The Eighth Weasley

Metal screamed and creaked dangerously, and the tower swayed in the whistling wind. Fighting was ongoing below. Demons and humans clashed in the vast yard beneath the tower, some good, some evil, some confused and dragged into the fray without even knowing why.

And above it all, a single, dark-haired teenager could see it all lit by sporadic flashes of magic, from the ferocious fighting to the blond-haired figure who was, resolutely and determinedly, picking his way up the sheer side of the metal construction.

It had been a bloody business, slipping past the guards, but Spike ascended the swaying structure easily, climbing hand over hand where he had to, his clothes torn and his skin bloodied by jagged pieces of metal catching him as he progressed upwards.

He could see Dawn tied up at the end of some kind of bridge extended over above the courtyard below, but - unlike the base of the tower - she was completely alone. The bridge was otherwise deserted. He couldn't see or smell anyone near her.

One of the Weasleys had tried to fly up, but his broomstick had gone funny as soon as he crossed over the edge of the stone circle. Climbing was the only way up, unless you were bloody sure you could magic yourself onto a narrow, swaying parapet without falling to your splatting death.

Grabbing a girder several feet above his head, Spike hoisted himself up a level, wincing as a spar raked across his hip, leaving a flash of pale flesh and a smear of crimson. His hands were scraped raw already, the insane builders of the tower clearly having better things to think about than health and safety issues.

Metal overlaid metal, crates and spars of wood pushed into gaps in between, random girders and struts jammed in here, there and everywhere, the whole messy mass mess of metal and wood creaking and swaying ominously with every move he made.

Yet, it still kept standing, in spite of him clattering his way up, in spite of the shrill, fierce wind rattling against it, in spite of the shaking that was spreading up from the magic-stained ground.

Knocked against a barrier, he caught a spiked piece of metal with his hand as he tried to balance himself, hissing between his teeth, his demon visage showing forth as blood welled up from a ragged hole in his palm.

"Never get insane people to do your handiwork, you silly cow," he growled under his breath, reaching for a safer column and pulling himself back towards the middle of the tower. "Makes it harder for us heroes to save the day."

He risked a glance down the tower, which shuddered again, a flash of a grin crossing his face. The Slayer was on her way up. Better if there were the two of them; he'd need her to give him a hand getting the Niblet down.

"Meet you at the top, Slayer!" he called down and saw the golden head nod, then he was climbing again, staggering slightly as he reached the swaying summit. His amber eyes met Dawn's and he threw her a jaunty nod, as he started negotiating his way across the bridge to her.

What he didn't expect, though, was the look of sheer terror on her face at the sight of him, but she wasn't bleeding yet, which was something.

"Don't worry, Nibbles," he drawled, ducking as a piece of masonry, caught in the swirling maelstrom, whirled over his head. "I'm showing big sister how it's done, since she's being lazy."

"No..." Dawn's voice sounded so much more tremulous and frightened than it had been before, and Spike made a mental note to be sure to kill Malfoy, no matter if a migraine followed, for breaking the Niblet.

Light steps carried him to the bound girl's side and he reached out for her, swearing aloud as magic shock ran through him. "What the hell...?" He stared at a black, blood-filled blister forming on his hand, then back at Dawn. "What's this lark?"

"It-it's a-a magic boundary," the girl stammered, staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. "He... he'll know someone is up here now... can't tie me with magic.... might make the spell go wrong when he cuts... but he... he-he'll know... "

"Sod 'im," Spike said succinctly, pushing his hand through the invisible barrier, his teeth grinding together in pain. He caught her wrist, loosening the physical bindings on one wrist even as his pale skin started to darken with blood.

"You should go!" The girl's voice was less-tremulous and more forceful now, as she pushed his hand away and reached for her other wrist quickly. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Wouldn't want to get hurt for anyone else, Nibbles," Spike retorted, squatting down to unbind her ankles. The abrupt stillness above him made him look up to find blue eyes staring down at him. "What?"

She shook her head, then resumed pulling at the cords on her wrist. "It wouldn't work, even if he did it," she said, jerking against the bindings so forcefully that they cut into her skinny wrist. "Blood. She kept saying the blood is important."

"If it helps, we hoped it wouldn't," Spike offered dryly. "C'mon, love, let me..."

There was a crack behind him and he looked up at the girl. Her attention, though, was on a point beyond his shoulder, her expression filled with an emotion he couldn't quite identify. Feeling like an extra in a low-rated horror, he turned, brows rising.

"Why, it's the feisty little bugger!" he exclaimed, straightening up with a grin. "So, you got yourself all fixed, eh?"

Apparently unarmed and smiling pleasantly, Lucius Malfoy inclined his head in mock-politeness. He was standing steadily, ignoring the unsettling swaying of the bridge they were all precariously balanced on.

"I had so hoped we would run into one another again, Spike," he said dryly, dusting a speck of mortar off the front of his coat. "And before you barrel at me in a clumsy attempt at chivalrous heroics, do note that your little lamb would not be able to escape the barrier I have in place around her."

"S'I recall, goldielocks," Spike drawled, rocking on his heels. "You talk a lot of crap a lot of the time. Why should I believe a thing you say, eh?"

"Because your little girl's life is at stake here," Malfoy replied coolly, the smile never fading from his face. "With or without your aid, she shall die, but if you try and liberate her, it will only happen the sooner."

The vampire pulled a face. "So, lemme get this straight," he said, "I kill you and take her, she dies. I leave her and kill you, she dies?"

Malfoy smiled cruelly. "Quite the conundrum, wouldn't you say?" he said quietly.

"Not really." Spike's smile had lost all trace of amusement. "I kill you and we see if you're bluffing again." He took a step forward, but was checked by the mirth in the man's eyes. "What's funny?"

"Your ready condemnation," he replied, laughing softly. "I can assure you that the spell will hold her unless I alter it." He examined his fingertips. "However, if she remains where she is, the death, while slow, will be... moderately painless. If you slay me and rip her free, she will be burned to cinders by the spell. Slowly."

Spike's eyes flicked to the pale-faced girl and back again. "Don't believe you."

"That, you garrulous fool, no longer matters." Malfoy's eyes glimmered maliciously and his wand rose before Spike's face. "All I needed was a moment."

Whatever the spell was, Spike didn't hear.

All he felt was the wash of icy red light, then felt himself tumbling back off the edge of the narrow bridge, Dawn's face shrinking as he dropped like a stone towards the waiting ground.

"Bugger!"

.8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"I'm okay."

Propping Willow against the stone of the circle, her wand out and casting shield charms around them, Hermione shook her head. "You don't look well at all," she said flatly, nodding to Giles and Wesley, who had been standing by as support. Given leave, they moved off to join the fray.

"One down," Willow whispered. "How's old Cranky britches?"

A spell ricocheted off the rock beside them, shards of rock exploding. Hermione swung around and fired off a rapid flurry of hexes, then looked around the rubble. "I think someone pulled him out of harm's way," she replied.

Willow's eyes were closed. "Got him right back," she said faintly, then reached out and touched her hand against the ancient stone. "Oh my God..."

"Willow?"

Green eyes snapped open and Willow scrambled upright. "Totally rechargable Willow," she gasped out. Her hands were trembling. "So much power."

"Her kind of power," Hermione replied, grabbing Willow's hand and pulling her into the shelter of a stone archway.

Willow shook her head. "Real, natural power," she replied and clasped both hands against the stones around her. A shockwave seemed to pass through her. "God knows how strong it'll be inside the circle."

A dark figure leaped over a pile of rubble, long, black coat flaring, and he landed close to them. "You're hurt?" The vampire looked her over urgently.

Willow shook her head. "We're good, Angel," she replied, waving him away. He looked dubious. "Just a few teeny weeny scratches. Not like I haven't done major mojo when I wasn't all beat..." She paused, then slowly turned to look at the vampire. "That's right..."

"What's right?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Major mojo?" Angel echoed. "Willow, you've already..."

"Shush!" She reached out and clapped a hand against the ancient stone. Her eyes flickered and sparked white and she grinned suddenly. "It's enough."

"Enough?"

Her smile was brilliant. "To get them all back! All the ones she took!" she replied. "You get Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall and that mojo-bowl we used on Snape! I know what to do!"

With a doubtful look, Angel ran, dodging and diving under blasts of magic and swinging weapons. Stepping out of the shadows of the boulders, Willow looked around for the one person she needed to find.

"Willow, you're already exhausted," Hermione protested.

"Lesson one of working with Slayers," Willow replied softly. "Keep fighting." She turned an impish smile on Hermione. "Or never leave Xander with the jelly donuts. They pretty much go hand-in-hand."

"Willow..."

"I know," Willow said simply, "but I have to try."

She looked across the battlefield. A Slayer and three wizards were fighting against the blonde figure, and Willow felt power crackling its way up her body from the ground, scorching and making her skin thrum and her hair swirl around her face.

Dumbledore materialised by her side. "Miss Weasley?"

"I have an idea," Willow whispered, her eyes intently on the Goddess, "and we need them to be powerful enough to affect her." She looked up at him. "I need you three doing it. You're the most powerful ones here." A quick look was turned to Hermione. "And I need my anchor."

"Always," Hermione replied at once.

The Professor nodded. "Is there anything you will need?"

Willow winced. "I know it's a long-shot, but there's an orb... kinda like an upmarket version of that one I told you about."

"One doesn't get to an age such as mine without collecting a few trinkets," Dumbledore replied quickly. "I will have Anya fetch it. Fawkes will take it to her on the edge of the grounds. It will get here within moments."

"Good," Willow said vehemently. "And I want you guys behind a shield. Yes, you too."

"No!" Hermione said sharply.

Willow closed her eyes, her hand still resting against the stone. "Safer for everyone."

"Leaving you unprotected with her?" McGonagall said doubtfully.

Willow laughed tightly. "Oh, when we get done, she won't have a second left to even touch a hair on my head," she replied.

8.8.8.8.8.8.8

"She all right?"

Giles nodded to Fred, who was wiping demon gore off his own face. "She's more than upright," he replied, swinging an axe out, then casting a blast with his wand, before diving back into the shelter of the stone archways.

"Good," Fred hissed. "Mum and Dad are holding onto the other side. They wanted me to check." They were about a quarter of the way around the stone circle away from the spot where Glory had been attacked. "You holding this side?"

The older man nodded. "Tell Art I'll keep an eye on her," he replied firmly, giving Fred a push as he ran back out into the field. A figure loomed out of the darkness and he swung the axe again, only to pull it back when Wesley swung up his own sword.

"Good timing," Fred called, before vanishing, ducking and weaving around the circle.

"Stop attacking your allies, Giles!" Anya's voice rang out, and he swung around. "Oh! Get off me, you freak!"

"Anyanka!" Wesley charged with Giles, both of them launching themselves at the scrawny figure, who was grabbing at Anya, apparently oblivious to the blows she was striking against his blond hair with a broken shovel.

For a split second, Giles froze at the sight of a familiar face. The last time he had seen, it was in a hospital bed, while his grieving mother sat close to him. Glassy grey eyes seemed to be looking right through him.

"Giles! Stop staring!" Anya squealed.

A strike of the sword fell across one of Draco Malfoy's legs, followed by a blast of magic that blew her attacker backwards. He scudded across the ground and rolled to a halt, his body bound. Anya ran after him and kicked him twice on the head.

"Anya!" Giles shouted. "Enough!"

"You keep your dirty, crazy hands off me!" Anya kicked him once more, then flounced back towards Giles, then held out a solid glass orb to him. "Albus needs this and you were going in that direction."

Giles looked down at it and nodded, dropping the axe and wrapping his hand around it. "I'll see to it."

"And tell him not to die!" Anya called after him as he scrambled over the rubble and broken spars of metal. "I'd be mad if he died!"

A jinx ricocheted off the ground beside his foot, and he swore, dodging sideways. A splinter of stone had nicked his temple and he felt hot blood on his cheek, but ignored it, following the pattern of blasts of light further around the circle. "At least you weren't knocked unconscious," he muttered.

In his hand, the globe of light was pulsing. It was ice cold, but it burned his skin. He couldn't recall ever seeing anything like it before, aside from an Orb of Thessala, which had been less than half the size. The power was more intense, more focussed.

As he rounded the circle, he stopped short.

The young witch was standing, watching Glory being attacked from five directions, her own hands braced against the stone of the circle.

In front of her, Hermione had her hands on Willow's arm. Kneeling on the ground in front of them both, Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonagall were position in a broad triangle. Giles could see the pattern of intricate spells they were weaving together, apparently oblivious to the battle intensifying around them.

The orb glowed in his hand and he looked from them to it.

Surely, they wouldn't dare.

"Professor!" he called out.

Dumbledore looked around, then nodded. A jerk of his wand and a flare of light, and the orb landed in the net of spells, which were held over the shallow basin that had once been a Pensieve. The light from beneath and the flicker of the golden and scarlet threads of power shimmered oddly on the faces of the wizards and witch.

"Miss Weasley!"

Willow nodded. She was shaking violently, her eyes luminously white, her hair whirling around her face. She looked at Hermione, who raised her wand, and in a shaking but clear voice, screamed, "Accio Glory!"

There was probably still noise. Explosions. Shouting. Hundreds of things. But Giles knew the only sound he would remember from that night was the screaming of the Goddess as the net of power closed around her, and a thousand innocent lives and souls were ripped back from her body.

8.8.8.8.8.8

Ben's brown eyes stared up hopelessly at the man kneeling over him.

There had been others, but they had fallen away around him, spent with power, blown away by whatever they had done to Glory. The ones who saw him after she hid away didn't remember. That was something at least.

Except one.

It was dark, night, but flashes all around lit up the thin face.

He vaguely recognised the guy. It was someone who he had seen in the school, if he remembered right, sinister-looking with a hooked nose, lank black hair and black eyes in an unnaturally pale face.

"You... have to help..." he gasped hoarsely. "Please..."

All he knew was that he was in pain and that Glory - when she hurt - always handed the reins back to him.

"You are her," the man said quietly, although the calm in his voice was no less chilling than the look in his black eyes. His face was expressionless, but Ben could sense his loathing. "The one who brought all of us to this."

"No."

The man sneered. "I remember, boy. My mind may have been weakened by her, but if I wish to remember something, I will remember."

Closing his eyes briefly, Ben nodded. It was almost a relief, really. "I am," he admitted.

"You could have stopped this all, long ago."

There was no doubt in Ben's mind what the frightening man was talking about.

"I couldn't..."

"You could have." The voice was calm, steady and cold. There was no clear anger in it, but it was there, an undercurrent of black, simmering rage. "In so many ways, yet you did not and now, an innocent little girl could die."

The orderly winced at the words, but his mind was still screaming that it was better her than him. After all, it wasn't his fault he was bonded to a Goddess. It wasn't his fault she killed and maimed on whim. It wasn't his fault he couldn't stop her.

"You are weak."

"All right... I'm weak... I know... please... just help me..."

Black eyes studied him in a way that made him feel like less than a piece of dirt on the man's shoe.

"Could you have done it?" He finally snapped, anything to get those eyes to stop staring at him as if they wanted nothing more than to dissect him. "If you're so damn self-righteous, could you have killed yourself? Could you?"

Clearly that was what the dark man had been waiting to hear.

"To give your life for something means that you must care deeply for it. For you, you had the chance to save more than just your own soul. You had the chance to save this world from her destruction. To be able to stand by as she shatters it..." He shook his head gravely. "You were a fool."

"I..."

"You claimed to be a physician, yet you let her continue to destroy these lives." The disgust in the man's voice was palpable. "Lives that you were meant to protect."

"That doesn't... answer my question..." Ben hissed through his teeth. "Is there anyone who you would kill yourself to save?"

An odd emotion flicked into the black eyes. "There are several I would chance my worthless life with, yes, but there is one, only one, whom I would willingly lay down my life for." Ben would have cried out when a hand came down over his nose and mouth, cutting off his air, but it was so quick, like the strike of a snake. The man gazed steadily down at him, black eyes emotionless once more, as he murmured, "She is also the only one for whom I would kill again."

His body on fire from wounds that no doubt came from the pummelling the Slayer had laid on Glory, Ben tried futilely to struggle against the terrifying black-clad man, who was still staring down at him.

"I would have been kinder, if only for her sake," the man whispered in a rasping voice, as Ben's vision started to blur into darkness. "But my mind is too freshly returned to me to guarantee that my magic would kill you instantly."

Mind? Returned?

Oh my God...

This was one of Glory's victims!

No wonder he was pissed off!

"Should you see your... partner," the man continued to talk softly, clinically, as the darkness seeped in from the edges of Ben's vision, his lungs burning. "Tell her that she will never again have the privilege of harming Summers, or her sister."

Trying to plead around the man's hand, Ben knew that this was it.

He was facing death, a death he should have faced up to long ago, if only to stop Glory from running rampant as she had for so long.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, nodded and stopped struggling.

.8.8.8.8.8

"That's good, right?"

Back to back with Cordelia, Xander nodded. "We didn't go boom," he said, lunging with the long spear, as Cordelia swung an axe in the opposite direction. "And Glory was screaming, so I say yeah."

"Apart from big chunks of the tower falling and almost killing us all by impaling us with pointy bits of metal?" Cordelia glanced over her shoulder at him. She was smiling and Xander couldn't help grinning back at her.

"Just like old times," he quipped then swore when the end of his spear stuck in a demon's hide. Stamping on the chest and tugged at the spear, he yelled as it hissed and grabbed at his ankle with a clawed hand.

An axe swung down in front of his eyes and the arm fell loose, the fingers still twitching around his ankle. "You mean me saving your ass from all those demons that want you so badly?" Cordelia retorted, then threw herself against him, knocking him flat.

Blasts of light scorched over their heads, blazing scarlet.

Two furred shapes loped passed them on all fours, snarling, and tackled the wizards who had been aiming their wands at the pair of Americans.

"You guys gonna lie around all day?" Gunn swooped down and pulled them both upright, then winced as he looked beyond them at the two werewolves. "Damn. Don't ever let me get on the wrong side of those guys."

"I'm not looking," Cordelia insisted firmly, then pushed passed Gunn and ran at another demon, bringing the axe down on top of its head.

His head on one side as he watched her approvingly, Xander blinked when Gunn nudged him. "Huh?"

"Drooling kinda not what we're needing right now," the elder older man said with a knowing grin. He pulled a machete from his belt and pushed it into Xander's hand. "Spear's screwed anyway. Acid blood."

Xander looked down at the knife. "Thanks."

Gunn had already run back into the fight.

There were wizards, demons and monsters everywhere. It made it trickier. Normally, human versus demon was good enough, but when the good and bad guys were all firing off spells and waving weapons, it was less black and white about who was evil.

"Head's up!" Faith's yell gave him notice enough to side-step a low-flying wizard, who had been punted through the air with incredible force. He hit one of the stone columns and crumpled in a heap at the bottom.

"Nice shot!" Ron's voice shouted from behind Xander.

"Xan!" Faith jerked her head beyond Xander. He swung around, then swore and, knocked Ron to one side and lashed out with the machete. It caught a scaly demon across the eyes, blood gushing over his hand and spraying onto the ground. The demon screeched and clutched at its face.

Wiping a smear of blood from his face, Ron jerked up his wand and sent a blast of light at the demon. It went rigid and fell over. "Thanks," he said, grabbing Xander's hand and scrambling to his feet.

"Team work," Xander replied. He looked at the bloody knife in his hand. "Can you make this bigger?"

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Don't say it," Xander groaned. "C'mon!"

A tap of the wand, and the knife doubled in length. "Better?"

"Overcompensating," Xander said cheerfully, then nodded towards the heated fighting. "Shall we?"

Ron looked around the battleground. "I think," he said with a nod. "We shall."

8.8.8.8.8.8

Scrambling along the narrow ledge, from which Malfoy had vanished minutes earlier, Buffy managed to reach Dawn. She had seen him start to cut the younger girl, her sister's blood already trickling steadily down her sides and dripping down into the gleaming portal below.

The teenager was staring down at the ground so far below them, a look of despair on her face. Her eyes were on a figure on the ground, a figure with blond hair, crumpled in a pool of blood. She didn't even seem aware of Buffy until the Slayer was right in front of her and she raised her head, startled.

"You!"

Buffy grinned at her. "Told you I'd always get you back, Dawnie," she said. "We're gonna get you outta here."

Beneath them, the glowing portal crackled and flared outwards. It cast eerie light over the two girls at the summit of the wobbling tower.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to work. I thought it wouldn't work." Dawn whispered as Buffy rapidly reaching for her sister, ignoring the magical barrier that was bruising her skin as she freed Dawn's retied wrists.

"It's not your fault, Dawnie." Buffy's hands - numb with cold - fumbled with the re-tied knots, freeing Dawn's slim wrists and she barely registered the sound of a pop behind her until Dawn screamed.

"NO!"

Buffy's head jerked up to see Dawn's horror-stricken face, only for her to feel a blow to her gut, painful and hard, like a badly-landed punch.

Hazel eyes looked down, shocked, to see a black-gloved hand and a handle of a knife pressed against her belly. Dark red was spreading up her cream shirt and she blinked in surprise.

Why was the hand holding a handle of a knife?

That was kinda stupid, really.

The gloved hand pulled away, another hand gripping her tightly by the top of one arm, and she stared in astonishment as a long blade, smeared with blood, was pulled out of her body.

She had been stabbed?

One hand rose and touched the wound, which felt oddly... painless, dark blood warm and gleaming on her shaking fingertips. "Oh..." she said, genuinely surprised and strangely numb. "I'm bleeding..."

Raising her face to Dawn, who was shaking her head, she looked over her shoulder, confused. Grey eyes looks back at her, from a pale, pointed face, upon which a cruel smile was locked.

"You should have been more cautious, Miss Summers," Lucius Malfoy suggested as Buffy blinked numbly at him. Her body felt odd, kind of... fuzzy and not all there. She aimed a punch at him, but staggered.

"Bastard," she whispered, her vision blurring.

Malfoy gave her a cruel smile, before jerking her backward, hard, and hurling her over the lip of the low platform. Buffy vaguely registered Dawn's cry of rage and shock, echoed by another howl from further down the tower, before she blacked out as she fell.

8.8.8.8.8.8

Hexes and charms were being cast in every direction across the open ground around the stone circle with such speed that it was impossible to see which side anyone was fighting for. Shards of blazing light ricocheted the huge boulders, rebounding off counter-curses.

Flanking one another on the east side of the circle, casting spells more rapidly than any two people with a combined age surpassing twelve centuries should be permitted to, Anya and Dumbledore blocked the only physically available exit.

Muggle barriers had provided an element of restriction, especially for the demons and Muggles dragged into Glory's battle, but wizards were still able to escape and many had done so.

Since the initial opening of the portal above the circle of stones, human enemies had decreased in number dramatically, as shocked awareness and terror had replaced awe and greed.

Bodies lay thickly on the ground, some still moving, others jinxed and inert until the casters undid their work. And among them, there were those who were lost, now nothing more than obstacles among the rubble, killed by enemies, monsters and the ruins of the tower collapsing around them.

Over and around these unfortunates, the battle went on. Glory was nowhere to be seen, despite the shimmering blue light cast by her doorway from the mortal plane, though many of her minions and victims continued to battle.

They were no longer the only ones, though.

Despite the fact that only two or three had moved into the middle of the circle, the smooth grass around the stone circle was buckling and ripping open as creatures and shadows seemed to break up through the ground itself with the slow ferocity of lava.

Swinging the heavy troll hammer that had become her weapon of choice, Faith caught two black-clad wizards simultaneously, sending them hurtling through the air and crashing against the outside of one of the vast stones of the monument.

"Nice shot!"

Throwing a grin at her lover, Faith's expression altered and she hurled the hammer towards Sirius. With a yelp, he dropped flat and, two paces behind him, heard the wet thump of the huge hammer smash into something.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, he winced at the sight of the huge weapon lodged firmly in an unfortunate demon's head, the handle sticking up into the air. "I repeat what I just said," he mumbled, half-rolling only to get hauled up by his collar.

"Can't watch your back all the time, Black." The Slayer grinned at him, slapped him firmly on the backside. She disappeared off into the fray again, ripping her hammer from the demon's head as she passed.

Aware he was still staring rather goofily after her, Sirius hastily turned his attention to a couple of demons causing trouble to several persons of the red-haired persuasion.

"Weasley! Down!" Around the stone circle, half a dozen people dropped, making the Animagus grin as he cast a scourging charm and blasting the ugly beasties, ignoring the shouts from several more people of the red-haired variety. "What? Not my fault you're everywhere!"

"Move!" A body barrelled into him with enough force to knock him off his feet and through one of the stone archways, landing on torn turf. He found himself flat on his back on the ground with Harry crouched over him, wand upraised and blazing. "You have to stop talking!"

"Playful banter!" Sirius countered, casting a spell over the younger man's shoulder and knocking a wizard flat. "Need it in a decent fight. Slayers proved that."

Scrambling upright, Harry summoned a fallen knife, eyes darting around. "Yes," he agreed, pulling Sirius behind one of the stones for shelter. "But Slayers are super-powered and heal much quick than you do, so I would leave it to them, if I were you."

Then he was gone, vanishing in the dust-misted chaos, leaving Sirius alone again.

Petrifying another of the victims of the Goddess, Sirius stumbled back over what he took to be a spar, only to find himself looking down on the face of the blond-haired pet vampire of Minerva McGonagall.

What expletive was about to escape him was cut off by a patter of some kind of warm rain, which he raised a hand to wipe off his face.

Rain which was...

He stared at his fingertips, then looked up, through the swirling maelstrom of what seemed to be some kind of vortex and through it, distorted almost beyond recognition, he saw figures and one of them was...

"Weasley!"

He didn't care how many of them turned on him, but the one that counted apparently heard and followed his gaze.

Like him, she had fallen into the less-than-safe area within the circle. Through the dust and the smoke, he saw the colour flee from her face, saw her dart forward and drop to one knee.

"What are you doing?!" he cried out, but his words were overruled by Hermione's scream; "WILLOW! NO!"

Before either of them could move, the red-haired witch thrust her fingers into the ground in the dead centre of the stone circle, a silent blast of light exploding outwards from her, sending everyone around her to the ground.

8.8.8.8.8

Snape had been halfway to Summers, when he had looked up at the tower to see Malfoy Apparate behind her, a knife in his hand. He would have shouted a warning to her, but it wouldn't have reached her, as he was too far and too breathless, scrambling up the swaying levels of the tower as quickly as he could.

A surge of molten fury and terror had burned through him when he saw that same knife plunge into Summers' small, fragile body and he ran as fast he could to the edge of the unstable tower, jerking out his wand.

Malfoy had swung Summers and tossed her over the lip of the platform they were on, dropping her straight down the edge of the tower and. Snape knew his mind was still too freshly returned for magic to be any use, a cry of fury ripping from his throat.

"SEVERUS!" Granger's scream reached him and he looked down wildly.

Near her, her red-haired lover was kneeling, one palm spread on the ground, the other raised, splayed towards them. She seemed oblivious to her hair whipping wildly around her face, white bleeding into the red. Power was ripping out from her and he saw the Slayer's body hitch in the air, wheeling into towards the side of the tower, but still falling rapidly.

His eyes were averted, but he could sense the moment Weasley's connection with the blonde broke, Summers' descent increasing in speed. Weasley had expended so much energy in restoring his mind, he knew, and connecting with the pure magic of this place had probably drained of her all she had left. It was most likely unconscious, or close to it once more.

Hurling his wand aside, he leaned out as far as he could through the squealing girders and cables, one arm locked around a girder and stretched out an arm as she plummeted downwards, close enough for him to reach.

If he missed...

If she slipped...

He wouldn't!

He couldn't!

Somehow, he would never be able to say how, he jerked her body out of the air, his arm locking around her and jarring his shoulder agonisingly as he was almost pulled out and dragged down with her.

Pain!

By the Founders, it hurt!

His left arm, the one bound around her waist, felt like it was about to tear free from its socket, but he held tightly, gritting his teeth together until he could taste blood and his throat felt raw.

She was a dead-weight, but still so light.

His arm that was locked tightly around the girder was burning and he felt his hand slipping on the metal, his teeth gritting together, but he wouldn't let her go. He wouldn't let her fall.

Bracing his legs against the side of the tower, he started to pull her upwards, his other shoulder in as much pain as the first. Something had torn in his arm, but he didn't care as long as Summers was safe.

Staggering backwards, he fell hard to the floor of the level, Summers' body falling on top of him, hot warmth spilling over his hands as he struggled to sit up and turned her over, her shirt soaked with blood.

"Summers," he whispered urgently, his eyes burning at the sight of her nearly-grey face, gathering her against his chest. "Summers, dammit, don't you die on me... don't you even think about dying on me..."

She was so still...

Shaking her as hard as he dared to, he touched her pale throat, searching for a pulse, a frighteningly faint one fluttering beneath his fingertips like the feeble beating of a dying butterfly's wing.

"No. Summers. No." His eyes felt like they were burning fiercely. "Don't you dare, Summers. Don't you bloody dare." His hand, shaking, pulled her shirt up from her stomach and he pressed his hand against the wound hard, to stem to bubbling flow of blood. "Don't you dare!"

Groping desperately for his fallen wand, he dragged it over the ragged wound, again and again, his mind pulsing agonisingly with such focused effort on healing the wound.

Every spell he whispered was raw, breathless, blood striping her skin. Frustration was rife on his face, but still, he snarled the spells, as if his wand and not his useless, weakened mind were the cause.

Then, inexplicably, wonderfully, the wound seemed to shrink, closing beneath the gleaming tip of his wand.

Hazel eyes blinked weakly open, a rasping breath escaping her. "D-Dawnie..."

"No!"

In his thoughts for catching her, his attention had been ripped from the Slayer's younger sister, both of them looking towards the platform at the top of the tower, where Malfoy was standing before Dawn. A faint shimmer of a shield between them faded and he reached out, taking Dawn by the neck, her blood still streaming down into the portal beneath them.

Dawn was forced to look down at them then raised her eyes to Malfoy, a strange expression on her face. A sudden movement yanked the wand from his hand, hurling it over the ledge, and into the whirling maelstrom.

Malfoy cursed, striking out with his hand. She staggered, then said something to Malfoy, inaudible to Snape, which made Malfoy freeze, staring at her. The teenager's smile was so calmly collected it was as if she weren't standing on the lip of a portal into hell.

Malfoy grabbed her arms, shook her almost violently, shaking his head. The girl studied him then looked down at the portal beneath them. Whatever she said was enough to capture his attention and, in that moment, Dawn's blue eyes returned to Snape and Buffy.

Black eyes were captured briefly by blue ones.

Tell her it had to finish this way. She will understand.

Snape winced at the words ringing so clearly in his head, staring at the girl.

Then, turning and catching the front of Lucius Malfoy's robes, she launched herself backwards off the tower before Malfoy could pull away, her body weight apparently taking the wizard with her, his stolen wand preventing him from apparating to safety.

"DAWNIE!" Jerking in Snape's arms, Buffy's voice rose to a wild scream.

Snape felt like his heart had been crushed in his chest, his eyes wide in horror, as the teenager and the wizard fell out of sight, his arms tightening around Buffy, as she screamed out her sister's name.

He swallowed hard.

Once.

Twice.

She couldn't possibly survive.

No one could survive that.

"Summers..." He could barely find the words to speak, as the Slayer sagged against his chest, sobbing, shaking her head in denial. Tears were stinging and burning down his cheeks too. "Summers, I'm sorry."

In his arms, the Slayer slumped completely, safe in the hold of unconsciousness and Snape let tears of rage, despair and, yes, grief fall.

"I'm sorry, Summers," he whispered again, against her brow. "I'm sorry."