When Harry Met Buffy

Notes: Let me say for the record that I dislike Buffy and Harry as characters, so, by rights, I should despise this story, but - dammit - I like it! *scrubs herself with acid* I feel so dirty! And, herein, we have Xander's scepticism, Willow's lingering dark side, Buffy and Harry's secrets and Dawn's recognition.

Also, I've changed the end of S6 - no soul for Spikeypoos. That's just boring. He's just a mean, bad vampire in my world :)

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"So you're Harry, huh?"

"Xander, be nice."

With Buffy standing beside him, also flanked by Willow and Dawn, Harry gave the dark-haired younger man a careful smile.

"Um, yes," he replied cautiously, remembering what Buffy had told him about how protective Xander was of his friends, especially Buffy. Extending a hand, he hoped he didn't sound like a terrified teenager, about to ask a possessive father for permission to date his daughter. "I've heard a lot about you."

Xander's dark eyes scanned over him, as if taking measure of him, and he shook Harry's hand. His tanned skin was rough and callused, speaking of hard work and lots of it. His fingers briefly gripped Harry's in silent warning with enough force to make Harry wince. "Nice to meet you."

"Insincere much?" Dawn snickered from behind Harry, who couldn't help smiling a little. The dark-haired teenager was cheeky, mouthy and looked like she would be good fun to have around.

She had insisted on hugging him after Buffy, although Willow, the red-haired girl had hung back, gazing at him. Like Buffy, there was such pain and sadness in her eyes that he wondered if there was something...wrong with the town they lived in.

Even Xander, despite his casual appearance, had eyes that looked like they had seen Hell and beyond.

"Dawnie," Buffy reprimanded.

"So, how long are you staying, Harry?" Xander ignored the girls, his eyes holding Harry's green ones.

Harry shifted slightly, shuffling his feet. He really felt like he was being measured up by a protective father and it was rather unnerving, especially since Xander was almost a year younger than him.

"Just a-a few days, I suppose."

The younger man studied him for a moment longer, then jerked his head in the direction of the swarming car park. "Let's get outta here," he suggested. "It's already crazy out there."

Without waiting for an answer, he set off, the group following. Harry dubiously looked down at Buffy, who gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," she said to him. "He's always like that."

"Yeah," Dawn added, grinning widely up at him. "Especially when Buffy l..." Her sister's hand clapped across Dawn's mouth, the girl looking offended. She continued to mumble behind Buffy's hand, Buffy flashing a glare at her.

"When Buffy what?" Harry inquired, looking down at her.

"Nothing," Buffy muttered under her breath, looking at her boots, her face flushing crimson. "C'mon. We better catch up with Xander."

Harry's eyebrows ascended towards his hairline as Buffy, dragging Dawn after her and apparently lecturing her younger sister, hurried after Xander, leaving Harry to walk with Willow.

He knew Willow was a wicca, which was some kind of 'natural' witch, who followed some kind of...a religion, if he understood right, but he didn't know what it meant or how it viewed magic.

"So..."

"So..."

Walking side-by-side with the red-haired girl, he glanced down at her, to find her looking up at him. "Who are you?" she asked, before he could look away, her moss-green eyes boring into his.

"I-I...what do you mean?"

Willow was staring up at him now, not just looking. Staring. Her eyes seemed to be burning in her pale face. "Who are you?" she repeated, never taking her eyes from his, her expression deadly serious. "What do you want with her?"

"I-I-I'm her friend," he replied uncomfortably. All right, Buffy had mentioned that her friends were protective of her, but this was starting to be a little...frightening. "I-I don't know what you mean, if you don't mean that."

One side of her mouth lifted slightly. "Good answer," she remarked. "Now, let me ask you something, Harry. Did she tell you what I am? Did she tell you how powerful I can be?"

Harry shook his head, unable to reply. A thrill of fear rippled down his spine, the hairs on his forearms rising. There was something in her voice, an edge it hadn't had when he greeted her, a diamond-hard core.

"Buffy's my family," Willow said, her voice low and steady. "You hurt her and I will hurt you. I don't care what happens to me anymore. Nothing worse could happen, but you do anything, anything, to hurt her and you will suffer."

Harry's mouth felt bone-dry.

When he had looked at the diminutive red head for the first time, he had thought she could have passed for a Weasley, with flaming hair, creamy-white skin and a shy, sad smile, but now...

Now, he knew without question that the woman in front of him could do exactly what she threatened and make it very, very painful. He could feel the power rippling from her in waves.

"I would never hurt her, Willow," he said, hoping he didn't look as terrified as he was feeling.

He had fought against dark witches and wizards since he had started school. He had faced down his imperius-controlled friends. He had even been the one to battle Lord Voldemort, face-to-face, albeit only because he was forced into it.

And yet...

He was almost positive that he had never felt as terrified as he did in the presence of this small, dainty, red-haired girl who looked like she would be blown over with the slightest breath of wind.

A smile crossed Willow's lips and the intimidating force that had been crushing in on him seemed to vanish instantly and he staggered slightly. "That's all I wanted to hear," she said, looping an arm through his. "Now, let's get to the car."

He was still too stunned to think about forming a verbal response.

***

"So you're English, huh?"

Sitting on the soft, squishy tan-coloured couch in the large, comfortable living room of the house that Buffy and her friends shared, Harry smiled up at Dawn. "Apparently, yes," he answered. "Is that a bad thing? Xander certainly appears to think so."

"Nah," Dawn was sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. "Xander doesn't trust you, because there was some weird deal at High School where Willow met a freakoid online and he almost killed her." She gave him a winning smile. "He hates you cos you might be a homicidal maniac, not because you're English."

"That's reassuring," he chuckled, leaning back.

Buffy had just run up to the bathroom, leaving Dawn and Harry alone in the living room. Willow had departed to go to her classes, saying she couldn't afford to miss any, while Xander had left to go back to work.

"Can I ask you something?"

Dawn shrugged. "Sure."

"Why...I mean..." Raising a hand, he scratched his head, his face contorted as he tried to find a way to phrase the question. "Everyone here...they all seem to have a sadness in them...in their eyes. Is this...is it so bad here?"

Dawns face tightened. "I-I guess Buffy didn't tell you what happened to Tara...and to Anya as well..."

"I-I heard that Tara had died and that Xander and Anya had a very bad break-up last year," Harry said awkwardly. "But I didn't want to upset Buffy by asking for details. I assume it was awfully bad?"

"Yeah. Xander loved Anya too much and thought he was doing the best for her when he left her. He still loves her. And Tara..." Dawn's dark blue eyes misted over sadly and she sighed. "Tara was the coolest," she said. "She...she got shot. Right in front of Willow..." Harry's felt the blood draining from his face. "Will...she went crazy for a while after it...but she's okay now."

"She's a very powerful young woman," Harry murmured to himself, swinging his bootless feet up onto the couch and leaning against the arm, staring up at the ceiling, one hand behind his head. "Very powerful."

"Omigod..."

Dawn's voice had sunk to a whisper.

"Omigod..."

Tilting his head, Harry looked at her. "What?"

"You're him!"

"Pardon?"

"You! You're him!"

"Him who?"

She pointed at his forehead, where his hair had fallen back from the scar, leaving it visible for all to see. "You're Harry Potter!"

Closing his eyes, in irritation, Harry smothered a groan. "Not again," he whispered, shaking his head. "Why did that bloody woman have to write those bloody books? She didn't have a clue..."

"Huh?"

Slowly sitting up, Harry turned back to face the teenager, who was staring at him in confusion. "What do you know about Harry Potter?" he asked her, combing his fringe back down over his scar with his fingers.

"That he's a wicked cool wizard and the books are way cool!"

Harry studied her. "And you think I'm Harry?"

"Look at you!" she exclaimed excitedly, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You have the messy hair and the green eyes and the scar and everything!"

"All right," He hoped he could depend on the fickleness of teenage logic to never believe anything that they were told honestly. "I really am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the saviour of the world."

"I knew it!"

Apparently, this one was no normal teenager.

Bugger.

Leaning forward on his knees, he exhaled a long, whistling breath. "Look, Dawn, I need you to do something for me, right?" She nodded, wide-eyed. "Don't mention who I am to Buffy. She hasn't read the books has she?"

"Nuh-uh," Dawn answered, shaking her head. "She thinks they're dumb."

"Good," he sighed. "That's something at least."

"You don't like 'em?"

Leaning back against the couch, Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes pressed closed. "I would cheerfully see all of them burned if I had my own way," he answered honestly.

"Oh!" Dawn said. "You can do that in some of the other States! They say they're the work of the Devil!"

"Worse," Harry muttered. "Rita Skeeter."

"Rita Skeeter...?"

"She wanted a big seller, so she fictionalised my life," he replied, scowling at the ceiling as if he could see Rita's smarmy, smiling face leering down on him. "Muggles got hold of them and now, everyone thinks they know me because of it."

Dawn looked puzzled. "She fictionalised you?"

"You honestly think that everything in those books happened that way?" His green eyes clouded. "They made me look like a rebellious hero. They made me look so very brave, facing the Dark Lord on my own."

"You didn't face Voldemort?"

"Oh, I did," he replied hollowly, staring blindly in front of him. "Not by any choice of my own. I had to stand by and watch my friends almost get killed by him. I saw friends dying in front of me. I didn't cry in the books. Not once. I couldn't. I wasn't allowed to. Not...heroic enough. Nothing I did was heroic enough. Not for them. Not for her."

"Wha...?"

Green eyes flashed with pain. "I was an eleven year old boy, Dawn. I wasn't brave, or noble or heroic or clever or anything like that. I was just a kid with a scar on my head," He didn't know why he was telling her, but there was something different about the girl. "I didn't even know how I got it. All I knew was that I was different because of it and that everyone thought I was some kind of demi-God. All because of one damned scar. I was expected to save the world all because of a line on my head."

Dawn was staring at him in a strange way. One hand touched the left side of her torso, and she carefully asked. "I...things were that bad?"

"Yes."

It was said so flatly, so dulled of emotion that he was unsurprised that Dawn didn't push further.

"I've got scars too," she said. It was blunt, but said so hopefully, he had to smile at the fact she was making an effort. She yanked the hem of her shirt up, revealing several thin, whitish lines across her pale skin.

They cut down, in diagonals, matching the gaps between her lowest ribs and Harry stared at them. "How on earth did you get scars there? And that pattern..."

"Dawnie! Don't bug Harry!" Both of them turned to the stairs, where Buffy was, smoothing a flattering lilac shirt down over a pair of cream-colour trousers. She gave Harry a smile. "Sorry about her. I did warn you."

Harry returned the smile. "Don't worry," he said, "We were just talking about what Dawn likes to read and comparing scars."

"Don't tell me she started going on about those Larry Plotter books again," Buffy groaned and Harry actually had to forcibly smother a laugh, which snuck out as a vehement snort. "Dawn, can you please go and...I don't know...just do something that isn't here."

"But I wanna..."

"Dawn," Harry interrupted with a tired chuckle. "We can talk more later, okay? Don't want your sister getting annoyed with us, do we?" Dawn beamed at him and skipped off.

Buffy watched her go. She looked surprised and pleased. "How...?"

"Sheer talent?" he offered in response, eyes twinkling, shifting his rucksack off the couch. Buffy eased passed him, her knee brushing against his and he felt his stomach do what felt like a backflip.

"I'll have to learn your trick," she said, as she sat down beside him on the couch, pulling one foot up, underneath her body. It always fascinated him how women could do that so easily, when it always hurt like hell when he did it.

Shifting to face her, he raised his left arm to prop it on the back of the couch, his left temple resting against his fist. His green eyes drank in the form of the girl in front of him, the girl he had talked to about almost everything except just who he was.

She was looking down at her slender hands, which were folded demurely in her lap, her honey-blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.

"I-I...did..." she started to say, then trailed off. A soft laugh escaped her and she looked up, her hazel eyes greeting his timidly. "I never thought I would have nothing to say to you," she said quietly.

"I know the feeling," he replied, his voice equally low, raising his right hand to brush a loose strand of her hair back from her pale face. A flattering pink rose in her cheeks and she averted her eyes again.

There was a long silence only broken by Dawn clattering about in her bedroom above them.

"You..."

"It..."

Both of them laughed as they spoke as one.

"You first," Buffy offered, smiling. "You're the guest."

Harry nodded, before replying. "I just wanted to say it was very kind of you to invite me to visit you," he said earnestly. "Its so good to finally get a chance to put a face to the name."

"I was going to say the same thing," she said, then grinned slightly. "Not the whole inviting thing for me, because that would just be kinda dumb, seeing as I'm here and all, already."

"Just a little," Harry agreed, his eyes twinkling.

"Hey!" She smacked him on the arm. "And that reminds me..." A speculative gleam flashed in her eyes. "I owe you a slap upside the head," she said, lunging at him, one hand extended with the intention of thwapping him on the head.

"Help! There's a mad girl throwing herself at me! Help!" He couldn't help laughing as he caught her extended hands and they started wrestling against each other, her hand futilely slapping at empty air.

"I wanna slap you upside the head!" Buffy cried out indignantly, squirming and jerking her other wrist free. "I promised I would!"

"Over my dead body!"

"You wanna play it that way, huh?"

Harry released a thoroughly pitiful yelp of surprise as she tangled a leg around his and yanked, both of them plummeting off the couch.

He fell first, landing flat on his back between the coffee table and the front of the sofa. Buffy landed on top of him, her body pinning his down and she reached up, triumphantly cuffing him across the head, leaving his hair more mussed than usual.

"Got ya," she smirked down at him.

Harry blinked.

A very warm, very soft, very pretty young woman with the most captivating hazel eyes, pouty pink lips and cutest-shaped nose he had ever seen was sprawled on top of his body, her left knee between his upraised ones, her right leg pressing against his left side. Her right hand was bracing her, on the floor beside his head, her left resting on his right shoulder.

He blinked again.

Somewhere along the line, he was positive his brains had turned to tapioca.

Hazel stared into emerald.

Buffy blinked.

Harry blinked back.

Buffy matched the blink and raised it one.

Had Harry been capable of moving anything other than his eyelids at this point, he knew he would have been running around in a panic.

There had never been anything in the books that he had read about what to do if a stunning young woman falls on you and starts blinking at you.

It had covered what to do in the event of torrential flooding on a first date, in case of an ex showing up and trying to break the date up, heck, even what to do if there was a plague of migrating coconuts, but nothing on the subject of delicious, blinking girls...

The tip of his tongue came out and moistened lips that were feeling very, very dry.

He saw Buffy's throat shift, as if she were swallowing hard, her hand on his shoulder pressing a little harder than it has a moment before and she moved slightly.

Harry went cross-eyed and Buffy looked down their bodies, suddenly made very aware of what the front of her left thigh was rubbing again, the charming blush flooding her cheeks right to the roots of her hair.

"Harry..." she whispered, looking back at him.

He knew he was staring blankly at her, incapable of forming coherent thoughts let alone words of any kind. He saw the tip of her tongue stroke along her lips and uttered a feeble groan.

It seemed like an eternity passed, both of them just staring at one another.

"Buffy," he managed to breathe.

He didn't know if it was just him, hoped it wasn't, but it felt like their eyes were locked together and slowly, inexorably slowly, her face started to descend towards his, her tongue moistening her lips nervously.

Her breath was warm and sweet on his face and it smelt of peppermint, while he knew he probably still stank of the Tacos, which Dawn insisted he try on the way back from the airport.

A moment before his own eyes closed, he saw hers flutter shut, her lips barely a breath away from his. His heart was thundering against his ribs and he felt his breath catch in his throat with anticipation.

"Buffy!"

Harry's eyes snapped open, Buffy already pulling back from him and scrambling to her feet, turning to the scarlet-faced Dawn, who was standing on the stairs, looking utterly mortified that she had interrupted something.

Perfect bloody timing, Harry's mental voice screamed.

Had she not looked so stunned and totally embarrassed, Harry knew that he would have happily hurled a pillow - followed by several harder and heavier items - at the teenager's head.

"Omigod! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were...I...um..."

Buffy smoothed down her shirt. Sitting up behind her, he could still see the reddish glow of her cheeks. "We weren't doing anything," she said hastily. "What were you yelling about, Dawnie?"

"Uh...Willow...she just phoned from school..." Blue eyes darted to Harry, who was getting to his feet, straightening his rather rumpled T-shirt. "There's something you gotta take care of. Alone."

"Okay," Buffy sighed. "Harry, do..." Turning to face him, her words trailed off as the blush rapidly returned to her cheeks. "Um...do-do you mind staying here with Dawnie for a while?"

"Anything is fine by me," he answered, raising a hand to lift a stray lock of hair back onto the right side of her parting. Her eyes followed his hand's every move and she looked back at him as soon as he lowered it. "You take care, all right?"

She gave him an odd, lop-sided smile. "I always do," she answered. Rising on her toes, she touched a kiss to his cheek, then hurried across the floor to the hall, one finger pointing at her sister. "You behave."

"Yes, oh Queen of the Universe," Dawn replied, receiving a half-glare from her sister, before the blonde darted out of the house and Dawn turned, grinning, to Harry, who was touching his cheek. "You got it bad?"

"What?"

The teenager grinned. "You and Buffy."

"Er..."

Leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest, Dawn gave him a knowing grin. "If I hadn't come in, you two would have been making with the smoochies."

Harry felt the heat prickling in his face and wondered just how red he had gone. "I-I don't know what you mean..."

"Sure you do, Harry ...lip-on-lip action," Hopping down from the stairs, Dawn came into the room, giving him a grin. "I always thought that you and her would kinda get along, y'know..."

"Pardon?" He was having a little trouble focussing on what she was saying. One, he was feeling very warm in the face area. Two, his trousers were feeling rather tight in a certain area. Three...

By God, he wished he had kissed her.

"You and Buffy. I mean, even if the books are wrong, you and her are both all tragic and silent-heroic and stuff and," There was an impish glint in her blue eyes. "If you wanna cool down, there's ice in the refrigerator."

Was he really that obvious?

"Er..." Running a hand through his mussed hair, he frowned at her words. "What did you mean Buffy and I are both tragic and heroic? I certainly haven't done anything heroic. Stupid, yes, but not heroic."

"Oh!" Dawn's eyes went wide. "OH!"

"Meaning?"

"Um...do...do you wanna have something to eat?"

"Are you trying to distract me, Dawn?"

Dawn shook her head. "No! Big no! Definitely not! I'm just...um...saying...maybe you might be hungry or something..." She gave him an encouraging grin that was tinged with a kind of wary hope.

"What are you trying not to tell me?"

"Nothing! Nope! Nothing at all!"

Raising his eyebrows, Harry covered a smile. If Buffy had something that even her sister was hiding, he supposed he could wait until she told him, but meanwhile, her sister was a fan of his unofficial and sensationalised biography...

"So, Dawn," he said. "Is there anything you'd want to talk about, since you're not hiding anything from me?"

Blue eyes lit up like a tree on Christmas day.

"I can ask you stuff?"

"Anything you like."

"Oooh!"

Harry couldn't help chuckling. She was such a sweet kid. And it would definitely pass the time until Buffy got back. "There's only one thing, though," she stared at him suspiciously. "You answer my questions when I answer yours."

"Hey! No fair!"

"Does that mean you won't answer my questions?"

Dawn's face twisted as if she were struggling to come to a decision. "I...I don't know if I'm the right person to tell you stuff, but!" she exclaimed, raising a hand. "I do know some stuff I can tell you!"

"I suppose that's a start, then," he eased around the coffee table and walked towards her, nodding towards the kitchen. "Now, what was that you were saying about food of some kind?"

***

Lying on his side on the couch, Harry's eyes and ears were both open.

Night had come to Sunnydale and he had spent a very bizarre evening playing board games and watching films with the Summers women and Willow, who all seemed at a bit of a loss for things to do with him.

He could imagine one thing he would like to have been doing with Buffy, but - his cheeks reddened at the thought - she had been as bashful around him as he had been around her, when she had come back from the school.

Xander had arrived back a little later than Buffy and Willow, given Harry another warning look, then ate and disappeared into the basement. Apparently, he was working the next morning.

Now, it was nearly midnight, it was pitch-dark outside and Harry was sure he could hear someone moving around quietly upstairs.

After all, when you have been the main target of a psychotic Dark Wizard for nearly your whole life, one would hope that you learned to listen for danger.

Harry had learned that lesson and judging by what he was hearing, it was Buffy that was on the move. She was going through drawers and cupboards, apparently trying to be as quiet as possible, but he still could tell it was her.

Why, he had no idea.

After all, he had bumped into her on his way into the bathroom a couple of hours earlier and she had been wearing her pyjamas and looking painfully cute, her hair in bunches on either side of her head.

Footsteps sounded on the landing and he closed his eyes, as he heard someone coming down the staircase. Whoever it was approached the couch and leaned over him, a scent of jasmine reaching him.

Buffy.

He felt a gentle hand stroke his dark hair back from his brow, then heard her walk away, the door opening and closing with a click.

What on earth...?

Where was she going at this time of night?

Didn't she know it was dangerous?

Swinging his legs out from under the blankets, he grabbed his trousers that were slung over the back of the couch and hauled them on, grabbing a jumper as he pushed his feet into his shoes.

A hand dug into his rucksack and he found his wand.

He wasn't about to let his little Summersby get herself hurt out there on the streets in the middle of the night.

Easing out of the front door, he glanced around and spotted the petite, receding figure of the blonde walking purposefully and rapidly down the street, apparently unaware that he was behind her.

Walking after her, sticking to the stretching shadows, he couldn't help shuddering with unease. There was something very much...not right about the town, something dark and chilling that he hadn't noticed when the sun was shining, on his arrival.

It reminded him, unnervingly, of several things: deep in the underbelly of Hogwarts, when he had faced Quirrel and Lord Voldemort, shaking and terrified; even deeper than the underbelly, when he had faced Tom Riddle, feeling certain he was going to die; the resurrection of the Dark Lord...

Evil.

That's what it reminded him of.

The whole town was thick with it, the scent of it. He couldn't say how he recognised the scent of evil, perhaps it was through familiarity, but something told him that this wasn't a good town to live in.

It felt like everything around him was held in the cloying grip of a giant hand and it was crushing in on the town, squeezing the goodness out of the place, the underlying malevolence taking his breath away.

Hurrying after Buffy, he wondered again just what she thought she was doing, going out at night in a place that felt as bad as this one. Even if she was just a muggle, how could she ignore the innate badness of the place?

Unless...

The thought jarred under his breastbone.

Followed by another.

Yes, she might have a boyfriend that she didn't want him to know about, he thought despairingly, but - more importantly, his D.A.D.A. knowledge screamed - she might be a Dark Sider and might have recognised him.

Even as he thought it, he snorted at the very idea.

Of course she didn't have a boyfriend! She would have told him!

Um...

What he meant to think was Buffy was definitely no more a Dark Side Witch than he was Lord Voldemort.

He saw the flare of Buffy's coat ahead of him, as she turned through a gateway and broke into a run to catch up with her, stopping short at the sight of the place she had entered, his mouth falling open.

With grey stone walls that gleamed in the light of the half-moon, large, rectangular objects and statues peered through the wrought metal of the gates, also washed in pale bluish moonlight.

Summersby had just gone into a graveyard.

***

Ducking under a kick, Buffy lashed out with her right leg, catching the newly raised vampire in the gut, whipping around and using her momentum to stab her stake into the demon's chest.

A spray of dust exploded outwards and she stepped back, brushing herself down.

She seriously needed to distract herself from the hottie whom she had left asleep on the couch in the living room. He hadn't put her off her game, but still, she was thinking about him a bit too much.

The picture had been cute.

Harry, in person, was even cuter.

And sweet!

He had brought a huge box of British chocolates for Dawn, who had squealed and insisted on hugging him several times in rapid succession. Willow had received a beautiful book of magical lore and Xander - despite feigning disinterest - had loved the whole set of snowdomes.

Buffy's free hand rose to the delicate gold necklace that hung around her neck, briefly wondering if he had known how appropriate his gift for her had been, when he had bought it for her.

It was a small Celtic cross, which had her name incorporated into the design and she loved it already.

Yes, when he had first arrived, Angel - too - had given her a cross, but at least Harry didn't lurk in shadows and she had seen him in daylight, which would get her out of her unfortunate tendency for being involved with the undead.

He just seemed so...dishevelled. It wasn't a bad thing. Angel had always been super-neat with his hair and his clothes, but Harry...he looked comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair sticking out in every direction.

She also imagined he would look H.O.T. in a tux.

He had such a yummy accent, nowhere near as stuffy as Wesley's but not casual as Spike's had been.

"Well, well, what have we here..."

Whipping around, Buffy stared at the man standing there in shock. She was so sure that he was gone, never to be seen again. "S-Spike?" she took a cautious step back, the crazed grin on the vampire's face making her uneasy.

"Yeah, luv," he murmured in reply, leaning against the side of the mausoleum she had been walking passed. His vampiric face was visible, his gold eyes fixed on her. "I thought I'd come and pay you a visit, since we parted on such bad terms last time."

"Bad terms?" Drawing herself up, her eyes narrowed at him. "Spike, you attacked me! You tried to...to..."

"Yeah, I did," He was smirking again, that odd, unnerving smirk. Buffy's fingers tightened around Mister Pointy. "What of it? I'm a vampire, luv. I'm not meant to be all hugs and kisses and cuddles in the night."

"What do you want, Spike?"

"You, luv," He straightened up, unfolding his arms. The smile had vanished and he was staring at her with a wild, dangerous hunger she remembered in him from years before, when he had still been unchipped. "Just you."

Apparently that was a cue.

Several other vampires, all grinning widely, emerged from the brush around them, surrounding the Slayer, who shifted uneasily, counting rapidly around the circle. So there were ten of them...right...

She'd dealt with worse odds than that before and as long as they didn't all...

"No holding back," Spike ordered lazily. "Go in together. Don't give her a break."

"Crap!" Buffy yelped aloud, as they all charged her.

She felt kicks, punches, teeth grazing her, but nothing too serious. She'd definitely had a lot worse than that. Yes, she was out-numbered, but most of them seemed to be fairly young and unskilled.

One erupted in a cloud of dust and she used two more as leverage to jerk her legs up and kick one in the face, sending him flying. One hand jerking one of the vampire's arms around, she used him as a shield and lashed out behind with her other leg.

Another vampire exploded behind her and she thanked her lucky stars for Xander's stroke of genius: he had attached long, thin staked to the heels of her boots and if she got the angle just right, they worked as well as a hand-held one.

Her shoulder cracked as she was tackled from behind, crashing to the ground with a yell of pain, swinging her legs around in a straddle-kick that took both her opponent's legs out from under him, while wrestling against another one's arms.

Beyond her line of sight, she heard someone shout, then two of the vampires at the edge of her group seemed to notice something.

"Get him!" one of them yelled and Buffy groaned.

Not another innocent Samaritan getting caught up in the mess that was her life.

She could hear the sound of fighting a short distance away, but jerked her attention back to the quartet that she was still battling, yanking a short blade from a sheath on her back, her other hand wielding her stake.

Spike was laughing.

He hadn't moved from his spot.

"This is high quality entertainment, Buffy," he chuckled, lighting up a cigarette. "I get to see you have your arse beaten into submission for me, then make you watch while I eat the poor sap those two are beating the crap out of."

"Not if I can help it!" she snarled.

Spike smirked. "You can't," he said dryly. "Poor twit's gonna wish he'd never tried to help you and your little damsel in distress act."

"Vampirus exhime!"

The shout was in a masculine voice and a surge of dazzling, reddish light flashed from beyond the stones that were obscuring Buffy's line of sight, making all the vampires look around.

Taking her chance, she managed to catch one of them with her stake and lopped off another's head before they even had a chance to realise what was going on, the other two leaping away wisely as Buffy came to her feet.

Even Spike was staring in stunned horror.

Apparently, the 'poor twit' wasn't about to regret anything.

The other two vampires which had left her to attack him lay in dust at his feet and Buffy's eyes went wide in astonishment.

"Harry!"

Green eyes snapped to her face and he went white. "Buffy!"

She looked at his right hand, which was gripping a long, thin wooden stick, while he stared at the small sword and the stake in her hands. Both of them hastily hid their hands behind their backs at the same time, despite the fact that it was blatantly obvious that the other had seen.

As one, they demanded: "What are you doing here?"