?"

"That was when it all started," the former watcher said grimly. "Ginger, the friend, believed herself to be safe, but a Malfoy is like a crocodile lying in the shallows of the river. He awaited his revenge, patient and calculating, until it came close enough for him to snatch it. She had humiliated him by refusing him, so when the chance came for him to ruin her, he grabbed it in both hands."

"He suggested attacking her family to the Dark Lord, because the McKinnons had refused to follow him. Malfoy's own reasons were far more sinister. Ginger, being the pretty thing she was, was used as a plaything for hours before they granted her the mercy of death, right in front of another of our school friends, who then spent her life trying to attain vengeance, only to be murdered by him during the war." Giles exhaled a sigh. "Not to mention the fact that he is the one who introduced Severus to the dark, taking advantage of a lonely young man."

"Not the best of men, as you can see," Severus said in a tight, controlled voice.

"So when do I get to kick his ass?"

All four men visibly jumped in surprise at the voice of the Slayer, three pairs of eyes looking towards her, where she was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded and her expression deadly.

Dressed in dark clothing, her hair pinned back loosely from her face in clasps, a set of jet robes hung loosely around her slender body, which was framed by the door, and a long, narrow blade was visible at her belt.

"Buffy, are you sure you should be up?"

"Giles, that guy has my sister," she said coolly, one hand implicitly pushing the robes back from the blade that hung by her hip. "If you don't give me an axe and show me where to point it, I'm not gonna be happy."

Black eyes that were fastened to the map on the table shifted slightly. "I believe I may know the locale, Summers," Snape said, his voice low and quiet. "Give me a moment to locate it."

Approaching the chair where the Potions Professor was sitting, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor looked at the map, placing a hand on Severus' shoulder to maintain her balance.

Severus' eyes closed briefly at the contact, then he drew a sharp breath between his teeth and looked down at the map again. His fingertip circled an area about four miles square in the region of Oxford. "Here," he said tersely.

"We'll look into getting someone down there, immediately," Giles said, standing up and grabbing the map.

"Rupert," Snape looked up, the muscles in his cheeks tightening. "Don't forget that he will have wards and security measures that are charmed by dark magic. I would not wish to see any of you harmed."

"I'll see to it," Giles nodded. "Buffy, do you wish to take Faith?"

"Huh? Oh... yeah. We're gonna go from the grounds, right?"

"Of course." The senior watcher nodded. "Wesley, would you be kind enough to inform Faith of the situation? Spike, could you tell Dumbledore? I will find Flitwick to create a portkey. Buffy, we will be outside, when you are ready."

The Slayer nodded. "Be right there," she said, as both Spike and Wesley rose, the three men leaving the room. Her hand was still resting lightly on Snape's shoulder and she looked down at him. "I guess I have to thank you," she said quietly.

Black eyes rose to her, surprise and bewilderment crossing Snape's face. "What on earth for?"

Turning and leaning back against the edge of the table, in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest, she smiled slightly. "You spend hours mixing up your weird soups to save my life and stay to check on me all night and you don't think that is worth a thank you?"

"I merely did what any..."

Her fingertips silenced him and she shook her head slowly. "You didn't 'merely do' anything," she said, her eyes locked with his. "You protected Dawnie when I had to fight. You saved my life when no one else could. Not many people would do that."

Her hand slid to his cheek and she replaced her fingertips with her lips in the lightest brush of a kiss. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips, her half-closed eyes still holding his.

Although at a later date, he would not be able to say what possessed him to perform such an absurd act, Severus' hands spread on her hips and he drew her down to his lap, their mouths melding together in a burning kiss.

A small, strong hand gripped the back of his neck, his own arms tightening around her as her other hand ran down his chest, the very air around them growing heated as the kiss was deepened.

Under its own volition, one of Severus' hands brushed under her robes, caressing her thigh through the fabric of her trousers, then sliding up, over her hip, continuing up, past her waist.

However, it was her hand that lifted his to her breast and he felt her tremble at the contact, his eyes opening.

Breaking apart, panting, Summers stared at him, her face flushed. His hands slipped from her tiny body and he drew deep gulping breaths, unable to tear his eyes from her swollen lips and bright eyes.

"Perhaps you ought to catch up with Rupert," he heard himself say, while his mind screamed in protest that it wanted nothing more than to take the strangely-attractive-when-thoroughly-snogged Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and do indecent things to her on the table in front of him.

Licking her lips and blinking several times, the Slayer nodded, sliding from his embrace and practically running from the room, her dainty heels clicking all the way down the corridor as she fled.

Exhaling a breath, Snape sank down in the seat, his bony hands contracting around the polished arms of the chair. He carefully licked his lips. Today, she had tasted of chocolate and peppermint, he observed.

A faint chuckle escaped him with that thought.

It really was turning out to be a very odd day.

***

Defence Against the Dark Arts had been efficiently cancelled for at least three days.

There were several reasons for this: two of the days counted because the teacher had been comatose in the medical wing, the third expected because said teacher was off on a journey to retrieve her kidnapped sister.

The additional excuse was that the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been wrecked beyond recognition, pieces of furniture that were hundreds of years old had been smashed to smithereens and were in the process of being repaired by the ever patient Flitwick in his free time.

In the absence of the teacher, the pupils spent their time in their common rooms and the Great Hall speculating about what had really happened and whether the demons were just part of an elaborate demonstration and whether the descriptions of the third year Hufflepuffs could be trusted.

After all, some of the Huffles were spreading the word that the creatures were over ten feet tall and the tiny Professor had fought them both, using only a sword and some of the most impressive fighting abilities that they had ever seen.

Whispers were spreading with deliberations that she was some kind of super-witch who didn't need to use spells because all her magic was manifested in her body and she used it to fight.

The fact that the reports were all identical did nothing to assure the Seniors that the third years had been party to the most dramatic Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson known to their era.

Only two students knew the reality behind the rumours, in particular the whispers of Professor Summers' superhuman strength, and one of them was currently sitting in the tower room with Willow Weasley, informing her of the theories that abounded, while trying to aid her with her magic, since his class had been cancelled.

"They think it was all a magic trick?"

Leon Mzimba nodded, grinning goofily at her. "Some of them think that the class ran for it and none of them saw anything as well. The older classes are just trying to make themselves feel better that they missed it."

"Big fun," Willow snorted, placing a rose on the blanket of the bed in front of her and focussing on it. "Seeing my bestest buddy getting ripped up by giant hell beasts is all the fun I wouldn't wanna see."

"Try to stay calm," Leon suggested when the rose started shuddering under her stare.

Instead of teaching the red-haired witch to control her wand, as had been the original intention, Flitwick and McGonagall had both agreed that it would be a great deal safer if she could, first, control her natural magic.

So, Leon had assigned himself the duty of aiding the red head in finding a way to maintain her calm and resist the urge to let her magic control her, instead of it being the other way around, when the teachers couldn't.

Drawing a slow breath and blowing it out, Willow nodded, pressing her lips together, a grim look on her face. Her body tensed then relaxed and she sighed as the rose lifted into the air, hovering just in front of her.

"Good," Leon breathed, kneeling opposite the witch. He glanced down at the book, then back at Willow's face, recognising the tightening of her brows when the rose started to fall. "Stay calm. Remember that you need to be in control."

Willow's breathing grew more staggered, but her face relaxed and she brought the rose lightly back down onto the dark blanket that they were sitting on, her whole body visibly relaxing as she released her hold on the magic.

"That was much better," Leon said encouragingly. "It didn't even smoke this time."

Flopping back against the pillows, panting, Willow moaned and flung her hands over her face. "It's so hard to fight it," she mumbled between her fingers. "I can feel it all there, ready for me to grab, but if I let it out, I know I could hurt someone."

"Always remember that, then," Leon suggested, picking up the rose carefully and offering it to her. "You can control it. You've controlled it for this long already and you know you can do it. It's just a matter of remembering it."

Taking the rose between finger and thumb, Willow sniffed its fragrance, then looked at him curiously. "How'd'you get so smart anyway?" she asked. "And why'd'you wanna waste your time with a crazy witch like me?"

"I don't know if I really am very smart, but I like helping you," Leon replied with a little shrug. "You don't laugh at me for knowing a lot of things like other people in my classes do."

Willow gave him a half-smile, remembering all too clearly what it was like to be stigmatised because of her intelligence that was concealed by her geeky mask. "Well, I think you're great," she said. "You're sweet, smart, cute as a button..."

"But you're still involved with Professor Granger," he finished, his cheeks darkening when he blushed.

Laughing softly, Willow beamed at him. "And as soon as you're old enough," she replied, leaning forward conspiratorially. "If Hermione and I don't work out, you'll have first call, I promise."

Leon's face split in a bright grin. "Shall we try basic transfiguration again, now?" he offered, trying to hide his blush.

***

Sitting on the stool at his desk, Severus Snape surveyed his fourth year potions class from behind the dark strands of his hair, his fingers flexing against the edge of the broad, dark desk.

Every head was bowed, the class working in silence in the dimly-lit room, most of them aware that the Potions Professor had barely slept and that he was liable to be furious at the slightest thing.

Worse than usual, actually, or so the rumours flew.

As soon as he had entered the room, glowering around at them, he had watched them scurry to their places and hunch over their work, none of them daring to look at him as he barked orders.

Now, they were working in silence, more well-behaved than they usually were, quite clearly absolutely petrified of any repercussions that might arise from misbehaving with him in a clearly foul mood.

Or so they believed.

Unnoticed, Severus lowered his chin a little, bringing up his left hand and touching his lips with his fingertips, hard-pressed to conceal the half-smile that almost came onto them at the thought of the last person - aside from himself - to touch them.

A crash from the back of the classroom made him start from his reverie, whipping around, his robes flaring around him like the wings of some ancient seraph rising from the depths as he surged to his feet.

Face as white as a sheet, Duncan Cameron was standing over the spilled contents of a cauldron, his hands shaking furiously. The terror on his face would have - on any other day - made a tongue-lashing even more amusing.

However, today, he knew why the boy was so shaken.

For one thing, his best friend was missing and might even be dead.

Sweeping up the silent class, aware that every pupil was trying to watch without being noticed, he loomed over the boy, who stared at him like a deer in headlights of an oncoming car.

"Cameron."

"I-I-I'm sorry, s-s-sir," the boy bent and hastily picked up the cauldron, his hands trembling so hard that he could barely grip the metal surface. "I-I tripped and it... I-I didn't... it was an accident..."

Severus folded his arms over his chest, staring down his nose at the boy. "Cameron, outside. Now."

A buzz of whispers ran around the class and the cauldron slipped from Duncan's hands again, bouncing with a hollow clang.

"Now, if you don't mind, Mister Cameron."

Wiping his hands down on his robes, his face getting even whiter, the boy edged passed the Professor and hurried towards the door. Unable to grip the handle properly, he whimpered, petrified eyes staring up at Snape.

Stalking towards him, Snape threw the door open and motioned the boy out, stepping out after him. Immediately a hum of concerned conversation whirred around the room as he pulled the door shut with a solid bang.

"Cameron."

"I-I don't know what happened, Sir... I..."

"Cameron," his tone softening, one of Severus' hands came out and touched the boy on the shoulder. The boy jumped, as if shocked by an electric charge, his eyes going round in panic. "You are not in any trouble. Not today."

"But I-I spilled the potion..."

Raising his other hand in a silencing gesture, Snape gazed down at him. "I am aware of the situation you are in, Mister Cameron. Miss Summers is your friend and I am sure you are greatly concerned about her, as we all are."

The boy seemed incapable of forming a vocal response. His chin dipped in a hesitant nod of agreement.

"While it is not in my nature to be humanitarian," Severus continued quietly. "I do not believe it will benefit you or your classmates for you to be causing catastrophes in every class you attend. I would suggest that you go to Madam Pomfrey and have her provide you with something to ease your nerves."

"I-I-I dinnae understand..."

"I'm giving you leave to miss your classes today, Cameron," Severus said patiently, his hand on the boy's shoulder squeezing reassuringly. "I have a suspicion that you would only be a source of chaos in a class today. It would be safer for all if you were to rest for today."

Duncan Cameron nodded jerkily, staring at Snape with combination of confusion and wary gratitude. "Th-thank you, sir," he stammered. "Sh-shall I go now?"

"Yes, it would be best," Severus nodded, then allowed the slightest implication of a smile to lift one side of his mouth. "And may yet convince your classmates that I have horribly murdered you and left your carcass to rest in the hall."

Cameron released a snort of laughter, which he immediately stifled, a hand over his mouth, the terrified look back on his face.

"Oh, do stop overreacting," Severus sighed. "Despite the rumours you might have heard, I do not make it a practise to devour students," He paused, studying a gargoyle that was sticking its tongue out. "Although, I do hear that they are delicious on toast."

Confusion was manifest on Duncan's face. "I-I'll just go now, sir," he said. "My bag an' things..."

"Will be sent back to your common room with a classmate," Severus replied, making a dismissive gesture with one hand.

Turning on tail, Cameron fled down the corridor, looking as scared of Severus as he had in the classroom, which served to make the Potions Professor smile slightly, safe in the knowledge that even when he was 'nice', he could still petrify his pupils.

Yes, it was a true gift.

***

"Where ya been, B?"

Running down the steps from the castle, her robes flapping around her legs and her face flushed, Buffy stopped beside Faith on the damp lawn. "Had something to take care of," she replied, panting a little.

The dark-haired Slayer had taken to wearing a set of black robes, cinched in at the waist, over her tight-fitting clothing and was practising fight positions with an axe to see how best to move in the heavy material.

"Something," Faith arched a brow. "Or someone?"

The blond Slayer's snort of laughter billowed out as a cloud of condensation. "Do you ever think of anything but that?" she demanded, shaking her head. "I mean, come on. Me? Someone? What are the chances in this place? And when I had to get all the weapons and things that Giles told me to bring?"

The dark Slayer's eyes flicked to Buffy's lips, then back to her eyes. "Don't know what made me think that you were gettin' smoochies, B," she murmured, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. Buffy's face flamed to crimson. "No clue at all."

"You, up, shut," Buffy said pithily.

Faith smirked. "Hitting a little too close to the mark, huh? Don't worry about it, B. I won't breathe a word to anyone... unless you got another of those souled-up-wannabe-vamps, cos then, I'm gonna tell everyone."

"No! No vamps," Buffy gave her a look. "And what's the big deal with me getting smoochies anyway?"

"You know how it is, B," Faith shrugged with a half-smile, hefting the axe from one hand to the other. "When you don't get a cookie for a while, you wanna know how everyone else's tasted."

"Interesting analogy," Buffy remarked, grinning a little. "I'm guessing you are in serious want of a cookie?"

"'Want' isn't the word I'd use," Faith replied with a weak grin. "Dyin' of cookie-deprivation sounds better to me."

Shaking her head, Buffy had to laugh. "I'll have to introduce you to Sirius Black, next time he shows up here," she said. "Will and Hermione both agree that he's... uh... very cookieable."

"A girly guy?"

"Girly? Sirius?"

"Well, yeah," Faith smirked. "I know I'm not real picky, but I do kinda prefer my cookies with those real hard chips."

Buffy had to grin. "Sirius is one of the ungirliest guys I ever met. Yeah, he has long hair, but he has the whole hunky rebel thing going for him and he has these amazing blue eyes and..." On Faith's look, Buffy half-grinned. "Okay, yeah, the guy is cookie-licious, but he's not my kind of cookie."

"And who is?"

Buffy felt her ears go pink. "No one serious."

"I'm guessin' teaching faculty, because you don't strike me as the jailbait type, so that kinda narrows the field down a bit... and unless you're in the mood for fightin' off demon-girl, I'm guessin' the old Prof is off the menu."

"The old Prof...? Dumbledore?" Buffy looked faintly green. "God, Faith, thanks for the visual."

"Just thinkin' on the years of experience, B."

"Well... don't."

"Can't you just imagine the beard..."

"Faith!"

The dark Slayer smiled slightly, then nodded beyond Buffy. "You got your knight in Shining Armour on his way," she remarked, causing Buffy to turn and come face to face with Giles, who was carrying a long, narrow spar of wood.

"Portkey?"

"Sanctioned by Dumbledore," Giles acknowledged, huffing a breath out, one hand spreading on his chest. "Charles is on his way and Wesley should be momentarily. I believe they are collecting arms for the assault."

Sure enough, only a few moments passed before the two younger men were visible, running down the long staircase, each of them bearing weapons, although Wesley was yelling a caution about running with a double-sided axe.

"Hey Buffy, kid," Gunn beamed at them as he neared, giving Faith a grin. The dark Slayer grinned back at him, the first time that Buffy had seen her reacting to an older man in a non-sexual way.

It almost seemed familial, in a way, and thinking about it, Buffy could understand why. Charles Gunn and Faith were both from the same mould: forced to be old before their time, taught by harsh life, raised on experiences that weren't the best kind.

If Faith had ever had anyone to relate to, it would be Charles.

"What's the plan?" Wesley asked.

"We hold onto the bit of wood Giles has, it does the magic thing to take us where we need to go, we show up at Malfoy's house, find him and kick his sorry ass," Buffy smiled sweetly. "Any questions."

"I'd say that was pretty clear, B," Faith said, all of them moving to stand around the older watcher and placing their hands on the wood. "When we due to take off?"

"Any second n..."

"DROP THE PORTKEY!" Dumbledore's booming voice, magnified by a spell, rang out over the grounds, every one of the group releasing their hold on the long splinter of wood.

"Wh..." Before Buffy could finish asking the question, there was a swooshing sound, then a pop from just behind them, the Slayer spinning to see a figure hunched down on the grass. "Omigod..."

Terrified blue eyes lifted, streaming with tears, staring between curtains of dark brown hair. They focussed on the blonde, squinting, the expression reminding Buffy painfully of the moment when the returned-from-Hell Angel had recognised her for the first time.

"B-Buffy?"

"Dawnie!" Hurling her weapons down, Buffy sped to her sister's side, gathering the sobbing teenager in her arms and hugging her tightly. Her voice was strangled and she could feel hot tears sliding down her own face. "Omigod... Dawnie... you're back... you're back..."

***

"And you, cupcake, are tellin' me that we had the Slay-gal's little bitty sister in this cell and now, she's gone?"

Glowering up at Glory, his unconscious and bloodied wife cradled against his chest, Lucius' expression was dark, almost demonic in the flickering light of the torch that hung on the wall. "Well if you had not gone gallivanting off around the country, we would have been able to perform the trade."

Glory had just returned, in the bedraggled and bitter form of Ben, bare feet torn from walking for hours, skin blue-tainted from the cold and the flimsy scrap of a dress little more than a strategically-placed belt of cloth.

The young man had barely had time to fall into the bath in the nearest bathroom to the front door when Glory had taken control again, when Lucius knocked impatiently on the door, less than ten minutes after Narcissa had gone down to begin the breaking of the girl.

Of course, Glory was about to suggest he join her in the tub when the security wards went off, a houseelf had appeared and stammered something about an illegal portkey and Lucius had cursed loudly and explicitly, before racing off.

Following impatiently, Glory had found him in the dungeon cell in the basement, Luce's wife sprawled on the floor, blood gushing from wounds on her forehead that looked like her head had been smashed off the bars of the cell.

"Well ex-cuuuse me for thinking you were gonna take a while, poodle," Glory folded her arms and glared back at him, her lips pressed together. "You haven't exactly been Mister-Immediate-Results before, so I didn't figure you would start now."

Lucius' scathing retort was cut off by a soft moan from Narcissa, whose grey eyes flickered open and she squinted up at him, looking bewildered. "L-Lucius?"

"My dear," he acknowledged, his smile cool. It was apparent that he was trying to contain his anger long enough to receive an explanation. "Would you be able to tell me what happened?"

Wincing, one hand to her temple, Narcissa nodded, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I was trying to talk to the girl without getting too close. Said she couldn't here me, so I went nearer and she... she moved so fast... grabbed me, through the bars... pulled me forwards... grabbed the necklace, then... I... I think she hit my head on the bars..."

"Necklace?" Lucius' pale face went a shade whiter. "What necklace?"

Narcissa squinted at him, as if she was having trouble focussing, her blood-stained fingertips pressed against her temples.

"It was on your desk..." she whispered vaguely, blinking hard. "I thought it was pretty... didn't think you would mind if I took it... then she grabbed it... said a spell... reactivation or something... I-I don't remember, Lucius... my head... it hurt... and I... I'm sorry..."

Lucius nodded slowly. "It appears that we underestimated the brat," he murmured, sliding his arms under Narcissa's body and lifting her up. "Don't worry, my dear. This small flaw can be remedied."

"And how would that be, Luce?" Glory demanded snippily.

Lucius smiled thinly. "I do believe that our demon ally from the school has finally managed to find his way back. For now, though, I will take my wife to her chambers and let her recover from the brat's damnable temper."

"You gonna be okay, sweets?" the Hell Goddess glanced briefly at Narcissa, no concern in her voice, more morbid curiosity.

Narcissa smiled, the malicious gleam in her eyes hidden by her heavy lids. "I think I will be fine," she whispered in response, letting her head rest against her damn fool of a husband's shoulder.

***

While two days previously, the medical wing had been deadly silent, the atmosphere could not have been more different, the whole room alive with chatter and laughter, as the American group gathered around Dawn.

The dark-haired teenager had been treated for shock and the first stages of a bout of what seemed to be pneumonia by Madam Pomfrey, then was bathed, cleaned up and given enough food to feed a banquet party.

Tucked up in a bed, her hair brushed by her sister, thick blankets around her, Dawn was snuggled against her big sister's side, half-asleep from exhaustion but far happier than she had been in days.

One arm around Dawn's shoulders, her fingers stroking through her sister's hair, Buffy's cheek was resting against the top of Dawn's head, Faith sitting by the bed, all of them smiling as Giles approached the bed.

"Hey," Dawn croaked, her throat still sore.

"H-how are you feeling, Dawn?"

The teenager sniffed hard. "Kinda ill," she replied, pausing to blow her nose with the sound of a small trumpet. "But I'm back here and I got blankets and chocolate. I'm gonna be fine."

"That's wonderful," Giles smiled at her, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. "I am curious, though about how..."

"I got out? Evil creepy guy's wife."

"Narcissa?"

Dawn nodded, opening her mouth to say something when Madam Pomfrey flitted in and popped a chunk of chocolate between Dawn's lips, then lifted her chin to close her mouth.

"Don't get used to this," Buffy murmured as Dawn beamed broadly at Pomfrey, happily munching on the chocolate.

"Sure," Dawn said when she swallowed the pieces. "Anyway, yeah. Mrs Malfoy came into the roomie thing they were keeping me in and asked me how I got there. I told her about the necklace thingie and she magiced it to her and did some weird chanty thing, then gave me it and poof! I was Hogwarts-y again!"

"She did not come with you?"

"Did you see any tall blondes with me?" Dawn challenged snuggling closed to Buffy and pulling blankets around her. "She told me she had to stay and that Dumbledore would be expecting me."

"Which explains why he knew that we had to drop the portkey, for the second when the defences were dropped," Giles nodded at once. "I'm assuming that she contacted him by floo."

"Actually," Dumbledore's voice interrupted, as the Head Master approached the bed with Anya by his side. "We can keep tags of incoming portkeys. Narcissa was aware of the correct procedure for the opening of defences to a friendly arrival, while I doubt that Lucius would be. In my estimate, Dawn would have been holding the portkey for approximately five minutes, if I am correct."

"Yuh-huh," Dawn nodded. "The creepy guy's wife said she was gonna have to make it look like I escaped because I was actually a witch and not just the Slayer's sister, but I went poof before she could tell me what she was gonna do."

"How are you, Dawn?" Anya asked, her hand resting on Dumbledore's arm. "Albus was concerned about you. We had to stop playing Twister because he was so worried, so you had better be all right, so we can go back to our game!"

Dawn, Buffy, Faith and Giles all stared at the former demon, then the Head Master and suddenly understood why he had such a prominent beard and hair - it hid whether he was embarrassed or grinning like a lunatic.

"What?"

"You're saying that Professor Dumbledore plays twister?"

Anya grinned coyly up at the old wizard, patting his arm as he shook his head, chuckling. "Yes," she replied amiably. "He's remarkably flexible for someone of his age. And not just for twister."

Buffy blinked. Dawn's eyes grew round. Faith's lips curled in a smirk. Giles covered his mouth with a hand, coughing to disguise a snort of mirth.

"Buffy," Dawn said in a strangely squeaky voice. "How do I get the scary pictures out of my head?"

"Demon girl being generous with the visuals again?"

"Spike!"

Sauntering around the bed, Spike grinned down at the girl as he sat down on the edge of the mattress and raised a hand to muss her hair. "How goes it, Nibbles? You doing all right?"

Flinging her arms around him, Dawn nodded wordlessly.

"Get the feeling that means she's glad to see me?" the vampire half-laughed, draping one arm around the teen, who was clutching at him as if he were her favourite teddy bear. "And tell anyone I've been seen making with the hugs and I'll kill you all."

Sniffing hard, Dawn grinned up at him. "There's my bad ass Spike."

"S'right, Bit. You okay?"

"Gonna be good when I get rid of this cold thing," she replied, coughing. "And I'm gonna be even better when you and Buffy and everybody finds Malfoy and beat him to an icky goo."

Blue eyes rose to hazel. "Think you can deal with killing a human, Slayer?"

"I think I can make an exception," Buffy replied. "But, for now, let's just get Dawnie back on her feet and to full..."

"DAWNIE!"

The teenager in the bed's head jolted up at the voice from the end of the ward and she practically bounced out of the bed. "Duncan!" she squealed, as the boy ran the length of the ward. "Duncan! You're alive!"

"Seems so, aye," Duncan laughed, squeezing past Dumbledore and Anya and diving onto the bed, scrambling towards her and hugging her tightly, Spike easing back to avoid the crush. Sitting back, he looked her up and down. "You all righ'?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry for leadin' that git tae yer room."

"Imperius?"

"Aye."

Dawn made a dismissive gesture, as he sat back on his heels. "No biggie," she said breezily. "You're all alive and I'm all alive too and look!" She pointed to a bowl on the bedside cabinet, which Buffy immediately handed to her. "Chocolate! Lots of it."

"Dae ye have any of the stuff with the raisins in it?"

"Ew! That's gross! If you have chocolate, it has to be normal!"

Withdrawing from the bedside, as the two teenagers started sorting through the bowl of chocolate, Giles approached the Head Master. "Teenagers really are remarkably resilient, aren't they?" he murmured.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, watching the pair on the bed. "They are more resilient when they have their friends with them," he replied, then looked down at Anya. "Shall we adjourn?"

Glancing at him, Anya walked her fingers across the back of his hand. "Albus, do you have any chocolate?"

"Whatever for, my dear? Are you ill?" Mischievous brown eyes met bright blue, which widened in surprise. "Oh!" With a quick look around the group, he cleared his throat. "Well, now that everyone is settled and content, we had best depart."

Faith chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I'll be," she murmured, eyes dancing with amusement. She flashed a wicked grin at the other Slayer. "B, looks like the old guy is gettin' more cookies than me!"

With a moan of dismay as yet another lovely mental image assailed her, Buffy buried her head in her hands.

***

It had taken all Lucius' gifts of persuasion to stop the furious Glory from storming into the living room and ripping out their demon agent's spleen - assuming he had one - out with her bare hands.

The demon was the only survivor of the first attack on Hogwarts and had managed to snatch an owl to contact them, when he had escaped, but it had taken over a week and a half for him to make his way back to the Mansion.

To allow Glory to kill him would mean they would lose their only witness who might be able to provide them with crucial information.

Sitting nervously on the sofa, looking rather out of place, with a tea cup carefully held in one massive hand, the demon's deeply-sunken red eyes watching the Hell Goddess pacing, the ridge of spikes down its back bristling and shifting, a clear suggestion that it was uncomfortable.

"Okay... I got this..." Glory said jovially, casually resting one hand on the back of the enormous oak chair that sat in front of the fire. "You're in the Great Hall... the Slayer shows... you do the fighting thing...yeah, this is all good stuff to know, but here's the thing," The chair smashed against the wall, splintering, and Glory snarled. "Where the hell is my key?"

The demon was on its feet, backing away nervously, babbling everything else he had seen in the hall.

"Whoa, whoa..." A curious look crossed her face. "The Slayer yelled at someone to get the key out?" The demon nodded slowly. "And then?"

The demon considered it, then cautiously replied.

Glory looked at her lover. "Think this could be right, Luce?"

"Well," Lucius approached the Goddess, whose pacing had ceased. "You said that it is possible for those who believe they knew the key to have their memories adjusted so they think the key is a person?"

"That's right, poodle, but that person ain't gonna fit in like a normal person would."

Lucius slowly nodded. "Then," he said, a speculative expression on his face which rapidly turned into a predatorial grin. "It makes perfect sense. My dear, I believe we have found your key."

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