The Eighth Weasley

"Is that everyone?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely, not even able to look at Poppy Pomfrey as he surveyed the hospital wing. Many of the beds were occupied, with people rushing to and fro, checking up on the others. "I expect you need the rest now."

Madam Pomfrey sighed tiredly, the bright morning sunlight doing little to mask the pallor of her cheeks. Her neat clothing and perfectly-groomed hair were in a state of disarray and her hands and apron were stained with potions and blood.

"Well, I have to admit it has been some time since I needed to work on so many people," she remarked dryly. "And yet, ever since you brought this merry band to the school, I notice a distinct rise in casualties."

"I only wish I could promise it would not remain so," he said quietly.

The Matron laid a hand on his heavy sleeve in wordless comfort, before moving off, towards her office, to sit down for the first time in several long hours.

Dumbledore's expression remained sombre as he watched the woman sitting at Buffy Summers's bedside, anxiety etched on her face. Joyce Summers had been transported in as soon as was possible and despite the hours which had passed since the attack, Buffy was still unconscious.

Beside her, Rupert Giles had a hand on the woman's shoulder. As both Buffy's Watcher and a friend of her mother, he had insisted he assume the task of explaining to the elder Miss Summers precisely what had happened, both regarding the daughter in the bed before her and the one still missing.

Unsurprisingly, Joyce looked as fraught as another mother, who was seated on the opposite side of the ward.

Half a dozen of the Weasley family had reached Hogwarts almost simultaneously, when word had reached the Ministry about the assault on the school, a mass of red-hair seemingly congregated around the youngest of their number.

By her daughter's bedside, Molly was idly sponging Willow's ashen cheeks with a soft cloth, though the youngest of the Weasleys was apparently utterly oblivious to everything around her, still unconscious and shimmering unnaturally, even out of the light of the sun.

Slipping from his wife's side, leaving her in the care of her brother, Harry Potter had approached the bed where his Godfather lay and was presently staring grimly down at the older man, who was arrayed in bandages from the top of his head to his feet, bruises still visible on the parts of his face that were uncovered.

By Sirius' bed, the second Slayer was floating eerily several inches above the surface of her own bed, her dark hair trailing down and spilling across the white pillows, her eyes closed and her face as swollen and bruised as Sirius'.

"They'll be all right." Dumbledore watched Lupin stiffly rise from the chair by Sirius' bedside, vacating it for Harry with a tired smile.

"All of them?" the younger man was still staring down at his godfather's motionless face. "This kind of thing isn't meant to happen here. Not in Hogwarts."

"I know," Lupin said softly. He caught Harry's arm gently and steered him into the seat. "You look like you could use it more than me," he said by way of explanation when bewildered green eyes rose to him. "Don't worry."

Moving passed the pair, out of range of Harry's mumbled response, Dumbledore reluctantly approached the bed at the far end of the ward, which was watched over by a single person.

That person was curled up on the seat, his eyes fixed on the rigid figure on the bed. Blue eyes were dark with worry and he was gnawing anxiously on his lower lip, had been for quite some time by the look of it.

"Mister Cameron?"

The Gryffindor shot to his feet as if he had touched an electric charge, spinning around to stare up at the Head master. Like every other person in the wing, his face was pale, eyes shadowed with fatigue.

"P-Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, hastily straightening his tie and trying to ineffectually smooth his robes. "I-I didnae see ye."

"Have you been sitting here all this time, Mister Cameron?" Dumbledore interrupted gently.

The boy's blue eyes lowered and he nodded. "I didnae want tae leave him on his own, in case somethin' else happened tae him," he mumbled, his right hand toying awkwardly with his left sleeve.

Given how much the boy before him disliked the Potions Professor, that in itself was commendable. Dumbledore smiled warmly, undeniably proud of the young man, and lifted a hand to lightly touch his shoulder.

"Allow me to take your place, then, Master Cameron," he said. "You look like you could do with a little respite."

Duncan nibbled his already-worried lip anxiously, looking down at the bed. "You willnae let anyone else hurt him?" he said, looking back up at the Head Master. "I dinnae think Dawnie'll be pleased if he's not waiting for her when she gets back."

"He is in the safest of hands, Mister Cameron," Dumbledore assured him, relieved that the boy had not given into grievous fear for his absent friend's situation. "Now, I would urge you to rest, while you have the chance."

Again, the boy hesitated, several steps away from the bed. "But I have my classes..."

Without thought, Dumbledore laughed softly. "I shall see to it that your absence is explained," he said. The boy nodded, turning and walking down the ward towards the doors. "Mister Cameron!" Cameron glanced over his shoulder. "You have done your house proud."

Colouring deeply, Duncan's lips tugged in a weak smile and he nodded. "Thank you, sir," he murmured.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Staggering upright, utterly disorientated, bare hands groped along the rough stone of a wall. Slats of weak, filtered daylight cut through shutters on the windows, but no door was visible in the narrow room. The only blessing seemed to be that he had been left alone in his prison.

One hand touched a face that was still lined with healing cuts, no doubt from the assault from one of the many Weasleys and the resultant tumble into the briars along the roadside.

By fortune, he was relieved that he could see the pale shapes of his hands by the dim light. So he had not been blinded as he had first feared? Perhaps they had disarmed him and locked him within the castle, but he still had his senses and his wits.

A futile attempt at apparating was denied him, confirming his initial suspicion that he was, still, being held in Hogwarts, which meant his circumstances were certainly outwith his control.

Groping his way along the wall again, Lucius felt for any hidden latch or groove that might allow him to free himself from this cell, but every inch of the wall was as smooth as the next.

Next, he occupied himself with fighting against the shutters that did an ineffectual job of shielding the room from the light of the morning, but despite his efforts, they did nothing but leave his palms scraped and raw.

Slamming his hand against the metal in frustration, he swore viciously.

"Feisty little bugger, innie?"

Jerking around, Malfoy stared wildly into the deep shadows of the room. Nothing and no one was visible there. Nothing could be there! He had held his breath for as long as he could, listening, but had heard no other breathing, no other presence.

"You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?" a second, deeper voice said, from the other end of the room, Malfoy turning sharply, heart pounding in a rapid staccato against his sternum.

"What can I say?" The first voice sounded like it was grinning. "I got bored."

"Who's there?" Malfoy demanded, forcing his voice to be more angry than fearful, while still trying to look to both ends of the room, turning this way and that, lest whatever it was emerge unexpectedly.

Abruptly, a cool breath rippled against his ear and he froze.

"We're friends," the first voice said, though not without a note of mockery.

Lucius whirled around in time to see a flicker of motion, but there was only the dark behind him.

"Spike." The second voice had taken on a quiet, calm, chastising note.

"Well, we are," the first voice laughed wickedly. "Just not his."

"Spike, is it?" Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but the weak light ebbing through the blinds made it impossible to focus on whoever - or whatever - was hiding in the shadows. "I expect I'm meant to be afraid of such puerile intimidation techniques."

From the shadows, there was a snort of laughter, then a figure seemed to emerge, pale and fair-haired, clad in Muggle clothing, smiling. "Nah, mate," the young man grinned, blue eyes glittering oddly. "We've not even started on intimidation."

"Spike!" the second voice sounded frustrated.

"I know, I know," the blond moved lazily closer to Lucius, thumbs hooked through the loops of his jeans. He didn't do anything as casual as walk - he swaggered. "Talk too much, don't I? Always had that trouble."

Rolling his eyes, expression verging on bored, Lucius folded his arms imperiously over his chest and arched a brow cynically. "What do you expect to gain from boring me so thoroughly? I am hardly about to tell you anything."

The second voice, still in shadows, mumbled something that sounded like, "Why do I put up with this?"

As abruptly as the blond had appeared, a second man was several paces from Lucius' other side, taller, broader, with dark hair and dark, brooding eyes.

"Can I start?" the blond looked excitedly at the second man, ignoring Lucius' words. "I told the whelp that I'd do some damage for him." He took another couple of steps until he was an arm's length from Malfoy. "Y'know, we had to draw straws to see who would get to kick your arse, mate." He grinned all the wider. "I won."

"Cheated," the other man corrected calmly. "And yes, if you want to start."

The blond punched air gleefully, beaming. "Y'know," he said conversationally to his companion. "For a great big poof, you're not all bad." He turned his focus on Malfoy, blue eyes gleaming. "So... you."

"And what are you to begin?" Lucius sighed, every gesture one of emphatic ennui. "I suppose I am to be tortured for information? I do not expect that Dumbledore would be entirely thrilled to have blood shed on his precious school grounds."

The blond man, Spike if that was his name, laughed unpleasantly. "I don't think old Dumble would even try to stop us," he said, reaching out and tapping his forefinger at the middle of Lucius' breastbone. The offending hand was struck away, the wizard canting his chin arrogantly. "Ooh, isn't he feisty?"

"Spike."

The blond's grin only widened, blue eyes locked with grey. "I'm bored," he said and Lucius felt a cold knot of horror form in his gut as the blond's teeth lengthened into vicious fangs, eyes bleeding gold into blue. "Wanna play, Malfoy?"

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"I can't believe you did that!"

"I did what I thought was necessary for your safety."

Anya whirled around, halfway to the door of Dumbledore's office, glaring at him. "I can look after myself, Albus!" she exclaimed. "I have been alive a lot longer than you have! You don't need to look after me!"

Dumbledore looked chagrined, desperately trying to ignore the figures crowding into the nearest paintings for a better view of the pair. "I realise that," he said, raising his hands in submission, "But I was worried that you might be hurt."

"So you don't tell me this and just tie me up and lock me in your office?" the former demon cried, storming back across the room towards him. "You know I like to be tied up, but not when there are demons and you might get hurt too!"

Several of the occupants of the paintings squeaked and ducked out of the frames when both Dumbledore and Anya flashed a cautioning look at them.

"I didn't think this would upset you so much," the Head master said quietly.

"I'm upset that we can't do the communication thing that we're meant to do and not do dumb things and have this stupid fight!" Anya's expression crumpled. "We're both adults and we're meant to talk. That's what all the books say."

Approaching her slowly, cautiously, Dumbledore reached out and gently took one of her hands. "We can talk now, if you would like," he said, looking at her over the rims of his spectacles. "And if I may, I shouldn't have underestimated you, Anya. You are a remarkable woman and witch. I have never met anyone quite like you and I would be loathe to lose you now."

Mollified, Anya sniffed. "I guess I can forgive you," she said, then raised a finger and wagged it in front of his nose. "But next time demons come into the school or we have to have a fight, I want to help. Even Xander gets to help, so I want to too."

Lifting her knuckles to his lips, Dumbledore smiled warmly. "I think you would be a delightful person to fight beside," he said. "Not simply because you are capable of insulting our enemies in their own languages."

Anya beamed at him. "It is useful," she agreed, then frowned thoughtfully. "Okay. We've made up now. You've been nice and I've been accepting and forgiving like a good girlfriend should be..." Her eyes rose to Dumbledore's, her fingers winding into his beard, a coy smile creeping onto her face. "Now, we have make-up..."

"Knockity-knock!"

Swearing in one of the languages she was proficient in, Anya scowled as the office door was opened and a green face peered in. Humming viciously under her breath, she watched the face go a strange mottled shade of green-brown as awareness struck him like a sledgehammer.

"Uh... sorry, didn't mean to interrupt... uh... anything..." Lorne mumbled, averting his eyes. "Just got asked to bring you the word that the Slaybelle two is conscious, hot dog is grumbling about his bed being too hard and the littlest red is awake and still shimmering like a discoball."

The wave of relief from the Head Master was palpable, his shoulders seeming to relax from an unseen tension. "That is good news," he said, his hand clasping Anya's to him.

"Some of the visitors had to head, so I gave them quick readings before they left to make sure there was nothing nasty lurking out there," Lorne added. "And Cordy's holding the fort in class while I'm doing my courier and future-o-gram service."

"Earning your keep quite nicely, aren't you, Mister Green?" Dumbledore smiled, though was not oblivious to the way Anya was gently twisting a strand of his beard around her finger.

"Do I have another message to take?"

The Head Master glanced down at Anya, then back at the demon. "Would you be able to contact all Heads of House and have them take their students to the Great Hall in an hour?"

"Time for the big explanation, huh?"

"It is an honest necessity," Dumbledore replied. "I should be down shortly."

"Not that shortly!" Anya added quickly. "We had a fight and now, we have to make up properly!"

With a salute, the demon started to withdraw. "Gotcha," he said with a wink, before closing the door.

"Where were we?" Albus's eyes twinkled.

"We," Anya rose on her toes, expression predatory. "Were making up."

In frames all around the walls of the office, almost perfectly simultaneously, figures darted out of their painting and sight, far more swiftly than any of the aged residents had right to move.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Dawn had woken up several minutes earlier. A blinding headache had kept her eyes closed until she the last things that had happened crept out from the recesses of her bruised memory; Glory, Buffy running with her, Sirius swearing, Buckbeak falling out from beneath them, then blackness.

Her heart pounding, her hands spread on the surface of whatever she was lying on. It felt like a bed, but the blankets felt real expensive. The room smelled weird as well and not in the good Hogwartsy way.

She went rigid when a feminine voice breathed in her ear, "Don't move suddenly, little one. We are, both of us, being watched." A cool palm touched her wrist. "If you fight, you may be restrained and hurt. Remain calm. You are safe."

The voice was familiar and she hastily searched her memory, recognition crashing in on her with unexpected swiftness. "Mrs Malfoy?" she whispered faintly, her stomach knotting, lips barely moving.

"Yes," the response was soft. "I'm afraid it's me again. Don't worry, little one. I'm here to look after you."

Slowly opening her eyes, Dawn squinted up at the dark canopy above her, then tilted her head. Beside the bed, Narcissa Malfoy was apparently kneeling on the floor, a cool sponge held in her hand, looking older and more fraught than she had last time Dawn had seen her.

"Are you hurt at all?" the golden-haired woman asked, a flick of her eyes indicating in which direction their assailants were.

Shaking her head, Dawn lifted a hand to cover her face. "No," She grimaced as her stiff body stretched out. "Just kinda crampy and sore heady." Glancing warily in the direction Mrs Malfoy had, she saw a small, scabby-looking demon in a cloak hovering by the door. "Uh... I guess I'm in trouble."

"You've been given into my keeping until the time comes for the ritual," Narcissa replied, kneeling up and helped her to sit up. "I am to ensure you are comfortable, fed and rested."

"After last time?"

Mrs Malfoy's smile was mirthless. "Unfortunately, my husband and his companion no longer feel they can trust me," she replied softly. "We are to be prisoners together, Miss Summers."

Dawn stared at her, then glared at the demon by the door. "This totally sucks for you," she said vehemently. "Locking you up just because your husband got all groiny with a big Goddess ho isn't fair."

To her surprise, Narcissa laughed softly, sadly. "Things could be so much worse."

"Worse than being locked up by your husband and his skanky girlfriend?" Dawn stared at her in disbelief.

Narcissa nodded gravely. "At least I have my mind still intact, Miss Summers," she said, reaching up to smooth long strands of Dawn's hair back from her face. "You, too, could be in far more trouble than you presently are." She nodded towards a table that stood on the far side of the room. "Come and eat. You must be famished."

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing as Narcissa rose, Dawn staggered slightly at the renewed use of legs that seemed to be recovering from some weird kind of numbness.

"At least we get food, right?"

"They would most displeased if I let you starve," Narcissa agreed, helping her over and letting her sit. Before her, the table was piled with all kinds of breakfast goodies, including her favourite pastries which she had been introduced to at Hogwarts.

Snatching up several pieces, Dawn bit into them hungrily, sugar and jam smearing around her mouth and reached for one of the elegant cups, slurping down hot, sweet tea, her stomach making sounds of relief.

"Buffy's gonna be so mad about this," she mumbled around a mouthful.

"I'm sure she and her compatriots will be doing what they can to liberate you."

The lack of conviction on Narcissa's face made Dawn frown. "You've never met my sister, Mrs Malfoy," she said with fierce pride. "Buffy'll do everything to stop Glory." She hesitated, reaching down and patting her pockets to check if they might have escape emptying, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "But if she can't, there's gotta be some way..."

Unfortunately, her quick examination of her clothing indicated that she had, indeed, been stripped of anything that might be useful, including her extensive collection of potions equiptment. Scowling and muttering rude things about anyone who fought her sister, Dawn turned her focus back to her meal.

"It has to be Tuesday..." she mumbled to no one in particular, after several minutes lost in thought.

"Pardon?"

Dawn smiled without humour. "Just something my sister always tells me when I get in trouble," she replied, taking another mouthful of tea. "So... you got any more of those portkey necklaces around in here?"

"I'm afraid not," Narcissa replied. "I no longer even have access to my wand."

"So no owls either, huh? No way to write a 'help, I want to be rescued' notes and get them to anyone?" Narcissa shook her head apologetically. Dawn's nose wrinkled. "I hate being a prisoner," she decided aloud. For a few moments, she was silent and when next she spoke, her voice had a nervous quiver to it. "What happens now? Do I just sit here and wait for them to take me away and cut me up?"

"There is little that we can do or even consider, I am afraid," Mrs Malfoy replied quietly, with a significant look towards the demon which was watching them with a suspicious look on its bumpy face.

"Yay for guard demons. I'm hate those guys!"

"They are certainly sickening little creatures," the witch said with a wry smile. "So, I am afraid you and I will simply have to manage to keep one another entertained."

A thoughtful look crossed Dawn's face. The girl was apparently distracted by something that Narcissa had just said, her brows pulling together even as her sugary mouth started to curl up.

Suddenly, the pastry fell from her hand and she doubled up, contorted as if she were in great pain, causing Narcissa to leap up in alarm. "Miss Summers?"

"Oooooooooooh..." the teenager moaned, flopping sideways off the seat into the horrified Mrs Malfoy's arms, half-crumpled on the floor. "Oooooooooh, I feel so baaaaaaaaaad..." she groaned, clutching at Narcissa's arms. "Oooo..."

Gathering the girl up clumsily, Narcissa placed a cool hand on her forehead, but felt no fever, nor could she see any flushing of the child's face. "What's wrong, little one? Are you in pain?"

Blue eyes met blue, obscured by their half-kneeling, half-sitting bodies, and Dawn gave her a smirk and the barest of winks, then started thrashing, as though she were having some kind of seizure.

Unsurprisingly, their demon guard scuttled over. "Is the Key damaged?" it gabbled, peering anxiously over Narcissa's shoulder.

"Feel so bad..." Dawn whimpered, making convincing retching noises that made the demon back away uncomfortably.

"The luminous one must know!" the demon squealed frantically and dashed for the door, leaving the teen half-sagged in Narcissa's arms, her contortions halting the instant the door closed behind the demon.

"Hey! It worked!"

"Might I know what's going on?" the witch inquired coolly.

Dawn, tilting her head to keep an eye on the door, spoke quickly. "You said those demony thingies were sickening," she said. "We gotta find some way to get word out and to get stuff in. If they think I'm real sick, they'll have to listen to us, right? They don't wanna have me dying." She grinned. "And I got rid of stinky demon guard guy."

Narcissa's brows lifted and she smiled for the first time since Dawn had woken. "My dear, I have the strangest suspicion you were born to be a Slytherin," she murmured.

"Cranky britches'd love to hear that," Dawn wrinkled her nose, then leaned back out of sight of the door, her voice little more than a whisper. "I'll play real sick as long as I can," she added quickly. "Can you get paper off 'em so I can write what... uh... 'medicine' I need from home? And get some way to give it to Buffy?"

"I'm certain I can accomplish that." Narcissa nodded, glancing over her shoulder as the door-handle squealed. "After all, we are both blessed with an intellect far superior to that hussy."

As the door pushed open, Dawn let her body go limp, tilting her head to hide the utterly malicious smirk that was pulling at her lips.

Above her, Narcissa Malfoy turned on the demons in the door way, cradling Dawn's head as if it were a fragile treasure. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" she demanded savagely. "Can't you see the Key has taken ill, you cretins? Help me!"

Scuttling forward, the quartet of demons obeyed as if Glory herself had spoken and as she rose and stared imperiously down at them, Narcissa felt the strangest of flutters of nervous hope that this might, unbelievably, work.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.

"How are you feeling, love?"

Willow's heavy eyes opened a little. Even her lashes were tinted with flecks of white. "Kinda sleepy, mom," she murmured, but smiled vaguely. "But I'm all shiny... that's new..."

"It is," Molly sounded like she was going to laugh and cry at the same time. "I heard what you did."

"Broke the stairs... Professor Dumbledore'll be cranky..."

"Oh, I doubt it," Arthur said, clasping Willow's other hand proudly between his. "I think he wants to give you an Order of Merlin for what you did to protect the school from those creatures."

"Pff..." Willow snorted, too tired and too embarrassed to form a coherent word.

"At least he's not kicking you out," Ginny put in. She was sitting at the foot of her sister's bed, her eyes still red-rimmed. "Wouldn't blame him if he did, what with you breaking everything you touch."

"Ginny!"

Willow giggled faintly. "Someone had to say it, mom," she murmured. "Since Ron couldn't come and be mean." She tilted her head and looked down the ward. "Did Harry come and see Sirius?"

"He was here earlier," Ginny replied amiably, patting Willow's blanketed foot. "You were still being a lazy cow, though, so he left after kicking Sirius for giving him a fright again."

"F'I could, I'd kick him too," Willow's eyes were drifting closed again. "For being dumb enough..." She yawned drowsily. "To fall off his flying... thingie..."

"I heard that!" Sirius called over. Willow's lips turned up and she blandly wiggled her fingers in his direction. "Hey! I did not fall, thank you very much! Flying thingie was cursed! I fell a hundred feet! Some sympathy would be nice!"

"Ha!" Faith exclaimed from the next bed.

"Don't start with me," the animagus pointed a finger at her. "You didn't fall over a hundred feet."

"Baby, you ain't gonna get any sympathy from the babe with the shattered spine and you know it."

Sirius made a face utterly unbecoming of an adult. "Pah. Shattered spine? Try all broken limbs, you pansy."

Faith - settled comfortably on her mattress of air, hovering several centimetres above the surface of her bed - smiled serenely at the ceiling. "Black, my back ain't gonna be broke forever."

"Um... bugger."

Their audience of Weasleys watched with amusement as Sirius - decked to the neck with bandages - managed to shuffle sideways on his bed, directing pleading looks at the dark-haired Slayer, who flipped the bird at him.

"Such a charming couple," Ginny observed dryly.

"Mm," Willow acknowledged, frowning when her eyelashes crackled with pale sparks when she blinked. "Huh... still sparky..." She giggled weakly. "Look, dad... I'm electric."

Arthur's smile was muted and he covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently, as her eyes fell shut again. Her parents exchanged looks significant enough for Ginny to carefully rise and edge away from.

A solitary figure standing by the window, several paces away drew her attention.

"How are you getting on?"

Hermione looked around, biting anxiously on a nail that looked like it had already been chewed ragged. "Oh, I'm fine!" she said, her voice a little too shrill and hasty. "I wasn't injured at all."

Ginny raised her brows dubiously.

"Oh, all right, I'm worried sick!" the other witch exclaimed in a hiss. "Not only are numerous people badly injured, but Willow has done something to herself that might not be fixable."

"You mean bonding with the school itself?" Ginny sat on the edge of the windowsill, looking up at Hermione seriously. "What? You thought I didn't listen to the serious conversations when they're about my twin sister?"

Hermione exhaled and hastily rubbed her face. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Just because we're not here all the time doesn't mean we don't care about what's going on," Ginny said quietly. "You know the Order is still on call, especially now, with that Goddess-thing on the loose."

"Of course," Hermione nodded. "I... I just never expected to see this kind of mess, here of all places."

Ginny looked around the bustling ward. On his bed, Sirius looked like he was trying to edge out of Faith's line of sight, while further down, Giles was watching over Buffy and between the beds, numerous walking wounded were checking on friends.

"No one died," she said. "In spite of everything, everyone survived." A freckled hand touched Hermione's, squeezing her fingers. "We'll get by and beat this. We're too stubborn not to."

"Because the Weasleys are involved now?"

"Too bloody right!" the red head beamed.

"And I think that the Goddess made a bit of a mistake," a third voice interrupted, both girls looking around to see Percy standing shy of them. His face was still swollen and his hands scratched, but he was looking more calmly resolute than either of them had ever seen. "After all, while she failed in killing anyone, she was resoundingly successful at pissing us all the hell off."

"That's my brother," Ginny said, grinning, then turned her gaze back to Hermione. "And don't worry about Willow, Hermione. Hogwarts isn't a bad thing to have as your magical back-up. I don't think it would let her be damaged."

"She's just worn out," Percy added reassuringly. "Channelling as much power through her body alone has left her a bit drained, but she'll be fine. Amy is the same and she barely touched on what Willow accomplished."

Hermione glanced over at the bed that her lover presently occupied and the bright corona glowing about it. "Yes," she said weakly, "but I never thought I'd see the day that Willow replaced my bedside lamp."

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

It seemed that every minute had crawled by through Joyce's vigil at her daughter's bedside. Any tears she had left were scorched away by the fierce hate she felt for the creature who had hurt both her children so much.

Night had come, the ward silent, although around each bed, people sat, watching, waiting. More than once, the visitors fell asleep where they sat, pillowing themselves on the edge of the beds of their friends, but no one was willing nor ready to depart.

When Giles had suggested she rest for a while, Joyce had turned on him like a tigress and said in no uncertain terms that she did not intend to leave her daughter's bedside and nor would she until either Buffy woke or all the black coffee in the near vicinity had run dry.

She had seen the quiet respect in his eyes the moment before she had turned back to the bed, clasping Buffy's still hands between her own. He had touched her shoulder once, then moved away to check on the other patients.

Several hours must have passed, judging by the angle of the moon and the faint hues of light beginning to touch the sky, when she felt the hand in hers twitch, her heart leaping with sudden hope.

"Buffy? Buffy, can you hear me?"

In the silence of the ward, her voice sounded like a thunderclap, but she didn't care, ignoring the faces turning in her direction. Stroking the back of her daughter's hand, she felt the fingers flex against her other palm in wordless response.

"Buffy, it's mom, sweetie," she said softly, pulling her chair closer. "I'm here." The Slayer's lips trembled as if she were trying to speak, her eyelashes shivering against her cheekbones. "That's it, honey. Come back to us."

"... mom...?"

"I'm here, honey. I'm here," Gently smoothing loose strands of hair back from her daughter's cheeks, the rest bound beneath bandages, Joyce's smile was tremulous, but grew stronger as Buffy's eyes flickered slowly open. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Mm." Hazel eyes focussed hesitantly on her mother's face, Buffy's brows drawing together in clear confusion. "You're here?"

"I heard you were all causing Professor Dumbledore all kinds of trouble," the mock-chastisement in her voice was countered by the warm kiss she pressed to the back of Buffy's hand. "I thought I better come and be momly to help."

Buffy's lips curled up, then she winced. "My head..."

"Met a bloody great rock, Slayer," Spike's voice drifted down from behind Joyce. "I thought you'd learned your lesson about running in heels." The vampire appeared by Joyce, peering over her shoulder. "You all right?" A faint nod was all she could manage. "Better than nothing, I s'pose."

"You could wait until she can hit you before you make her mad," Xander moved closer and sat down on the opposite side of the bed, reaching out to cover Buffy's hand with his own. "Hey, you."

The Slayer's lips tugged up. "Hey. You...?"

"I'm good, Buff," the dark-haired young man smiled, though it didn't quite hide the lines of worry and fatigue around his eyes. "You had us all worried there." He half-laughed into a strange choked off sound. "Didn't know if you were gonna wake up."

Slipping her hand from under his, Buffy patted his fingertips. "I'm up now," she murmured, though her eyes sank closed as she whispered it.

"Yeah," Xander turned his hand under hers and squeezed her fingers. "Can't keep the Buffster down."

"Mmm-hmm."

As quietly as she had woken from deep unconsciousness, her body seemed to relax and she faded back into sleep, her hand slipping from Xander's to rest on the blanket that covered her body.

Joyce stifled a quiet sound, one hand pressed to her mouth. Promptly, Spike pressed his hands to her shoulders, squeezing comfortingly.

"She'll be up and about in no time, luv," he said softly. "She's a tough one to keep down, that one."

"I know," Joyce's voice cracked. "But she's still my little girl and we don't even know if Dawn..."

"She'll be all right and all," Spike interrupted sharply. "The niblet is made of strong stuff. She'll be back and causing trouble in no time." He squeezed Joyce's shoulders again. "Me and the poof had a chat with one of the blokes who was after her. She's safe and we've got plenty of time to get her back."

Brown eyes lifted from Buffy's face. "When you say 'chat'...?" Xander's voice was casual, but his eyes were ice-hard.

Spike's mouth curved in a lazy smirk. "I think I might have done a bit more than you asked me to, mate," he said. "The great poofini gave me a hand with it as well. Hope that's not a problem."

Blue eyes met brown and held for a heartbeat, then Xander nodded. "I guess I can cope," he said with a cold smile.

"So Dawn is safe?" Joyce looked from one to the other.

"For the time being, yeah," Spike smiled down at the woman, who clasped one of his hands tightly. "They'll be keeping her protected and snug as a bug in a rug. Can't afford to damage her for a couple of months at least."

"And by then, we intend to have found her and brought her back," Giles spoke, making them turn. His return to the wing had gone unnoticed by the group at the bed and he was looking down at Buffy, relief marked on his face.

"In some kind of sparkly magic way, I bet," Xander added, throwing a smile across at Joyce. "You gotta see what they can do here, Mrs Summers. Dawnie'll be back before you can blink."

Unseen by Joyce, Giles and Spike exchanged glances, both of them knowing well that getting Dawn back was going to be much more difficult than any of them could dare imagine, but neither of them - in that moment - would have breathed a word of argument to the Slayer's mother.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Quite how long he had been seated at Severus' bedside, throughout the course of the two days since the assault on the school, Dumbledore could not be certain.

He had left Snape in Giles' charge briefly, when he had gone to assure the staff and students that further measures were in place and that the school was, once more, as safe as it could be.

Alas, that the truth was that with Dawn in Glory's possession, the only reason for the assaults on Hogwarts was gone.

However, with the Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes both cancelled indefinitely, it was hardly unexpected that rumours and whispers had begun, mutters of deaths on the staff, which would only have lead to panic and hysteria.

The calming reassurances had become necessary to stifle the whispers and despite their somewhat inaccurate wording. With all but a handful of the staff present, it presented a fragile facade that all was as it ought to be once more.

This was why he found himself seated, once more, at Severus' bedside, hands steepled before him, weary blue eyes resting on Severus' still features for any sign of awareness. Around him, the pale walls and ceiling of the medical wing painted in bloody hues by the sinking sun.

Poppy had informed him that Snape had regained consciousness during the first day, but had required immediate sedation. Lost in his own mind, his raw cries had been causing distress to the other patients and physical damage to himself. The potion that had been administered had subdued him, but now, he lay inert and in something akin to a stupor, eyes wandering vacantly.

Bound to the bed now, near-transparent bands of light bound over his torso and limbs, Snape's sallow face was even paler than usual. There were still faint traces of blood and bruising one his face and one of his hands was wrapped tightly in bandages, but aside from that, he appeared uninjured.

Speaking to him had received no response, nor had shaking him or trying to rouse him with any charm or potion. To all intents and purposes, when Poppy's potion had worn off, Snape's mind had not returned. It was as Dumbledore had feared from the moment he had seen Severus lying in the wing.

Rubbing one long finger along his crooked nose, the Head Master frowned.

It was true the Goddess had sapped a great deal of the man's mental awareness, but did that mean she had entirely ripped his consciousness away from himself?

There were way, ways and means, by which he could know Severus' mind, breaking through to what was left in the hopes he might be able to retrieve him. Yet, even now, he knew he was still tentative about breaching those mental walls which Severus had so painstakingly cultivated.

After all, it was one matter to simply glance at the surface of a man's soul and mind to know him, but quite another to smash through boundaries that shielded the most personal and private of lives.

If it were to save the man, surely it would be beneficial, yet it was a risk, dangerous for both of them. Even looking deeper than the surface of the mind meant a risk of forcing too hard to break through and damaging too greatly. What was left of Snape might come undone by his hand.

He sighed, frowning.

If only Severus had not kept so much of himself locked away so tightly under his own control. Yes, it was a strength under certain circumstances, but it was also an undeniable weakness, his inability to trust and allow people to protect him as he protected them.

Letting his gaze wander the younger man's face, the crease in his brow deepened and he knew that Severus would not have any doubts about what he must do, Severus who was always so fiercely determined and stubbornly resolute, even in the face of death.

Muttering something that he would not have let his pupils hear, Dumbledore rose and leaned over the bed, one hand tilting Severus' face towards him. Snape's pale lips were moving erratically, soundlessly, his eyes roaming everywhere, but every other feature appeared to have been carved from marble.

Sinking to sit on the edge of the bed, Dumbledore bent over the younger man, drawing a quiet breath before forcing his eyes to catch Snape's as they darted this way and that.

Almost instantly, he felt something like a mental push, a bolt of pressure between his eyes, and jerked back, knowing he had touched on Severus' defences and, even in his present state, they were holding fast.

As the reddish hue seeped from the walls, Dumbledore rose from the bed with a heavy heart, approaching the window to watch the fading glow of the sunset over the lake and grounds.

He had hoped against hope he might be able to find some solution, to seek a cure for the blight the Goddess placed on all her victims, but Severus' mind was too complex and carefully closed to break through.

Behind him, the ward was still buzzing with the quiet hum of conversations at half-a-dozen bedsides. Reflected in the glass, he could see the vague images of the patients and their visitors, the atmosphere calmer than it had been only hours earlier, but still far from the normal state.

Laying his palm against the cool glass, he was watching misty condensation form around his fingers, lost in thought, when he heard the faintest of whispers behind him;

"Sir..."

Whirling around, as if struck, Albus stared down at Severus in shock. The Potions Professor's eyes were no longer wandering absently, but were focussed intently on a single spot on the ceiling.

"Severus?"

Those eyes flickered and when the pale, taut lips moved, the words that escaped them were clumsy, hesitant, "Head Master?"

"I'm here, Severus," Moving swiftly to the bed, Dumbledore sat upon the edge. "Can you look at me?"

"No time," The tightly-spoken words were laced with pain. "She's calling me. Us."

"Us?"

Snape's hands tensed and quivered by his sides. "Takes our minds," he whispered, his body tensing. "Puts a little of herself in. Knew you would look. Hid what was left of myself. Waited." A hiss of pain escaped him. "Release us... follow us, Head Master... all of us."

"The rest of her victims?"

Snape's chin jerked down. "She's waiting," he choked out. "We will go to... to her... to the place... where it must happen... in a month... release us..." A shudder wracked his body, but his words were savage in their vehemence. "Follow us!"

"You will guide us?" Severus' chin jerked down once more, his body arching beneath the bonds, then he simply seemed to sag beneath them, jaw slack and eyes slipping out of focus once more. "Severus?"

But the figure recumbent on the bed said nothing more.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

Five days had passed since she had become the keeper of the Key.

Five days had crawled by since Dawn had assumed the appearance and manner of someone near dying, spending almost every hour of every day feigning sleep in the large bed.

Five days, in which they had seen neither hide nor hair of the woman who kept them prisoner in Narcissa's own home of twenty-five years.

Yet, it was maintained, with the appearance that Dawn was weakening by the day.

The benefit of this ruse was that the demon minions of Glory had come under some small measure of influence of Narcissa Malfoy, all of them doing their utmost to preserve the existence of the Key.

It seemed, however, that Glory had not been told, lest this... fault be laid on them.

However, it was near twilight on the fifth night when the door swung open and the red-garbed Goddess strode into the room, flanked by the worried gaggle of demons, each of whom was vying to be closest yet not quite close enough to be accosted.

By the beside, Narcissa looked around. She looked fatigued and had taken great pains to appear so, her hair scraped back in a severe knot, her face free of cosmetics and her fingertips stained with ink from the garbled scribbles she was etching on parchment before her.

"What's this I hear about my Key?"

Rising with sudden swiftness, Narcissa stalked closer to the Goddess. "Quiet! Would you make her worse with your screeching?" she growled softly, blue eyes narrowed to icy slashes.

Glory stared at her in surprise. "Pumpkin, I wouldn't be rude to me," she said coldly. "You wanna remember what happened to your poor little boy when he answered me back."

"Was my son holding the solution to curing your wretched little Key of the malady that has taken hold of her body?" Narcissa countered sharply, though there was no disguising the sudden tenseness in her face.

Glory's expression altered instantly. "It's broken?"

"It," Narcissa looked back towards the bed significantly. "Is ill. Apparently, it has frequently been so and depends on medicines the Slayer always carries to maintain this false life the Key has claimed."

"I'm gonna squash that little girl like a bug," The Goddess expression was ugly, vicious, bestial. "She messes everything up for me and now she's broken my Key and got my Luce all locked up."

Narcissa's face went white. "Lucius did not return from the assault on the school?"

"Dumbass got himself caught," Glory grumbled. "He's my organisation guy and now, all I have are..." she gestured to the demons huddled close to her. "These guys totally suck at the stuff Luce was doing." She waved dismissively. "But you said you can make my Key work better?"

Her expression glacial, Narcissa nodded. "Allow me to send a brief letter to the Slayer," she said, carefully masking the uneasy tremor in her tone. "I will explain what the matter is and I have no doubts she will wish to help us to preserve this false sister's life."

Blue-green eyes held hers, narrowing slightly. "Oh no you don't, sweetpea," Glory murmured. "Just because I go a little crazy when I'm hungry doesn't mean I'm totally dumb. You'll send secret messages to her again and try to stop me using my Key."

Narcissa's expression was wounded. "If you would write to her, then," she said. "All I want is to finish this. Once you and the Key are finished here, my life can return to what it was."

Again, those unsettling eyes surveyed the witch. "Okay... I'll write and you do whatever and we'll get the stuff to fix my key."

Narcissa turned and walked back towards the bed, trying to mask the smile that caught her lips. "I have items that the Key will need. Can you send them also? The Slayer will be able to provide the ingredients for the medicines."

"Sure... sure..." Glory's heels clattered away, then halted, apparently in the doorframe, judging by the stretching shadow that touched the edge of the bed. "Hey, you think I could get my Luce back?"

The witch's back stiffened, but she shook her head. "They know how valuable he is to you," she said quietly. "I do not believe they would release him."

"Yeah..." Glory tapped her heel on the stone floor a couple of times. "Unless I gave 'em a real good reason..." The witch glanced over her shoulder, a cold knot forming in her gut at the gleeful expression on the Goddess's face. "Then they'd have to give him back, right?"

"What manner of reason would make them think so?" Narcissa murmured uneasily.

Glory beamed at her. "You just look after my Key, poodle," she said cheerfully. "I'll find my good reason, then get a letter for the Slayer and those scribbles of yours and then I'll go and get the medicine and get my Luce back."

The door closed over with a dull squeal, two demons remaining inside the room with the prisoners, and Narcissa sagged down into the seat by the bed.

One of Dawn's eyes cracked half-open. "What did she mean 'a good reason'?" she mouthed at the woman by the bed.

Narcissa shook her head slightly, uncertain. "I don't know," she whispered, leaning down to straighten Dawn's pillow to mask the conversation. "But I suspect that it's unlikely to be beneficial to anyone save her."

The girl nodded, a tight jerk of her head. "We have to finish," she hissed between her teeth, uncurling her hand and pressing two fingers down on the bedspread.

Lifting the quill once more, Narcissa jerked her chin half a centimetre. Dawn's hand unfurled and she indicated a number on the bedspread with a hand that twitched and spasmed irregularly. The quill moved, the witch's eyes darting to Dawn's face.

Feigning another attack of some kind or other, Dawn tossed and turned under the cover and spat out a single word; "Duncan!"

And Narcissa Malfoy carefully added it to the random pattern of words that were gradually spreading across the page.