The Eighth Weasley

COLD COMFORT

Notes: Had this idea a few weeks back and decided to write it now, while this pair are still warm in my mind. (18th Nov today). It got rapidly added to in January and February. Gyah. I really wish I hadn't started with this couple - they got imbedded in my head and won't leave me alone!

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"Where's Buffy?"

"Dawn was tired after the adventures of the last few days," Giles replied, motioning for Willow and Hermione to approach the long table that stood in the middle of the large room that was, most often, used as a training room for the two Slayers. It was already occupied, but two seats remained for the lovers. "Buffy is watching over her."

The red head nodded, approaching the paper-decked table, which was illuminated by the soft, white glow from gleaming balls of crystal that were hovering several feet above the table top. "Why the sudden need for a research party?"

"We have received new information," Albus Dumbledore said, raising his eyes from an ancient text. He was seated next to Anya, who in turn was flanked by Spike, then Minerva. "Apparently Glory and her aides are seeking out a particular dark spell to bring down the wards. We have been granted information about the counter-curse."

"Which doesn't seem to exist," Anya put in, with a note of bitterness. "I still think someone's trying to set us up, so we do something stupid, and then they'll break into the school and if we all die, then I'm going to say I told you so!"

Spike snickered. "You do that, Demon-Girl," he said, ducking a blind swat across the head from Minerva, who had her nose buried in the depths of a massive book with yellowed, stained pages and a thick, knobbly dark cover. "Oi!"

"Don't cheek your elders, Billy," the prim reply came.

"Elders? Ain't the vamp older than An?" Charles Gunn looked across the table at her in confusion, then at Spike, who smirked.

Anya sniffed. "I'm eleven hundred and twenty-two years old, Charles," she replied, making notes on a piece of parchment. "I'm older than everyone in this room. And the school, actually."

"Damn, girl! Lookin' good for your age!"

"Yes, well, that is what one will get when one spends eleven hundred of those years as a demon," Wesley laughed at the look on Gunn's face. "You mean we forgot to tell you about our ex-demon allies?"

Gunn shook his head, returning his attention to the weighty book in front of him. "I gotta say," he remarked. "Never thought there'd be a day when I'd be workin' with a demon, a vampire, an ex-demon and a whole buncha magic people."

"I coulda told you that, hon," Lorne said with a grin. "But already know that."

"Now, now," Giles chastised, knocking his knuckles on the top of the table. "I do hate to be the one to rush matters, but we really do have a good deal of work to do, if we are to find the necessary spells. I believe Albus has the name written down and I'm not even going to attempt to pronounce it..."

The sheet of parchment was passed around the table.

"Great," Willow muttered. "I hate those kinda spells. Kinda like gypsy curses, only backwards and with a lot more letters."

"If we do find it," Xander cut in, a puzzled look on his face. "How are you guys meant to do it, if you can't even say it?"

"There's bound to be someone who can say it," Minerva said with a pointed look in Albus' direction. The Head Master serenely ignored her, turning the page of the book he was reading. "Don't you worry, Mister Harris. It will all work."

"And if it doesn't, Minnie'll kick his arse before we all get toasted."

"Very reassuring, Spike," Hermione said, shaking her head and sliding into the seat next to Wesley and opposite Anya. Willow took the seat next to her lover. "You really know the best things to say in the worst possible situations."

The vampire gave her a look. "Do I have to remind you that I'm an evil bastard."

"Oh yes, Spike," Cordelia said dryly, glancing across the table at him from the far corner. "You're a real bad ass. A Deputy-Head-Principal-whipped bad-ass, whose a big brother to the Slayer and her sister."

Spike sniffed with more than a touch of indignation. "Just what are you trying to say about me, Cordelia?"

"Nothing, bleach for brains," the Seer cooed with a mischievous smile. "Don't let the nasty thoughts hurt your poor, lonely brain cell."

Grumbling, Spike hunkered down over the book her was attempting to read. "I hate you all," he muttered petulantly.

Minerva laughed and patted him on the head. "Isn't he adorable when he gets into a bad mood?"

Spike just growled, then ruined the whole effect by sticking his tongue out.

***

"You gotta get some sleep, B."

Standing by the window of the bedroom, arms folded over her chest, Buffy watched the play of the moonlight over the grounds. The snows had finally melted away, but there was still a frostiness lingering on the grounds. "I can't."

The two Slayers and Buffy's younger sister had been transferred to another large room which was nearer Dumbledore's office than their previous one, in the wake of Dawn's return, lest Malfoy dare to try the same tactic again.

It was doubtful, but they had decided it was better to be safer than sorry and now, only the three occupants of the room, Giles and Dumbledore had been granted the information for their own security.

To actually reach the room, a hidden passage behind a painting had to be accessed, then the visitor would find themselves in a large, square chamber lined with twenty paintings. Only one of the paintings lead to the corridor where there room was found.

The paintings changed their positions daily, to confuse matters more and the one that served as the door only recognised the occupants of the room, which - combined with obscure passwords Dawn regular came up with - made it near impossible for anyone to break in.

Needless to say, they were fairly secure.

Leaning up on her forearm in her own bed, her dark hair falling in loose swathes around her face, Faith studied her fellow Slayer with concern. "B..."

"I know, I know. It's not good for me, but I can't help it." Looking over in the direction of her sister's bed, Buffy exhaled a sigh. "I just keep thinking about what happened and wondering..."

Sitting up, Faith swung out of the bed, approaching the other girl by the window. She looked very un-Faith-like, wearing heavy fleecy pyjamas, far from used to the cold of the Scottish environment.

"It all worked out, okay, B," she said softly, touching Buffy's shoulder. "Gettin' worked up about it ain't gonna help, if anything else happens, even if all that hocus pocus they worked out tonight helps."

Bringing up one hand to rub over her face, Buffy nodded. "I know," she replied quietly. "I want to sleep, but every time I try, I keep wondering about what might have happened... what they would have done..."

Faith squeezed her shoulder again. "You need to get it out your system, huh?"

"Understating much?" Buffy offered with a wan smile. Turning to face the dark-haired Slayer, Buffy shot a glance towards her sister's bed. "Faith, could you watch Dawnie for me? I need to get some fresh air."

"You know you don't even gotta ask."

Buffy smile faintly. "Thanks, Faith."

"Not a problem, big sister."

Making her way towards the painting that covered the doorway, Buufy glanced towards Dawn's bed. Between a gap in the curtains, she could see her sister sprawled across the bed, hugging a pillow, her hair spreading around her.

"See you later, Faith."

The dark-haired Slayer swung up to sit on the windowsill and saluted the blonde, as Buffy withdrew from the room.

***

Even though visiting hours were up, a little money slipped into the right hands did wonders. Clad in a dusky cloak, the sky dark outside the tall windows that lined the ward, Narcissa Malfoy moved towards her son's bed like a moon-washed wraith.

Draco was at the far end of the ward and a small lantern hung on the wall above him, casting an oddly warm buttery glow on his pale, drawn features, his hair in a tangle about his face.

As always, he was strapped down upon the bed by magical and physical restraints to prevent him from harming himself, his head twitching and jerking, dreams tormenting him with some horror that she didn't even want to contemplate.

Sitting down carefully upon the edge of the bed, Narcissa felt tears welling up in her eyes as she brushed his hair back from his face, his whimpers growing louder at the touch upon his cheeks.

"Oh, Draco..." she whispered, her voice breaking as tears slid down her cheeks.

Grey eyes snapped open, staring up at her and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition.

"Draco? It's mummy...Draco?"

"Gone away... gone... have to... soon... have to look..." Draco's voice was a barely comprehensible mumble and he started straining against the straps and spells that bound him. "Soon... soon... find it... must look... all lost..."

Pressing a hand to her mouth, Narcissa couldn't hold in a sob, her shoulders shaking as she tried to contain them, her eyes burning and overflowing with the abundance of tears she could not shed in the privacy of her own home.

"Oh, Draco," she whispered. "My little boy..."

"Are you all right?"

Narcissa didn't turn at the male voice, but stiffened her slim shoulders, swiping the hot tears from her pale cheeks with a shaking hand. "You shouldn't be here, Rupert," she said, her voice crisp, controlled.

"You're not the only one who can bribe the staff, Narcissa."

"Rupert, if they see you talking to me... there's a reason I don't want to be seen with you... with any of your people."

The man moved to stand behind her. "I know," he said quietly. "But you've already put yourself in great danger, Narcissa. Lucius was never stupid and I doubt Glory is as naive as she appears to be. You know they will find out and when they do, we won't be able to help you."

"What does it matter?" She turned to look up at him, her expression cool, although her grey-blue eyes shone with tears. "What do I have to lose? That bitch has already taken my husband and son from me. What do I have left?"

"You shouldn't have ended up with him, Narcissa. He was wrong for you."

The sound of her hand connecting with Rupert Giles' face was deafening in the silent ward, her eyes flashing. "How dare you say such a thing, Rupert!" she snarled. "You are talking of the man whom I love and who once loved me! Our marriage was never ever a mistake! He and I are two parts of one whole and nothing you can say of him will convince me otherwise!"

Taking a step back, Giles rubbed his cheek. "You know what he is like, Narcissa."

"I know," she said coolly, standing tall and proud before him. "I know because I am like that as well! Don't look so shocked, Rupert. I might have been a Ravenclaw, but my ambition and cunning matched... no, surpassed Lucius. You have no idea of what you speak, when you say we were not matched!"

Giles stared at her, part dismayed, part angered. "You were Ginger's friend! You knew he was going to..."

"I knew everything he did or intended, Rupert," Narcissa said coldly, although there was an odd tremor in her tightly-controlled voice. "Now, leave. I don't want to see you again. Not now. Not ever."

"I thought you were decent, Narcissa. How wrong I was." With a look of utter contempt and loathing, Rupert Giles turned on his heel and stalked away down the ward, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving the blond-haired witch.

Sinking back down on the edge of Draco's bed, Narcissa pressed ice-cold hands to her burning face, shaking. "No, Rupert," she whispered more to herself than to her son, who was whimpering beside her. "You were right, but you will never know."

He couldn't be allowed closer.

It would ruin anything.

Better to have him hate her for the rest of his days than to be concerned about her and what she was doing for him and his people, what she should have done to save Ginger, her love for her husband at the time overshadowing everything.

Turning her gaze back to her son, she touched Draco's cheek. "Mummy has to go away now, Dragon," she said softly, leaning forwards to press a kiss to her twitching son's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

***

He couldn't say what had woken him, only that it was deeply irritating.

Pushing his blankets back from the bed, Professor Severus Snape came to his feet and illuminated the lamps in his chamber with a mutter, casting a pale wash over the whole room.

A shiver ran down his back, the stone room as cold as it usually was.

What had woken him?

Running a hand through his hair, he couldn't quell a heavy yawn, wishing he was still deeply asleep.

He was - unfortunately - cursed with his mother's intuition, although he often only received a slightly uncomfortable feeling, like the one which had driven him from his warm bed, while she would know exactly what was wrong, where and how.

In this case, he knew something wasn't quite...right.

He wasn't certain what, but as his intuition usually lead him to wandering the castle until he either found the cause or fell asleep in the halls, he would have to start looking right away.

His heavy boots that he used for collecting his raw potions materials from the forest were the closest things, so he walked straight into them, pulling his heavy outer robes off the coat stand beside the desk.

The sooner he found what was annoying him, the sooner he could get back to his warm, comfortable bed and sleep.

Walking out of his chamber, he was hit by the blast of cold air whistling through the dungeons, making him draw a sharp breath. Raising the illuminated tip of his wand, he started down the hall, pulling his robes tighter around his pyjama-clad body.

Everything seemed well.

Even Filch seemed to be quieter than usual.

Snape's lips pressed together in a thin line. If he was having a bad feeling simply because some pupil in one of the dormitories was having a bad dream or something similar, he knew he was going to be very put out when morning came.

Stalking up the narrow flight of stone stairs that lead into the Entrance hall, he shivered as another gust of winter air caught up and slapped the fabric of his heavy robes around his ankles.

The hall was bathed in a pale wash of moonlight through several high windows, dappling the black and white floor with the silhouettes of the clouds and patterns on the stained glass windows.

However, one long slice of light caught his attention.

The front doors of the hall were open, allowing the shaft of thin moonlight to cut into the room Entrance Hall, as well as the ice-cold draught that was rapidly whistling it's way through the castle.

Sighing, Snape stalked towards the open doorway, his breath visible in puffs of mist, making a mental note to raise the subject of making sure the school was secure at the next staff meeting.

However, that thought was brushed from his head when he realised that the doors were open for a reason.

Someone was outside.

His head rocked back on his shoulders.

Damn it.

Easing the huge door a little further open, the hinges squealing softly as he did so, he stepped out onto the top-most step of the long stone staircase that overlooked the ground of the castle.

"Summers?"

The Slayer turned to face him, the expression she bore one he had never seen on her young features before. "Snapey," she looked like she was trying to smile, but failed, turning back to look out at the grounds. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"What on earth are you doing out here, Summers?" he demanded, sitting down on the step near her. "It's the middle of the night...and the middle of winter, for pity's sake."

Sitting a step further down from him, her feet braced two steps further still, she had her folded hands clamped between her knees. "I don't know," she replied quietly, nothing like the exuberant creature she usually was. "I...I needed to think, I guess."

"Of what?"

Her slim shoulders rose in a shrug, her exhausted hazel eyes fixed on the grass in front of them. He studied her profile, uncertain what to say, one hand rising to comfortingly touch her shoulder.

"Summers! Are you trying to catch bloody pneumonia?" He had his thick robes off and around her body in a heartbeat, her skin ice cold through her pyjamas. "How long have you been out here? Why didn't you bring your robes?"

"I-I forgot," she muttered, looking down at his hands as he quickly pulled the thick fabric close around her. "I just needed some time to think and I kinda lost track of the time...where I was... Faith's watching Dawnie, so I figured... I... I needed a break..."

She bowed her head, her eyes on the front of the robes that he was fastening around her, long strands of her blonde hair brushing his hands, but it was the hot tears splashing on his skin that made him start.

"Summers?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sniffing hard, one small, blue-tinted hand coming up to scrub tears from her cheeks. "I-I shouldn't be getting so crazy about this... we're safe now..."

Now, it started to make sense.

"You are worried about your sister?" She nodded silently. "Summers, you are doing all you can. As are all the teachers in this school. Your sister is in the safest place she could possibly be."

Hazel eyes, red-rimmed, looked up at him. "You do remember what happened to her, in this school, less than a week ago? You do remember a comatose me and my sister being snatched by that sleazy guy with white hair?"

"We were unprepared, Summers," he said softly, a hand rising to tilt her face up to his. "Now, we are more than ready. They won't catch us by surprise again and if they do, they will have to get through me before they will come close to your sister."

"You want to protect my brat of a sister?" she laughed harshly.

"As I would protect anyone in this school with my life, Summers."

She studied him. "Including me."

He knew that she expected no reply, his right hand coming up and covering her left cheek, the warmth from his callused palm and fingertips radiating against her skin, her tears stinging with the winter chill.

"You should come back inside, Summers," he said quietly, moments later. "You'll catch your death of cold out here."

"Yeah..." Starting to rise, she winced as feeling returned to her legs. "Ow...now, I know why I like living in California..."

"And its all your own fault for leaving your robes indoors, Summers," he chastised, almost smiling when she actually growled up at him, as she tried to straighten her cold-stiffened legs. "Do you need some assistance?"

"Do I look like I need some assistance?"

Before she could protest, his left arm slid under her legs, his right around her back and she was lifted off the steps.

"Snapey!"

"Do shut up, Summers," he remarked dryly, as he swept back into the Entrance Hall, pushing the door shut behind him with a foot. "You have already woken me. How would you feel if the rest of the school had to suffer sleeplessness as I have?"

"Put me down!"

"I think not, Summers. I am going to guarantee you a solid night's sleep, if I have to pin you down and sing you lullabies myself," His steady pace actually faltered as he said that. Buffy's muted giggle didn't help. "That was a thought that ought to have remained in my head. I really meant that I would get you to sleep, even if I had to knock you unconscious with that blasted troll hammer of Faith's."

"Sure, Snapey," she muttered, wincing. No doubt her blood was starting to warm up her chilly body again, reminding her that her blue limbs, hands and feet were actually still connected to her.

They were halfway down the narrow staircase that lead to the Hall which his room occupied, when she realised where they were going.

"Uh...Snapey, why are you taking me to your room?"

"One, it's the closest room," he replied, descending the rest of the black stairs. "Two, all my supplies are in my chamber and three, most importantly, I have no idea where your new chamber is."

"That makes sense."

"Everything I do makes sense, Summers."

She snickered. "Right, Snapey, like smooching me in your potions closet..."

"Ah, yes, one of my rare but tragic errors," he replied dryly, as her head came to rest against his shoulder. "Almost on par with you, the Slayer, having a romantic liaison with a vampire."

"Hey!" she protested.

"Don't you find irony a wonderful word, Summers?" They came to a halt at the painting which lead into his room, waiting for the hooded figure to slouch back onto the windy moor, holding his robes tightly around him. "Carpe noctem."

"Seize the night?"

His brow arched. "You understand Latin?"

"Only that carping is nothing to do with fish," she smiled slightly.

Smothering the urge to chuckle, he shook his head. "You really are quite impossible, Summers," he sighed. The gloomy painting swung outwards, revealing the arched door that lead into the dark, dimly-lit room, Snape ducking through it with the blonde Slayer still held against his chest.

"Cosy," the blonde said tonelessly.

"It is sufficient," he answered coolly, carrying her to the seat in front of the fireplace and seating her in it, his wand appearing in his hand and sending a ball of flame straight into the dull grate. "Don't move."

He moved around the room with silent familiarity, gathering some small bottles to him, leaving the Slayer to study the room, as he expected she would. While she had seen it once before, he had never allowed her the time to pay it great mind. She was a young woman. She would no doubt wonder why he didn't have some kinds of decorations and home comforts.

Returning to the chair, a goblet in one hand a series of bottles in the other, he poured the contents of one of the bottles into the goblet and held it down to her. "It will warm you, Summers," he said quietly.

She nodded and drank without protest, a shudder passing through her. "Snapey," she said carefully.

"Yes?" He retrieved the goblet from her hands, which were returning to their normal colour, adding another potion for dreamless sleep combined with a little sleeping draught, which swirled together into a pearly-blue fluid.

"This room is yours, right? I mean, no one else would have a room like this," she raised her eyes to him. "It's kind of how I imagined your room would look, but why do you live like this? So cold...bare...empty."

"This is all that I require, Summers," he answered after a few moments. "I am... comfortable in this setting."

She looked around the room again, then back at him, a strange expression in her hazel eyes. "Even Angel had more than this in his home, Snape," she said quietly. "It wasn't much, but it showed what he was like. Art. Books. Weapons. You...you don't have anything except your potions and work."

"Perhaps," His voice was strangely taut, one of his hands flexing convulsively by his side. The other was clenched around the goblet. "That is because potions and work are all that I am, Summers."

She gave him a pensive, searching look that reminded him - uncomfortably - of a knowing look he had seen often in Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. "No," she said firmly. "No, you're not."

"And you, of course, would know what causes me to be the way I am?"

There was an odd expression on her face. "I don't think you even know that, Snapey," she said. "I think you're this way, because you don't want to know what you're really like. You live like this, because this is the way you were told to be. This was expected and you're still kinda scared about what you really might be if you try to be yourself."

He tried to snort derisively, he truly did. Unfortunately, there was no enthusiasm behind it. "You have reached this conclusion how?"

"By the way you treated me," she replied with candour.

"I see."

"Snapey, if you were as cold and empty as this room, if you were really this emotionally bare, then you would have left me sitting outside tonight. You wouldn't have given a damn if I froze my ass off. You wouldn't give a damn about Dawn or anyone else."

She...

Sweet Merlin, she was right.

Damnit.

"Drink this," he said sharply, thrusting the goblet into her hands.

Obediently, she downed the contents in one mouthful, shuddering slightly. Handing him the cup, she blinked at the fire in the grate, as if she couldn't quite get it into focus. A puzzled look crossed her face and she squinted up at him. "Snapey, what was in that?"

"Something to help you sleep," he replied. "And before it takes full effect, perhaps you would be kind enough to give me directions to your room, so I can have you delivered there?"

"My...my room? Right..."Rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, her puzzled look grew even more pronounced. "Um...I..." She managed to get to her feet, pointing vaguely towards the door. "I-I think I know the..." Her legs slid out from under her and Severus managed to catch her before she hit the floor. "Oops..." she murmured drowsily, peering up at him. "I-I think I'm tired..."

And, it appeared, she had not eaten for some time, hence the rapid effect of the potion on her.

"You are rather adept at the understatement, are you not, Summers?" he sighed, sliding his arms under her body and lifting her bodily against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he felt her clinging to him, as if she expected to be dropped. "So, your room..."

"Yeah...it's...it's out there...somewhere..." Her head sank against his shoulder.

"Damnit..." he muttered, giving her a shake. "Summers, you had best wake up now."

A muffled mumble escaped her and she rubbed her cheek against his chest, as if settling against a pillow.

Oh, this was just bloody fabulous.

Well...this left two options.

She could utilise his bed, once again, or he could tip her into the chair in front of the fire and leave her there, while he returned to his comfortable, warm bed.

Not that it was really any decision at all.

Approaching the bed that stood along the broad back wall of the room, he was grateful that the houseelves hadn't made it up as soon as he had left the room. It was till mussed and probably still had a little lingering warmth.

With one arm around Summers' back, the other under her legs, he bent and carefully placed her on the mattress, withdrawing his left arm from under her legs to pull the blankets up and over her.

Unfortunately, that was when he encountered a slight snag in his original plan.

Summers' arms were still around his neck.

Tightly.

Sliding his other arm free, he reached behind his neck to try and loosen her grip, but quickly realised that it would have been easier to attempt to throw Hogwarts across the lake.

The pressure of his hands on hers just made her cling to him tighter, whimpering in her throat as she burrowed her face against his chest.

This was ridiculous.

Shifting in her sleep, Summers rolled over. Severus managed to silence a startled yell as he was literally flipped over her and smacked down on the mattress, a small, sleepy Slayer pressing snugly against his left side.

Attempting to try and pull free again, he received a drowsy half-growl, half-whimper of protest and decided that perhaps, it would be wiser to stay still. Having his neck broken by a drugged-into-semi-unconsciousness Vampire Slayer did not seem like a feasible plan, so remaining where he was it had to be.

Reaching down as best he could, he pulled the blankets up and stared at the ceiling until the flames in the fireplace guttered out.

Even then, he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

All plans for a good night's sleep had been utterly ruined by the lithe little figure who was curled cosily against his side and who, just when he thought he could tolerate her position, flung a leg over his and snuggled even closer, her breath hot against his collarbone, through the fabric of his pyjamas.

"I swear someone is using me for a huge celestial joke," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and mentally praying that he survived the night with some semblance of tattered dignity.