It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom -- Chapter Three

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Are you kidding me?

Warning: We've got the first hint of the reason for the M rating, here in this chapter. Reminder: this story is slash.

Previously, on It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom:

"I've never shhmelled anything sho . . . delishioushh."

"Mister Spike?" said Dumbledore.

"What the hell?" said Buffy.

"For crying out loud," sighed Angel.

"Er, hang on," said Harry, and then, "Eeep!" when Spike dove in for another hearty sniff.

Giles hid his face in his hands.

Ignoring the suddenly tight sensation in his stomach and points lower, Harry snarled at the vampire currently snuffling at his neck and hair. In a smooth motion borne of too many hours of physical training to count, he grabbed the man's forearm, twisted it firmly and spun the vamp around. He pressed his own chest to the man's back and casually put his mouth a hairsbreadth from the vamp's ear. In a whisper, he threatened, "Don't touch me like that again."

The vampire actually shivered. "Then can I--"

"And not in any other way either." Harry shut his eyes and ignored -- again -- the frisson of desire that made him want to run his hands over the hard, smooth chest of the vamp pressed against him. Instead, he firmly pushed the man away.

"Headmaster." Harry licked his lips and glanced at the platinum blond involuntarily. "What did you call me here for?" He hoped Dumbledore understood that he was not appreciative of the near mauling of his person. Well, not in any way except purely anatomically, of course. And certain elements of his anatomy would not listen to reason in any case. It had been long time since he had even been kissed, never mind . . .

"These fine people have come all the way from the United States," Dumbledore said, interrupting Harry's thoughts before he could tumble the nice vampire.

"Really?" Strange. By their accents, he would have thought they were from closer to home. "But it sounded like--"

"I wassh born in London," said the man who had accosted him. Then he seemed to realize that his fangs were impeding his speech, and the bumps on his face vanished, leaving him far more pleasant to look at . . . though Harry did not notice that, not at all.

"And I in Dublin," said a tall, broody type sitting on a settee next to a pretty blond woman. Harry frowned at the man's almost total lack of accent, till he added, "A long, long time ago."

"Oooh!" the blond girl said playfully. "Finally admitting your supreme, excruciating oldness?" The Dubliner shook his head at her, though fondly, and the girl grinned back. She seemed awfully perky, but then, she was sucking on one of Dumbledore's sweets. "Are we playing the Introduce Ourselves game now? I'm Buffy, and I'm a Slayer." She grinned again. "Your turn."

"Er . . . Slayer?" Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. The vampire who had been sniffing him had moved a couple feet away, but Harry wanted to keep an eye on his arse anyway. Er, not his arse! On all of him, because he was obviously dangerous!

With a quirked smile at another man, this one with glasses and sitting directly in front of Dumbledore's desk, she said, "Neat! Even the magicky people here don't know about Slayers. I could like this place, Giles."

"Just tell him, for goodness sakes," Giles said wearily. "And try not to take all night."

Buffy immediately sobered, cleared her throat and put a hand to her chest as if taking an oath. In a low, lecturing tone, reminiscent of prophecy making, she said, "Into every generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will have the strength and skills to hunt the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."

Harry's eyes opened wide, and a jolt of excitement went through him. He almost laughed, but recognized the impulse as rather hysterical and caught it just in time. She was the Chosen One? Then maybe she could face Voldemort! He could have a life! A life of his very, very own.

Buffy went on, however, before he could volunteer to show her to Old Snakeface -- tonight, if possible. "But then, one day, a Super Witch came along and clogged up the streamlining that'd been in effect for what, a billion generations? By activating more Slayers than you can shake a stake at, and thus giving this old girl a break from all the excitement." She grinned at the redhead sitting next to Giles. "Thanks, Will."

Harry was confused again. So, now there were a thousand Slayers? Cool! A thousand of them against one of Voldemort sounded like just the right odds.

Before he could ask, the redhead gave Harry a friendly smile and a tiny wave. "Hi, I'm Willow. Friendly neighborhood witch."

"Really?" Harry winced. He really needed to stop saying that, as if he doubted every word coming out of their mouths. "I mean, hi. I'm Harry. But, er, you probably know that." God, could he get any more lame? "I mean . . . Erm. Did you go to the Salem Witches Institute?" he asked, as it was the only such establishment he knew of in the States.

She shook her head. "No, we're from Sunnydale, in California. About as far from Massachusetts as you can get."

"Sunnydale?"

Willow grinned. "Yep."

"Where there are demons."

She nodded, her hazel eyes gleaming with mirth. "Bunches."

"And vampires. In Sunnydale."

"Irony is good for the blood."

Harry snickered. "Uh huh."

"It's not terribly sunny, actually," Willow continued. "Disposition-wise, at least. What with the Hellmouth and all."

Buffy nodded, after popping another sweet in her mouth. Harry was going to have to warn her off of those. "And home to -- once a year, on average, usually at the end of the school year -- some kind of apocalypse."

"Lots of apocalypses," Willow agreed. "Or is that apocalli?"

"Apocalyptions?"

"Apocalyptrixes?"

"Oh! Apollo syllabuses?"

"Children!" the man called Giles interrupted them with a growl that would have done Snape proud. "Honestly, could we continue here?" He turned to Harry and pushed his wire-framed glasses up on his nose. Harry smiled at the familiar action and accent. Seemed Giles was from closer to home, too. Was that Oxford? The man inclined his head. "I am Rupert Giles. I am -- or was, rather -- a Watcher." Harry wondered what -- or who -- he watched. "This is Angel," he said, gesturing to the man on the settee with Buffy, and who blinked at him. "And you've, um, well, you've met Spike."

His blond assailant. Spike, huh? An odd name for a vampire. Harry would have thought a vampire would avoid anything to do with sharp, pointy things, even with regard to his name. Harry resolutely did not look at said vampire. "So then . . . er . . . what are you here for?"

"Let me explain," said Spike.

"No!" Harry formed a cross from the index fingers of both hands and held them up, though he had no idea if a flesh cross would work. And no idea if he really wanted it to, or if he'd rather run his fingers through the vampire's hair . . . and where had that thought come from? "Stay away from me."

"Harry, please . . ." Spike appeared wounded by Harry's actions, but not as if he was on fire or anything. Then he shook his head and looked away. "Sorry, Harry. Honest, I'm sorry."

Harry startled slightly. It was fairly rare for anyone to apologize to him, even now, when he was under so much pressure to get rid of Voldemort. Perhaps especially now. "Don't," he whispered, unsure of whether he meant 'don't talk to me,' or 'don't apologize,' or maybe 'don't turn away.'

Spike's gaze came back up to meet his, but his eyes were narrowed, as if he knew just what Harry was thinking. Harry flushed, and hunched his shoulders. Spike drew a deep breath -- did vampires even need to breathe? -- and backed off a bit more.

Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his fingertips over his forehead as if smoothing away a headache. Harry could understand the sentiment. "We've invaded your school because of the existence of a Hellmouth in the vicinity."

"Hellmouth," Harry said, and looked at Willow. "You said that before. What is it?"

"Oooh!" Buffy interrupted, just as Willow was going to answer. "Apocalyptoids!"

The chirping of crickets was almost too loud to bear, as everyone stared at the young woman. Even Dumbledore took a break from lemon sherbet slurping to gawk.

"Sorry," Buffy waved a hand regally. "Go on. Hellmouths . . ."

"Yeah," Willow said slowly then started to pick up speed. "Hellmouths are places of increased supernatural activity, where the barriers between dimensions are often weak. There's usually a focal point, which serves as a portal between earth and at least one hell dimension, so every Hellmouth will attract demons and other supernaturals."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Weird stuff happens around it. A Hellmouth can spew out demons and uber vamps and such, or people who live near it can be drawn to acts of evil." She paused, expectantly, but when no one said anything, she elbowed the brunet beside her -- Angel -- in the ribs. "You missed your cue."

"I don't spout meaningless phrases on command," he snapped.

"Coulda fooled me," said Spike. "Mr. 'I can't sport a happy or I'll lose my soul.'"

"I can sport a happy all I . . ." Angel broke off and glowered, almost as impressively as Snape could have done. "Oh, for crying out loud. You're such a child."

Spike grinned, unrepentant, making Angel growl. "Your childe. Grandpa."

"Be nice," Harry told him, even as he processed what that meant -- that Angel was a vampire too!

Spike shot him a surprised look, which smoothed out as he lifted a pale eyebrow, in a way so reminiscent of Malfoy that Harry caught his breath. "If you plan to chastise me in public, love," the vampire said in a low, sexy voice, and though they were surrounded, Harry knew somehow that the words reached his ears alone, "you best be prepared to be a bit closer in private."

Something warm and catlike curled low inside him, and Harry smiled faintly. "Forward much?"

"Always, love."

The man's completely unapologetic . . . flirting caught Harry off guard again. And he found, in that moment, that he liked it. He pursed his lips, determined to get through this briefing if it killed him. "Tell me more about this Hellmouth." He frowned. "And the evil."

"Dun dun duh," Spike murmured.

Buffy bounced in her seat, apparently pleased. "Well, you've got some sort of demon--"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted for the first time. "He is human. Or was."

"Like a Vengeance Demon?" Angel asked.

Harry gave him a questioning look. Spike, in that precise moment, noticed Harry paying attention to the other vampire and moved closer . . . rather obtrusively. Harry mouthed, 'Jealous much?' to the blond, even as Giles started to explain. But Spike just smiled, showing teeth.

"There are humans who, for one reason or another, become both more and less human. Vampires, for instance," he continued, with a half-hearted glare at the two examples of such in the Headmaster's office. "Weres. And some demon forms that are at least partially voluntary."

"Voluntary demons?" Harry asked.

"As opposed to involuntary," Buffy supplied helpfully. But it wasn't very helpful.

"And you think Voldemort is one of these? A voluntary demon?"

"Is that what you call him? We've only seen it written as 'He Who Shall Not Be Named.'"

Harry frowned at him, but Giles had not flinched at the sound of the name, and seemed only curious now.

"There are many in our world who fear what they do not understand," said the Headmaster. "And they do not name what they fear, because they believe it gives the object of their fear more substance."

"But the opposite is true," Giles started, and the Headmaster nodded.

"Of course it is. Even among wizards, however, there are those who are misguided or misinformed."

Giles nodded. "Regardless, we're fairly certain that your Voldemort is responsible for opening, or holding open, a Hellmouth. It's somewhat south of here, in a town called Little Hangleton."

Harry stiffened . . . and not in a good 'there's a vampire I'd like to spend a little quality time with' kind of way. "That makes sense," he said quietly. "Unfortunately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That's where he -- Voldemort -- was brought back from the almost dead a few years ago. With a ritual."

Willow sat forward, a slight frown marring her face. "He used bones?"

"Of his father, yeah."

"A sacrifice?"

"Yeah. Of his servant's hand."

"And blood, too, right?"

Harry nodded, throat tight. "Right," he said, and did not offer the identity of the person whose blood had been used. His right hand, however, went instinctively to cover the long scar in the crook of his left arm. He frowned at Willow. "So . . . have you resurrected a Dark Lord recently?"

Willow bit her lip, eyes cast down, then she sighed and shook her head. "I've been foolish, though, in the past," she admitted. She glanced at Buffy, who gazed back her and nodded after a moment. "But then, sometimes it's been worth it."

Harry stared, putting two and two together and coming up with the resurrection of a Slayer. Dark magic, for sure, but what about her activation of a thousand Slayers, to fight evil? Did that balance the scale? Overwhelmed, he could only babble. "You . . . she . . . ?"

Giles huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Willow has more power than is strictly--"

"Average?" suggested Buffy.

"Safe?" asked Angel.

"Legal?" offered Spike.

"Good for me," said Willow, still looking chagrined. "I know."

Buffy rose from her seat and went over to the redhead. She flicked Willow on the side of the head with her index finger, bringing Willow's attention away from her trainers. "Don't get all worry warty, Will. You can control it now." She smiled. "Besides. I'm glad to be back. You know, now. Just took a while to get used to."

Willow gazed up at Buffy, and it was obvious from the regard that flowed between them that they had been friends a very long time, and would be, probably forever. He wished, sometimes, that he could be that close to anyone, without worrying that they would be a target, or worse, a hostage to his behavior. He cared for Hermione and Ron a great deal, but he could never let them get that close.

A little embarrassed by their display of open affection, Harry shifted his weight from leg to leg and stared at the carpeted floor. When he felt a hand on his arm, he jumped, though not as much as he might have only an hour ago. The hand was cool against his skin, but not as cold as Harry would have expected, for someone who was undead. Then a thumb traced gently over one of his Quidditch scars. The kind attention was nearly Harry's undoing, not used to being treated like that. His throat felt tight, and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere with Spike . . .

What was happening to him? Was he in thrall or something? He glanced up at Spike through his fringe, wondering what in the world was going on ad why he felt this way.

"Later, for you," Spike whispered with a little smile. "I promise." Louder, he said, "It's late. We can continue this in the morning, right? After a decent breakfast, packed with essential vitamins and minerals."

"Quite right," said Giles. He glanced around at his comrades, who were still damp from the light Scottish rain, and all looked fairly shattered.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Let me have someone show you to your rooms. You'll be on the fourth floor, in the guest rooms nearest the library."

"Oooh, a library, Giles!" Buffy actually cooed. "You'll be right at home."

"Hush, you insolent child."

Rather than be put off by Giles' dismissal, Buffy beamed at him, and Harry shook his head, confused by their relationship.

"Don't worry on it, love," Spike murmured, then winked at him. "They've been like that forever."

"Thank you," said Giles to the Headmaster as he stood. "We appreciate your hospitality."

"And we'd really appreciate some spicy buffalo wings and a pitcher of margaritas," Spike grumbled under his breath.

Harry came dangerously close to snorting again.

"You are most welcome." Dumbledore then smiled benevolently at Harry. "Thank you for joining us, dear boy. You may return to your dorm, unless you have any questions that cannot wait?"

"No . . ." Against his will, Harry's gaze once more went to the blond vampire, who had just removed his steadying hand from Harry's arm. He missed that sense of connectedness already. But there was no way in hell he was going to say so.

Spike smirked anyway. "You sure, love? No questions?"

"No!" He bit his lip. "Nothing."

"Of course not." The vampire's smile deepened. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I . . ." Harry darted a look at the Headmaster, who smiled back over the half-moon frames of his glasses.

"Good night, Harry."

"G'night, sir." He hesitated at the door. "Er, it was nice to meet you all." He made a hasty escape after that, and when he reached his dormitory, he closed his bed curtains and secured them tightly. But he could not fall asleep till he'd 'worked off some stress,' after making sure to put up a silencing charm. Wouldn't do for Ron to hear him come, moaning, "Spike . . . Oh, yeah! Spike . . ."

Nope. Wouldn't do at all.

TBC . . .

Author's Note: