The Eighth Weasley

Since the residents from Sunnydale were stretching themselves to exhaustion with training, research and watch-duties, Albus ensured that a constant rotation of loyal allies were keeping an eye on Severus and the rest of Glory's victims.

Three days after the attack on the school, it became necessary to transfer Snape to Saint Mungo's on the Headmaster's order. No one but Dumbledore knew of Snape's brief moment of coherence, so such a move roused anger in those who counted Severus as friend and ally.

Young Miss Summers had foregone her physically punishing training to stop them from unbinding him, snapping that if they took him out of the school, how were they meant to protect him? The fire in her eyes was only dampened by Giles's calming words and her own exhaustion.

Even the healed Black was subdued about the matter, which made Dumbledore hesitate, but it was necessary. He remembered what he had heard in that fleeting instant.

Only Dumbledore's authority ensured that the transfer continued as planned. Members of the Order of the Phoenix served as guard for Snape and the others, waiting for word from the Headmaster.

It was not without distress that they came to sit by Snape's bedside as he strained against bonds that were both magical and physical. To see the one of their number who was the height of restraint, when it came to both the physical and emotional, reduced to an incoherent, babbling ruin of a man with nothing but scraps of thought left.

Knowing that he was not the only one suffering such a malady was a source of trepidation and consternation for all. The knowledge that this torment had been laid upon others, their sanity stripped away from them, with no known cure, and knowing it could happen to anyone that the Goddess chose to attack had sent ripples of fear throughout the wizarding community as a whole.

And knowing that they had no idea where she was and might strike next was the greatest terror of all.

8.8.8.8.8

Glory eyed the blonde witch suspiciously from her seat behind the desk. "You sure she's still as sick as you're making out, sweetcheeks?"

Narcissa Malfoy nodded stiffly. "Of course I am," she said.

They were in her husband's private study and that bitch of a demon was occupying her husband's chair as if it was her right, and that made her teeth clench together in silent loathing.

"But here's the thing, poodle," Glory said, tapping the nail file against the edge of the desk. "I have my little pets peeking in on you now and then, and... well... they think she might be kinda sorta faking."

"If I may speak freely." Narcissa assumed the charming tone best used for appealing to officials, ministers and other such idiots. "Your creatures are neither familiar with human nor key-related behaviour. If they were, I'm sure they would be able to see that it is quite clear that the fever comes and goes, and she has continuous relapses."

"Also called 'jerking my chain'." Glory brought the file down with enough force to split the oak. "I'm kinda wondering what I should do with you, since you keep on lying to my face and your sweet little husband left me here with no one to protect you..."

Narcissa forced herself not to step backwards. "You can take your chances and do damage to me," she snapped, raising her chin imperiously. "But if you want to risk your Key, I would suggest that we continue with the plan to retrieve her medicines. Unless you want to remain here."

Blue-green eyes gleamed, as if the show of temper had proved a point. "You got it, poodle," Glory said, slowly smiling.

Behind Narcissa, the door opened and someone was flung to the floor by her feet. She fought the impulse to turn and look down, ignoring the reek of the little demons and the rustle of their robes.

"Y'see," Glory said, standing up on the other side of the desk. "My little faithful ones here are good to me, and found me a whole party of Mugwits or Huggles or whatever you wanna call them, and some little hero rushed in and tried to save the day." She approached them and kicked the person at Narcissa's feet. "Kind of dumb, but he's one of those army of red-haired ones. Gotta be useful for something, right?"

A Weasley. It had to be.

"I was just gonna suck him dry, but now you're sure that my Key isn't faking this whole sickness-thing, I'm pretty sure we can use him to get what you need."

Narcissa dared a disinterested glance down. He couldn't look back if he'd wanted to. His face was battered and bruised, barely recognisable, but the clothes gave him away, and the hair was undeniably Weasley-ish.

"Yes," she said, looking back at Glory's face with a sniff. "Despite the delay, I suppose he will be sufficient."

8.8.8.8.8

It was raining, and the field was bleak an empty.

Wrapped in a cloak, Buffy stared blindly ahead of her, while her companions stood several yards behind her.

The letters had come by owl two days earlier, and it looked like Glory had been watching far too many ransom films. It was just a good thing that she'd only cut off a chunk of hair, instead of other parts.

One of the letters was clearly from her, but the other had made Buffy stop and sit down, and remember a time when she and Dawn had decided to be secret agents. It had been an adventure that had lasted all of a week, after the first time their mom had shown them a James Bond movie. Or after they had sneaked in to watch one when mom thought they were both asleep.

She had taken a notebook, and she had managed to make sense of the letter, and laughed until she was almost crying with relief, then immediately got Spike and the ever-present Duncan to raid Dawn's chest of magic-potion-things to put together the list that was hidden in the letter.

Duncan had stared at her, and told her he thought he knew what Dawn was doing. It made sense, in the way that only someone who knew Dawn's crazy, wacky brain could make sense, and she had nodded. Dawnie was sneaky that way.

That's why they were waiting on the edge of the field, waiting for...

"God, this country sucks!"

Buffy stepped forward. "Glory."

The Goddess grinned at her, her two demons flanking her. "Hey! Look at you! All upright. How's that working for you?"

"Where's Fred?"

"You mean the little red-haired hero?" Glory smiled, pushing wet curls back from her cheeks. "You think I'd be dumb enough to bring him along? Oh, sweetie, don't let the colouring fool you." A manicured hand was extended. "Give me the stuff."

Buffy stopped Spike with a gesture. "How do we know he's alive?"

Glory smiled. "You wanna risk not getting him back? Gimme it."

"It still has to be mixed up," Buffy said quietly, as Spike approached and handed the packed box to Glory. "You have a witch there, right? She should be able to do it, but it could kill her."

Glory waved a dismissive hand. "She was bugging me anyway," she said, hugging the box to her. "And you gonna give me back my little guy?" She beamed as Malfoy was kicked forward by Angel. He limped to her side, throwing a malevolent look back at them. "I think we're all peachy here."

"What about Fred?"

Glory gave her a cool look. "If the magic potion works, you'll get him back."

"Why should we believe it?"

The Goddess laughed. "Lemme put it another way, k? What choice have you got?" Her hand caught her demon by the hair, and Lucius clung onto her. They vanished, as Spike and Giles both cursed.

"Portkey." McGonagall said tightly. "She's grown quite attached to them."

"And we don't have Fred," Buffy's voice was tight. "Or Dawn. Or anything."

Giles exhaled. "If the potion does what it's meant to..."

"Giles, it'll take a month at least." Buffy wiped at her face with a hand. At least it was raining. Hid anything else that might be soaking her cheeks. "She did it again. All we can do is wait for it."

8.8.8.8.8

"Do you really think you should be..." Dazzling white eyes flicked up to Hermione from the books and she squinted, turning away. "I just mean you're tiring yourself out, Willow."

Seated at a broad table behind a pile of books that had just started flickering with the same glowing energy as she was, Willow shook her head. "I need to find something to stop her," she said faintly. "Mom... she won't stop crying... George is going crazy..."

"But you're exerting..."

Willow's eyes flickered and she swayed, covering them with her palm. "Sweetie... I-I have to do this. We don't have time look through everything and I... the castle'll help me..."

"The library is too extensive for us to search it all any other way." At the end of the table, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce ran a hand over his face. His chin was dusted with stubble and his eyes were shadowed with exhaustion. "All we have found in weeks of searching is that this Goddess has a vessel that shields her and that she can drain minds..."

"And that she's got a mean right hook," Faith added. She had joined them from the training room, where Buffy was still beating up any inanimate object that got in her way. "Bitch can't be taken out by normal weapons."

"Immortal, invulnerable, indestructible..." Wesley removed his glasses and pressed his fingers against his eyes.

"Just keeps getting better and better, don't it, English?" Gunn leaned on the back of Wesley's chair. He glanced at Hermione. "You okay?"

The witch was watching her lover, who was running her fingers lightly over the covers of closed books, her eyes closed. "Oh yes..." she said tightly. "Wonderful. Perfect. Absolute marvellous."

"Baby, please... I need your help on this too..." Willow whispered imploringly. She raised her other hand and despite the look on her face, Hermione immediately slid her own into it, their fingers tangling together.

Around the room, those in attendance fell silent.

Under the table, Willow's feet slipped out of her shoes and pressed to the stone of the floor, her eyes squeezing closed. She gasped as light seemed to radiate from within her. Blindly, she reached into the stack of books, snatching one at random.

A second followed, then she rose, pulling away from Hermione, and started to run.

"Dude, her eyes are still closed!" Faith's exclamation followed Hermione as she raced after her lover.

Pulled along by something more powerful than herself, Willow didn't seem aware of her lover's voice calling for her, running through the halls, pupils scattering before her and her outstretched hands.

They passed Giles, who had been emerging from the dungeons, Willow taking the stairs down to the dungeon three at a time, slipping and skidding on the cold stone of the floor. Her breath was rapid and she stumbled to a halt in front of a painting, shaking and groping at it.

"Willow!"

"Here... it's here..." Willow whispered.

"What is it, Willow?" Giles's voice spoke from behind Hermione, consternation audible in his voice. "That's Severus's room."

Without answering, Willow leaned forwards and laid her forehead against the painting, her hands splaying on the wall on either side of the frame, fingertips brushing the stone as if reading something in the texture.

A moment later, the portrait swung open and she staggered into the darkened room, as if drawn by an irresistible force, but before Hermione and Giles could enter, she emerged, a shabby, much-thumbed book clutched in her hands.

"Is that..."

Holding it up, Willow squinted at it and looked at Hermione, bewildered. The title appeared to be Mastering the Mind, not what they expected to help them defeat the Goddess. "I... I don't know... but the school... thinks..." Rubbing her head, she winced. "Okay, I'm gonna have to lie down. Can I figure this out later?"

Hermione was immediately at her side, sliding an arm around her waist. "It can wait for a little while," she said, worry in her voice. "Come on. I'll get you back to our room." She looked at Giles, who nodded. "I think you could do with some rest."

Willow made no protest, almost sagging against Hermione, her energy spent.

"Take this," the Watcher said, slipping a vial into Hermione's hand. "Dreamless sleep potion."

Gratefully, Hermione slipped the small bottle into a pocket. It had been days, weeks since Willow had rested properly, and if she needed to be dosed to ensure she would actually get some sleep, then Hermione would see to it.

8.8.8.8.8

"You can't tell me things aren't getting worse!"

"I know, honey." Joyce approached her daughter slowly, as Buffy continued to pound her fists and feet against the punchbag. "But I don't like seeing you like this. You're tiring yourself out."

Catching the swinging punchbag against her palms, Buffy dropped her head forward against it. "Mom, she's got Dawn..." she whispered. "She's got Dawn and everyone keeps telling me it'll be okay and that we'll get her back, but we shouldn't have to get her back. We shouldn't have lost her in the first place."

Touching Buffy's shoulder, Joyce nodded. "I know, sweetie," she said softly. "But when you get her back, I don't want to see you get hurt because you've tired yourself out. I want to see you kicking that... thing's ass so hard that she can't see straight. I want you to win and walk back to me." She drew Buffy around to face her. "I don't want to risk losing you too, even for a little while."

"Like Willow's mom lost Will and..."

"Like any mom who ever lost a child, sweetie," she replied softly. "I don't want to lose both my girls." She stroked Buffy's cheek. "You need to rest as much as you need to train. You don't have to do it on your own. You have Faith here too."

"Yeah, and she broke Faith's back last time they fought."

"And almost completely shattered your skull," her mother reminded her. "Honey, if you fight together, you've got more of a chance. Don't make this all about revenge. Let her help you."

"I earned the speech?" The Slayer tried to smile, but it faded.

"You earned the speech," Joyce agreed gently. "Use everything you can, Buffy, but don't do it on your own."

Reaching out, Buffy stopped the punchbag swinging. "She's already taken too many other people from us," she said quietly. "There're all those people they had in the hospital that she hurt and there's Will's brother... and Snapey..."

"The man with the black hair?"

Buffy nodded. "He's helped us a lot, mom, and he got hurt saving Dawnie."

"Will he be all right?" Joyce asked, lifting a hand to stroke back a strand of her daughter's hair, watching Buffy's hazel eyes darken with emotion and uncertainty. "I know there was nothing they could do at home, but maybe here, with the magic...?"

Her gently-spoken words made her daughter look up sharply, the sudden fierce determination in her eyes replacing the blank focus that had been there before. "You think they might be able to make him... all of them better?"

"Maybe," Joyce murmured, then allowed herself a small half-smile. "So... you're a friend of his, huh?"

Buffy made a face, but there was a fondness in it that belied the expression. "He's cranky and a jerk," she said flatly, then looked down at her taped hands. "But yeah. He's a good guy. You wouldn't want to be in a fight against him." Joyce said nothing, though her smile widened a little and Buffy - aware of the silence - looked up suspiciously. "What?"

"So, how long have you two...?"

"Mom!"

Joyce laughed despite herself, despite the situation, raising her hands in mock-defence. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I've started noticing things more that I hardly see you and... well..."

"You noticed, huh?" Buffy made another face. "Me and him? Ew."

"Ew maybe, but you're blushing," Joyce noted triumphantly.

"What? No!" Pressing her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat of her skin, Buffy stared at her mother in dismay. "Oh God... I am..."

"So, how long?" Joyce repeated, arms folded sternly.

"But we... we haven't... not really... kinda done..." It almost made Joyce laugh aloud to see her tough, independent super-hero daughter reduced to a stammering teen once more. "I mean, he... we're not... officially..."

Reaching out, she took her daughter's hands and leaned closer to conspiratorially whisper

8.8.8.8.8

For the first time since the transfer had been made, Dumbledore was standing in the ward of St. Mungo's. The ward was long, lined with beds, where patients were twitching and thrashing against invisible bonds.

The afternoon light was heavy with dust, slanting in through the windows lining the tall walls, and the scent of magical antiseptic and potions was almost suffocating, but Dumbledore still stood and looked down the ward.

It was almost a month to the day since Severus had spoken to him.

"You're sure this is the right thing to do?"

The Professor looked down at the matron of the ward. "I trust the one who told me so," he murmured. "It may well be the only way to find her, and our only way to stop her assault on our world."

Along the ward, healers stood with their wands at the ready. As one, the healers raised their wands. The matron inhaled slowly, then nodded, biting down on her lower lip.

The magical bonds fizzled to nothing.

For a moment, the patients seemed unaware of their liberty, but then they were all struggling to their feet, stumbling and shambling towards the door, oblivious to the healers watching them.

Within his sleeves, Dumbledore clasped his hands together, his eyes fixed on one patient in particular. He probed with his mind, and he saw Severus twitch as if something had stung him, black eyes coming into focus for a split second.

In that instant, he nodded that this was right, then his eyes were blank once more.

Following the shuffling crowd into the halls, Dumbledore saw several of the Order of the Phoenix flanking the walls, ready to cast concealment charms over themselves to follow. None of them knew what the purpose was, but Dumbledore knew they trusted him, and he knew that he trusted Severus.

On his nod, they moved into place. With a tired sigh, Dumbledore began the journey back to Hogwarts.

8.8.8.8.8

"They're doing what now?"

With the watch changeover, Lupin and Ron had just arrived back at the castle, while two more of the Weasleys had moved out again. Bill was looking into the location of the Malfoy house, while Charlie had taken over watch at the site where Glory's victims had gathered on the plains of Wiltshire.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ron shrugged. "Building something," he replied. "Some kind of scaffolding-y-thing." He made a vague gesture. "Metal, wood, all that kind of stuff, but it doesn't look very solid."

"Well, yeah, crazy people aren't known for being totally stable," Xander quipped, dodging the ball of paper hurled at him by Spike and drawing a weary smile from Willow's brother.

"Any sign of that bitch, yet?" the vampire asked. He was on his feet, pacing around the staff room, where they had retreated after the staff meeting.

"Like I said to Dumbledore." The youngest of the Weasley sons was looking more and more exhausted with every changeover. "There's only been her demon chums."

"It's not ready, then," Spike noted. "She'll only show up when it's time."

"If they build it," Xander nodded. "She will come."

Blue eyes rolled. "You are such a bloody great nonce," the vampire said flatly.

"And proud of it," Xander replied amiably.

Sitting on the edge of one of the squashy chairs, Ron was leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers laced so tightly together that they were white. "D'you think the Slayers'll be able to do her in?" he asked. "She knocked them both around last time."

Xander's expression darkened. "I've never seen Buffy this focussed," he said quietly. "Not in all the years I've known her. This is more than just duty. This is personal. All she does is train and plan. I don't think she even sleeps anymore."

"And the littler Slayer is spoiling for a fight since the minions broke her boyfriend's hip and the bitch broke her back and cancelled her joyriding for a month," Spike noted dryly, both the young men groaning. "What? S'true."

"I prefer not to think about Sirius having sex, thank you." Ron said, a little green.

Spike's teeth flashed white as he grinned. "What about that Slayer, eh? Buffy has the all-American sweetheart thing going on, but that Faith chit? She could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up." A nostalgic grin crossed his face. "She could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne, and you'd beg her to hurt you just a little bit more."

Ron and Xander exchanged looks.

"Look," Ron mumbled, leaning towards Xander. "I know I haven't slept much and might be imagining things, but did he really just say that?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think he's been putting too much thought into this," Xander said faintly.

"Not me," the vampire smirked. "All her. Almost direct quote."

The two younger men gaped at him.

"Faith said that? To you?"

Spike laughed. "You even have to ask?"

Xander opened his mouth to protest and promptly shut it again. "No, it's true. She would say something like that."

Leaning against the back of Ron's chair, Spike chuckled. "Would and did," he said, then reached down to tap Ron on the head. "Ginger, what you got planned?"

Blinking, Ron looked up. "Well, I was thinking about seeing how Willow is before getting some sleep."

"Good luck getting anywhere near her," Xander volunteered with a grimace. "She's been working as hard as Buffy since they both came around. Hermione finally managed to knock her out, and I don't think she's come around yet."

"I should probably try," Ron replied, running a hand over his face. "Mum and dad are running around all over the place. They'll want me to keep her updated, since she can't be back out there yet."

"Oh yeah..." Spike's expression grew more serious and he straightened, starting to pace again. "I forgot about the half of the gruesome twosome."

"Yeah. Any news yet?" Xander asked.

Ron shook his head. "They traded, and now, all we can do is wait for it and hope she doesn't change her mind," he said sombrely. "George is going spare. They've never been apart this long before, not since they were tiny. He doesn't know what to do with himself."

"Where is he anyway?"

"George?" Ron sagged back in the chair he was sitting on. "He's out there, looking, even if he knows it's useless. Even if it works and she... well... it doesn't mean he's still... she's not the kind of person to..." He fell silent.

"He's fine." Spike said flatly.

"How do you know?" Ron's voice was almost desperately grasping for the certainty that the vampire had.

Pausing mid-stride, Spike turned to look at him. "Used to be a bad guy, mate," he said. "If she was going to kill him or do anything to him, she would have done it and left the bodies lying and she wouldn't have just taken the one. And since we're giving her what she thinks she needs to keep her Key in one piece, and since we have the last... ingredient... she has to give him up intact or not at all."

Ron laughed weakly. "And that's actually comforting," he said faintly.

"If you can't trust a reformed vampire with delusions of super-villainy," Xander waxed rhetorical, "Who can you trust?"

8.8.8.8.8

It had amusing to watch Glory froth and rage, when the potion had been put together, only for her to be informed that the final item required to make it work was lacking. Narcissa had aimed for apologetic servility, and insisted that they must trade, at once, for the medicine to save the Key.

It had become less amusing, however, when Lucius was thrown into the room and ordered to see that the potion was not some concoction that would prove otherwise adverse to the unfortunate, ill Key.

He would recognise it if he found out what the concoction was made from, she knew, and if that was the case, then all was lost.

Kneeling by the cauldron, she stared up at him desperately, shocked by the bruising and cuts on his face. He looked wretched, and it was all because of the vicious bitch who hardly cared a thing for him.

"Will this cure her?" he asked quietly. "Or kill her?"

"Lucius..."

For a moment, his expression changed, and his voice sank lower, "Will it save you? Us?"

In a way, she supposed it was the truth, because if it worked, if they did as they intended to, then they would stop her, which would mean that the world was saved from the power of the Key.

She nodded.

Rising, her husband had limped to the door and informed Glory that the time had come to trade in the Weasley and get what they needed. He hesitated in the doorway for several moments, then stepped out of sight and the door closed behind him.

On the bed behind her, Dawn coughed, and Narcissa approached.

"Are you certain this will work?" she asked the girl softly, making a great show of fussing over the child.

Dawn opened an eye. "Its all we can do," she whispered. "It might work, but it might not. We gotta keep her distracted so they can find a way to kill her, get it ready, and hope that she doesn't try and hurt anyone else until then."

Narcissa sighed, looking back at the cauldron, which was both diversion and only hope.

"All we can do," she agreed.

8.8.8.8.8.8

The field was the same one, but this time, the sky was clear and blue, and Buffy was the one smiling as Glory appeared with a scowl on her face and with a group of demons gathered around her.

"Oh, did someone poop on your parade?"

The Goddess stepped aside and Fred Weasley was pushed forward by two little robed figures. He stumbled and fell at Glory's feet, his hair caught in her fist. "This is what you were looking for, right?"

The relief from Bill and Giles behind her was palpable.

"We have something you want, you have something we want," she said diplomatically. "Give us Fred and you get your last little ingredient."

"How do I know you aren't gonna screw me over?" Glory said with an ugly expression.

Buffy smiled at her. "Well, since we're the one with the ingredient, what choice have you got?"

The Goddess snatched at Fred's matted hair again and twisted his neck until he cried out in pain around the cloth tied around his mouth. "How about I snap his neck, kill all of you and take the ingredient anyway?"

Buffy raised her hands in submission. "Okay," she said, stepping forward, the grass shifting under her feet. "You know I only want the Key safe. Why would I let her die, if keeping her alive means I still have time to get her back from you?"

Glory snorted. "You and what army?" she said, then kicked Fred across the clearing.

He crashed straight into his brother and Giles, knocking them flat, and the demon approached Buffy.

"The ingredient?"

Trusting Giles and Bill to be tending to Fred, Buffy pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "Its the rule for the person holding the Key," she said as seriously as she could. "It makes her keep living until she's discarded."

She held it out and Glory snatched at it, tearing open the envelope.

Blue-green eyes skimmed the words, then looked at her suspiciously. "You serious?"

Buffy nodded. "She was made out of part of me, while she was in my charge. Now, she's in yours."

Glory grinned. "It's so easy!" she said, then looked beyond her. "And since you're all harmless and undefended now..."

Buffy stepped back three paces and smiled again as a shield shivered into place around her and the three behind her. "Don't let the colouring fool you," she said, as Glory's expression contorted into fury. She waved her hand. "See you soon."

The Goddess spat curses as she stalked back to her minions, her shoes sticking in the soft ground, and vanished with the portkey again.

Running to Giles's side, Buffy went down on one knee, looking Fred over. "You okay?"

Fred gave her a weak smile, held in his big brother's arms. "I'm free as a bird and have a pretty girl petting me," he whispered through dry lips. "I think I'll live." He looked past her. "Did your cunning plan work?"

"Not my cunning plan," she said. "Dawn's."

"And it worked?" he repeated.

The Slayer's expression turned serious. "I hope so."