Author's Note: With this chapter, I've archived more than 1,000,000 words of fanfiction on this site. I want to thank all of my readers who have followed me for years, both as xanzpet and as gleefulmusings. Your support has meant so much and touched me deeply. If I've managed to bring you any modicum of enjoyment with my writing, that's a definite win. Again, sincerest thanks, and here's to another 1,000,000 words!

What kind of hospital was this?

Cordelia sat atop her bed for a full two minutes, absently jiggling a leg and waiting for some White Coat to rush in and exclaim over her miraculous return from Comaville.

So where were they?

Amateurs.

She wondered what to do first. She had a general plan, but it required significant fleshing out before she could put it to action and she was guessing she didn't have that much time.

She shook her head angrily.

There was too much; this was all just too much. How was she supposed to handle it?

It was one thing to work with Angel and boss him around, but Harry needed a lot of help - frankly more than she thought herself capable of providing. How could Doyle, the Powers, or anyone else think she had the ability to go up against someone like Dumbledore and win?

But Dumbledore was such an ass. And, seriously, what was with that name?

She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe, to think. She could do this.

She would do this.

But why her?

Okay, there were the visions. Doyle had told her that they would shift focus from Angel to Harry. That made sense, as Harry was in perpetual danger. Dumbledore knew she was the Seer but doubted he understood just what that entailed. That was a point in her favor which she could exploit, and she totally wood.

Next.

Gaining Harry's trust.

That was going to be significantly more challenging. From what she had gleaned, she believed Harry all too trusting of people in positions of authority. This was completely antithetical to her, because, given how he had been raised, she would have expected him to eschew and defy authority just for the sake of it. He had a lot of respect for McGonagall, with which Cordelia was mostly okay, but his near reverence for Dumbledore was concerning.

Putting someone on such a pedestal all but guaranteed they would fall - and greatly - from it.

Her position at the school would guarantee her similar stature, but Harry was becoming more suspicious, more guarded. That was good, though, and she didn't want to discourage that. In fact, she wanted to nurture it and point in the directions where it would do the most good, but it would make any connection between them tenuous. She was too new, too unfamiliar for him to trust her simply because Professor would soon preface her surname. And what a trip that would be.

Her only real option was to be frank with him and then gauge his reactions to see how much she should reveal and when. She preferred being honest whenever possible. She had the sense that Harry had a good idea when people lied to him, so she was hoping he would hear the sincerity of her words.

Ron and Hermione were going to be real problems, the latter especially. She wasn't yet sure how to deal with them, so she'd think about it later.

What else?

The other teachers.

She smirked.

Oh, but that was going to be fun.

Narcissa could prove to be a real pain in her culo, but Cordelia knew most of the cards the lady was holding and could neutralize her if necessary. Although the Lady Malfoy could prove very useful...at least until Cordelia ferreted out that damn secret Narcissa was clinging to like a fashion victim to parachute pants.

"Huh. I'll have to think some more about that one."

She stood up and rolled her neck, inadvertently looking down at her hospital gown.

"I've been dressed in synthetic fibers against my will," she noted with disbelief.

Someone was going to pay.

But first, she had to save the world.

Again.

Sighing and greatly aggrieved, she threw her legs over the bed and rose to her feet, annoyed by the feel of cold linoleum beneath her. How cheap. And who knew how many layers of baby vomit and other bodily fluids she'd rather not posit lay encrusted in the grout? Gross!

She harrumphed and stomped over toward something which she guessed qualified as a closet. If you were in the Third World.

Her clothes had better be in there and they in the same shape they had been when removed from her perfect body. She threw open the wardrobe door and peered inside.

Where the hell were her clothes!

She doubted some thoughtful candy striper had gone that extra mile to have them pressed. There wasn't even a claim ticket! She would have to look into pursuing legal action.

At last, a case Lindsey could win.

"Cordelia?"

She turned and smiled brightly at Wesley, who by then was staring stupidly at the floor, watching as his spilled coffee ran across it. "Hey! Where are my clothes?"

"I…"

"Wes? Clothes?" She plucked at her hospital gown. "This is not the fashion statement I want to make."

"Er," he sputtered, scrambling to recover, "I believe Angel took them to have them cleaned."

"Ten to one he took the money from petty cash." She glared. "He better have left a receipt."

He raised his eyes, which crinkled with warmth and relief. "It's really you."

It was almost enough to make her cry, knowing how much he loved and was worried for her, but she wasn't going to cry. "You were expecting Princess Margaret?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "This is the room of the Queen."

It was at moments like these in which Cordelia wished Wesley wasn't such a dreadful kisser.

"Look, it's not that I'm not happy to see you," Angel said to Kate, "but I still don't understand why you're here."

She blinked. "You had trouble following that?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Deadboy has trouble following Matlock."

Kate, Gunn, and Buffy all burst out laughing.

"I don't watch Matlock," Angel mumbled with petulance, which greatly amused Xander.

"Of course not," he agreed. "Which is why you know what it is."

Gunn laughed harder, hanging off Angel's shoulder all the while. "He calls you Deadboy!"

Angel's lips twitched. "Yes, he does."

He absolutely would not smile. He second-guessed that decision only briefly, but decided it would probably send Xander into shock – which was good – while recalling unpleasant memories for Buffy, which was definitely bad.

Buffy snickered. "I'm sure Cordelia's called him worse."

Kate laughed.

"I keep an alphabetized list," Gunn chirped.

Xander and Angel turned and looked out the picture window.

"What is it?" Tara asked.

"A car," they replied.

"It's Anya and Willow," Xander said.

Angel turned and scrutinized him. "How did you hear them?"

Buffy frowned. "Yeah, even I didn't."

"Xander and Willow always know where the other is," Tara answered, shrugging.

"Really?" Buffy asked, her nose scrunching. "Why didn't I know that?"

"How is that even possible?" Angel questioned. "Xander isn't magical."

Xander answered them both with a shrug.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she glared at both him and Tara. "What's with all this shrugging? And when was it that you two became best friends? Even Willow was surprised that you asked Tara to come with you and that she agreed so quickly."

Angel cocked his head.

Xander and Tara exchanged a glance.

She was feeling particularly defensive and took the initiative. "Buffy, there are some things which you just don't need to know."

Buffy drew her head back as if slapped. She averted her eyes and said nothing.

"Buff," Xander quietly said, "you remember Tara's family?"

"How could I forget?" she bitterly seethed.

Angel and Gunn recoiled from her scathing response and Kate's eyes widened.

"There's a reason I never invited you to my parents' house."

Her mouth slammed shut as her eyes filled. She nodded and said nothing more.

But she would.

When this was all over, she was going to say a lot, and Xander was going to listen. And then she would pay a visit to his parents; they'd be lucky if all she did was talk.

Angel didn't know what to say, which was becoming a regular and unwelcome occurrence, so he held his tongue, but he felt he had been afforded more insight into Xander Harris in the past two days than in the three years they had lived in the same town.

"I hear three heartbeats," he said.

"Three?" Buffy repeated. Xander also looked confused.

"Anya probably brought Riley," Tara guessed.

Buffy and Angel sighed. "Oh, shit."

Xander opened the door and was met with a mouthful of Anya, who promptly began inspecting his uvula with her tongue.

Willow rolled her eyes, a soft smile on her face, and sailed past them straight into Tara's waiting arms. Riley stood on the threshold, looking lost. Xander briefly made eye contact, reached behind Anya, and pulled him inside by the arm. Unfortunately, he crashed into Anya's back and sent all three sprawling on the floor.

"Sorry!"

"Don't be," Anya cheerfully replied. "I have had many fantasies like this, but you're usually wearing a toga and carrying a chalice. I have discussed these thoughts at great length with Xander."

Riley blushed and began sputtering, while reaching down and pulling the other two to their feet. He tried to catch Xander's eye, but was studiously avoided. Did that mean something?

Did he hope it meant something?

Wait.

What?

"You have fantasies about my boyfriend?" Buffy demanded, hands on her hips and trying to keep the grin off her face.

"Oh, not just him," Anya airily replied. "There's also the one in the old library with Giles and one with vampire Willow. Then there's the one with both of them and me laying down newspapers."

"That was way too much information," Willow and Angel said.

Xander tried to melt into the floor, but physics refused to comply. Mean physics.

"Damn," Gunn breathed. "Where can I get a girlfriend like that?"

Anya turned toward Xander. "See how lucky you are?"

They all stood around Cordelia's living room, discomfort so rife it could be filleted.

Riley was leaning against the wall, glaring at Angel, whose eyes found the nearest wall completely mesmerizing. Willow and Anya were interrogating their respective lovers as Buffy found herself in the corner opposite to Riley, unsure as to how she got there. Kate and Gunn, meanwhile, had collapsed on the couch and were grinning like fools as Dennis brought them refreshments.

"How's Cordelia?" Willow demanded from no one in particular.

"Still in the coma," Xander murmured, grateful when Anya squeezed his hand.

Willow sighed and sat down. "So are you finally going to tell us what's going on?" she asked crossly. Her eyes then found Kate and Gunn. She waved. "Hi!"

"Well, Will…"

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes."

"Illegal?"

"Very."

"Will it help Cordy?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Okay, count me in."

"Just like that?" Buffy asked, blinking owlishly.

Willow nodded. "Sure." She sighed again. "Look, you were right about all that stuff you said about Cordy and how I react to her. I didn't like hearing it, but I can't stop thinking about it, which means it needed to be said. Cordy and I don't have to like each other for me to want to help her. We're never going to be friends, but she's one of us, you know? We don't abandon our own."

Xander nodded fiercely.

"If Xander has a plan that can help her," she continued, "then that's all that matters. I trust him completely."

Anya stared.

"Right," Buffy nodded, her voice shaky. She was flooded with shame and guilt that she had been unable to evince in Xander the easy trust which Willow had so readily extended him. She vowed to make up for that misjudgment.

"So what are we doing?" Willow repeated.

"Well," Xander began, wincing, "here's the part of the plan you may not like…"

"Are you in any way, oh, I don't know, insane?" Willow trilled.

Xander rolled his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. "If you would stop gobbling like a turkey, maybe you would understand what I'm trying to say."

"I understand just fine! Gobble gobble! You're insane! You can't break Faith out of jail!"

"But I am - maybe to both of your charges - and I don't have time to debate this, so if you're not going to help me, then you can go. No hard feelings."

"Xander!"

"No. No, Will. No amount of cajoling or pleading or Wounded Kitten Eyes is going to cut it here. This is the plan, and if Buffy and Angel are on board, then you can just suck it up. I mean, we're the ones Faith actively tried to kill." He sighed. "Will, I'm not asking you like her. I'm not asking you to forgive her. You said you trust me. I'm asking you to trust me just one more time."

"It's not a question of trusting you, Xander," she barked. "It's a question of unleashing a homicidal lunatic with lethal superpowers upon the city of Los Angeles!"

"Yo, girl's got a point," Gunn interjected. He held up his hands. "I'm not saying you're wrong, Xander, but trust works both ways." He frowned. "You talked with the Boss and Buffy about this, and Tara already knows, so why are the rest of us in the dark?"

"Charlie's right," Kate said. "Xander, I understand and respect the fact that you're trying to help Cordelia, and I want to help you do that, but I know Faith. I've seen the damage she can cause." She narrowed her eyes. "You're talking about doing something which could very well cost me my badge and I think I'm owed an explanation. And I still haven't heard anything about how freeing Faith helps Cordelia."

Willow sat back in her chair, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Buffy looked at her and frowned. She had made the same argument less than an hour ago, but Willow's presentation of the facts came across as snotty and condescending. Had she sounded so obnoxious, too? Would Xander be as kind to Willow as he had been to her? How did he put up with them?

Xander flushed and tripped over his words, trying in vain to explain his motivations but unable to communicate them. Finally, Riley crossed the room and sat in front of him.

"Look at me."

After a moment, Xander raised pained eyes to the person who was arguably his best friend in a way that Willow and Buffy could never be.

Riley stared into his eyes. "You know what Faith did to Buffy." He swallowed. "To me." He covered Xander's hands with one of his own."I don't know her very well, if at all, so I don't know if she's changed. I don't know Cordelia. But I know you. If you think this is what's best, I'm willing to listen, but I'm not agreeing to anything until I know the whole story, so I'm asking you to tell me. Please?"

Angel and Buffy silently watched as Riley's words were absorbed and processed by Xander, each feeling vaguely jealous.

Xander inhaled sharply. "Okay, but first," he turned to Angel, "do you think Faith has changed?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she'll kill again?"

"A human? No."

"If she did, would you stop her? Could you?"

"I wouldn't like to be forced to hurt her, but I'd do it."

Xander turned to Buffy. "Do you think she's changed?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know, and that's the truth. Faith and I aren't prison pen pals." She sighed. "But, if I'm being honest, which I guess what you're asking me to do, I think it's possible. The last time I saw her, that night on the roof, something had changed within her. I think she realized, truly realized, what she had done, what she had let herself become, and she was horrified by it."

She sat down. "What you said earlier, you were right. She's not doing anyone any good sitting in jail."

"I still don't know what this has to do with Cordy," interrupted a testy Willow.

"Because in order for Cordy to get better, she has to leave," Xander said, "and she won't do that if she feels that Angel's unprotected."

"She doesn't protect me!" Angel protested.

"Like hell she don't," Gunn scoffed. "You couldn't find your head from your ass if it weren't for Barbie and you know it."

Angel grumbled nonsensical words.

"Her role is to guide you, Angel," Buffy quietly said, "just as Xander guides me. She'll help you before helping herself, and I'd like to think you love her too much to let her do that when it could very well mean her life."

Xander, Anya, Willow, Riley, and Tara all stared at Buffy with wide eyes.

"Good call," Gunn agreed, nodding.

Angel stalked from the room.

"I didn't realize they were so close," Willow said softly. "I didn't think how hard this must be on him."

Xander glared. "Oh, but you couldn't understand how hard this would be on me? Maybe that's because you never thought Cordelia was worthy of breathing oxygen!" he snapped. His eyes widened and he flushed with shame. "Jesus, Will. I'm sorry." He hung his head.

Her inhalation was ragged. "Don't be. It's true, and I deserve it. I've never liked thinking about her as a...as a person, but you have to know that I would never, ever wish this on her."

"I do know that," he said.

Anya patted his hand. "It's okay that you're still in love with her."

He cringed and drew into himself.

"What?" asked a shocked Willow.

"Xander?" a surprised Buffy prompted. "Is that true?"

"You're a fine one to ask him that," Anya barked.

Buffy's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like you don't know!"

"Anya, back off," Xander growled.

She crossed her arms and huffed, but complied.

He cleared his throat. "My feelings for Cordelia are no one's business, but since Anya let the cat out of the bag, then fine. Yeah, I still love Cordy. I've never stopped and I never will. She was my first love and she'll always be in my heart, but she's not the only one there. I love Anya, and I'm committed to Anya." He shook his head. "None of you understood what Cordelia and I had, what we meant to each other, and none of you has the right to judge either one of us."

"No we don't," Riley said, looking at Buffy and now better understanding her relationship with Angel, however much he didn't wish to contemplate it. He knew had a lot to think about.

"I'm sorry," Anya said. "I'm not sorry if I hurt Buffy, but I'm sorry if I hurt you, Riley."

"That's okay," he said. "I know you didn't mean to, and you didn't say anything I wasn't already thinking."

"Was I wrong to bring you?" she fretted.

"No. I'm here to help Xander and that's what I'm going to do."

Xander gave him a blinding smile.

Buffy watched this interplay with detached curiosity. First Tara and Xander; now Riley, Anya, and Xander. When did they all become so close, and why hadn't she realized it? A quick look at Willow told her the witch was similarly confused.

"This is taking too long," Xander said. "Look, the reason I want Faith out is because Angel needs someone there who will look out for him but who can also check him if needed. Faith can do that."

Willow's brow furrowed. "Are you talking about, you know, Angelus?" she whispered.

"Not particularly, but if that becomes necessary, Faith can handle it."

"And we couldn't?" Gunn demanded.

"You have no idea," said a surprisingly cold Buffy. "None. I've faced the vampire who made Angel and the one who made her. He killed me, by the way. Xander resurrected me."

She paused and watched as Gunn processed that.

"We've gone up against a cyborg made of demon parts, an immortal human who transformed into a fifty-foot tall pure demon, and we're currently fighting a god from a hell dimension who's targeting someone I love more than my own life, and you know what? Angelus is still the scariest Big Bad I've ever encountered."

"Christ," Kate muttered. She'd had an idea of what Angelus was capable, but hearing it laid out like this, by the Slayer of all people, truly drove home the point.

Gunn scowled.

Xander sighed. "What I'm saying is this: if Angelus returned and became a menace, Faith would stake him. Do you really think you could do that?"

A shadow fell over Gunn's face. He had no answer.

"And you think Cordelia could?" an interested Buffy asked Xander.

"Absolutely. It's not a question of power, but of will." He raised a brow. "And do you know why she would? Because Angel would want her to."

"Yes, I would."

They turned and regarded him.

"If Cordelia had been the Slayer when we were in Sunnydale, I'd be nothing but ashes. We all know it."

Willow and Xander nodded.

Buffy looked at once angry, guilty, and impressed. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if Cordelia were a Slayer. She thought it might actually be pretty cool. Better than Faith, certainly.

"Are you finished with your hissy fit?" Xander asked.

Angel stared at him for a moment before grinning. "I think so."

"So you want to use Faith to replace Cordelia?" Kate asked.

Xander nodded. "In a way, and if you think about it, it's the best parole ever. Faith could break out of jail any time she wants. The only one keeping her there is her. And if something did happen, if she went crazy again? How many people would be hurt trying to stop her? If it happens, Angel can deal with it."

She raised a brow and briefly mulled it over. "Agreed."

Angel blinked. "Just like that?"

Kate nodded. "Having the two of you keep each other in line makes sense to me, and Xander's right. If Faith wanted out, she'd be out by now, so I think that means she's trying." She paused. "I've kept up with what's going on in this city. You need help, Angel. This might not be the Hellmouth, but there's more going on than just you and Charlie can handle."

"How is Wesley going to react to this?" Tara softly asked.

"I'll do what needs to be done."

They turned toward the source of the declaration, surprised to see Wesley regarding them coolly and stunned to find a very conscious Cordelia grinning at them.

"Hey! Is this my welcome home party?" She looked around and soured. "Where the hell are my presents?"

Parvati Patil was sulking about her bedroom at her grandmother's house.

She, her twin sister Padma, younger sister Payal, and their parents were on summer holiday at their family's villa at Choward Beach outside Junagadh in the state of Gujarat. Her shutters were thrown open to allow entrance to the sunshine and fresh salt air, cool and calm despite the heat. She heard the distant cry of gulls and the chatter of tourists making their way down toward the Arabian Sea.

She looked toward the floor, at the smoldering remains of the Howler which had just immolated itself before her eyes. "Come in, Padma," she called before her sister even could knock.

Unsurprised at being detected, Padma entered and shut the door behind her, nodding at the ashes on the floor. "Who was it from?"

"Ginny," Pavarti sighed. "All in all, I think I got off rather easily." She furrowed her brow. "If that's all she has planned. You never know with Ginny."

"We didn't know."

"I doubt you'll be getting one," Parvati continued. "I'm betting that Ginny saves this particular delight for her fellow Gryffindors. For those in other houses, most likely she'll just convince her family and friends never to speak to them again. She'll reserve her ire for us."

"We didn't know," Padma repeated, her voice now tinged with doubt.

Parvati sat up and blew a lock of hair out of her face. "Well, we didn't need to know, did we? Harry called and we didn't go, and now is godfather is dead."

"Sirius Black…"

"Was innocent and now he's dead. And Hermione..." She sighed, shaking her head, tears coming to the fore. "Hermione almost died, Padma. She almost died." She waved a hand. "And don't give me that rubbish about how she and I aren't really friends. I've shared a room with the girl for five years; she's a Gryffindor." She hung her head. "How am I ever supposed to look her in the eyes again?"

"I don't know," Padma murmured, silently asking herself the same question. She and Hermione might be members of different houses, but that counted for very little in the scope of the fiasco which occurred in the Department of Mysteries. She would never forgive herself for not coming to Harry's aid. "I think all of us in the DA have the same thoughts swirling about our heads."

"It's not," Parvati began, struggling for words, "it's not as if I'm particularly close with Harry or Hermione, and certainly not Ron, but how many times has Harry defeated the Dark Lord? How many times has he saved us all?"

Tears of frustration began falling from her eyes and she angrily swatted them away.

"And what have we done? Ostracized him when it suited. Betrayed him. Turned on him at every chance when he needed us. Hell, even Ron serves him up on a platter with regularity!" She laughed bitterly. "But Ron was there when it counted; he, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were true Gryffindors. Even that bloody Lovegood!" She sighed and drew her knees under her chin. "But not me," she whispered.

"He must be very lonely," Padma offered.

She had not much to say regarding Harry or Hermione, as her interactions with them had been confined either to scholastic matters or the DA. They weren't friends, nor did they really socialize. Most of what she knew of them came from Parvati.

As for Ron, her opinion of him was not very high after the way he had ignored her during the Yule Ball, and while she thought he was cute, he was also a berk. She had seen the way he treated Harry and Hermione, and she didn't like it. Luna's presence at Harry's side was confusing and something over which she would puzzle later.

"He would do it for any one of us," Parvati declared, sitting up straight. "He went down into that blasted chamber without a second thought to save Ginny and he didn't even really know her! He'd try to save any one of us, and where's our loyalty? He'd probably even swan off to save that infernal ferret, Malfoy!"

She curled a lip. "And that woman! That horrid Umbridge woman!"

"At least she's gone," Padma said with relief. She was glad she had never been forced to deal with Umbridge, but the treachery that vicious wretch had sown would visit the school for years to come. She was appalled by the behavior of Marietta Edgecombe and was glad to be rid of her.

As for Cho Chang, she would wait and see if the girl rose to the challenge of being named Head Girl. If she tried to abuse the position, she would find out how similar Ravenclaws were to Hufflepuffs regarding house loyalty and traitors.

"But the damage is done," Parvati snorted, unconsciously giving voice to her sister's thoughts. "The school is more divided now than ever, and that's not going to resolve itself anytime soon." She raised a brow. "I believe that was her ultimate goal, and she succeeded." She shook her head. "And I've lost all confidence in Dumbledore. Where was he during all of this ridiculousness? He ran off and left us all!"

"It must have been for a good reason," Padma replied, though her voice was doubtful.

"Must you always play the devil's advocate? " Parvati demanded. "It's very annoying! I don't care what his reasoning was! It was obviously flawed! That woman almost destroyed the school!" She ran her hands through her hair. "I'm tired of everyone placing Dumbledore on this pedestal as if he's the beginning and end of all things. Were that true and he is oh so powerful, why is always up to Harry to face You-Know-Who, hm? It's a load of bollocks, if you ask me!"

This was the moment for which Padma had been waiting, nearly six years, ever since she and her twin had been sorted into different houses. For so long, Parvati had insisted on being a brainless lackwit, obsessed with boys and divination and other such nonsense. Their bond, while still strong, had nevertheless been weakened during their time at Hogwarts; but perhaps the damage was not irreparable. Now her sister was showing that spark of determination which had all but been extinguished.

Perhaps Pavarti had been sorted into the correct house after all.

"So what do you want to do about it?" Padma demanded.

"Do about it?"

"Yes! Do about it!"

Parvati stared at her for what seemed minutes. "I don't know!" she finally wailed. "Last year during the DA was the first time I truly understood what it was to possess magic, what it was and what it could do. What's the point of having it if you don't use it to help others? If you're so scared that all you do is cower in a corner with your wand up your arse?"

Padma's eyes widened as she stifled a snicker. "Do you think Harry will continue the DA?"

Parvati jumped to her feet. "He has to! Last year's Defense class was an utter waste of time, and we're so far behind already! Were it not for Harry, none of us would have passed our OWLs."

She turned on her heel and wrung her hands. "He simply must. Oh, Padma, can you imagine what the Dark Lord will do to our family should he become more powerful?" Her expression was pained. "We might not be the right skin tone, but we are purebloods. Sooner or later, he'll come to Father and demand obeisance. He'd probably want to marry us off to his disgusting Death Eaters to beget their devil spawn!"

Her laugh was brittle. "Of course, Father would never align himself with You-Know-Who, but our family would become targets and we've already alienated Harry." She shook her head in anger, her long braid swinging to and fro like a horse's tail. "I won't be made fodder for that brat Malfoy and his junior Death Eaters. I'd rather die first." Her eyes narrowed. "And if I'm going down, I'm taking the lot of them with me."

"I don't believe we've alienated Harry," Padma said carefully. "I cannot believe he would refuse to deny us protection." She sighed. "But I'm sure we've disappointed him."

"Harry must hate us," Parvati whispered, covering her eyes with her hand.

"I sincerely doubt Harry hates anyone," her sister replied. "Well," she added as an afterthought, "perhaps Malfoy and Snape. And the Dark Lord, of course." She squared her shoulders. "We'll just have to apologize and take our lumps. Promise to stand by him from now on."

"And why should he believe us?" Parvati barked. "I know I wouldn't, were I him."

"But you're not," Padma sharply countered, "and neither am I. None of us is. Harry's his own person and he's a forgiving person. I think you're underestimating him, confused by your shame."

Parvati paused then shook her head. "Who's to say it wouldn't happen again? It's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord makes his next move, you know. Perhaps even at Hogwarts. What then? Death Eaters storming the castle and a bunch of upper years are to ward off him and his army? Even with Harry as our leader, how many will fail? How many will die? The entire school could pledge their loyalty to Harry, but when push comes to shove – and it will – how many will renege on their promises?"

Padma raised her eyebrows. "Would you?"

"I don't know," Parvati confessed after several seconds of silence. "I truly don't know. I'm scared, sister."

"As am I, but I'm not about to run off and stick my head in the sand like some ostrich. Not again. Harry Potter is all that's standing from Voldemort – yes, I said his name – taking over our world. And then what happens to us? We'd be enslaved regardless." Padma shook her head. "We're not children anymore, Parvati. We're not ickle first-years stepping off the Express. The decisions we make now will define the rest of our lives, and I'm determined to make the right ones." She paused. "I choose Harry."

Parvati stared at her sister for several torturous moments. "As do I," she finally said.

"Are you confident enough in that decision to make him an Unbreakable Vow?"

The color drained from Parvati's face as her hands shook, but her decision was already made. She swallowed heavily and then nodded.

"Yes."

Seamus Finnigan puttered about his mother's vegetable garden in the back of their small cottage outside Cork.

His attempt to rouse himself from his latest bout of self-pity was as spectacular a failure as all those previous. For the first time since he began Hogwarts, he had welcomed returning home, hoping to find solace in his mother's nagging and the house of his childhood, but had learned cowardice could not be outrun. He reached down into the struggling crop of potatoes, unearthed a garden gnome, and sent the squealing mass flying into the adjoining property. Let the O'Malleys sort it.

Christ, how was he going to go back to sharing a dorm room with Harry in just two short months? His shame at his own behavior had segued past guilt and regret and straight into humiliation, doubled by the fact that he had no one but himself to blame.

He sighed. He'd been so stupid, running off at the mouth whenever he and Harry had crossed paths. They had never been close, but he knew Harry was no nutter, and while he hadn't believed the rumors about Harry that had been swirling about the school, he had nevertheless perpetuated them by opening his big fat mouth whenever the mood struck, which was often.

He hadn't been friends with Harry, or Ron for that matter, but they had been friendly, enveloped by a sense of camaraderie, buoyed by mutual animosity for Snape, Malfoy, and girls, and united by love of Quidditch, Gryffindor house, and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But what was there now?

Now, Sirius Black was dead. Now, Hermione Granger had almost been killed. Now, no one could prance about, secure in the belief that Harry was insane and the Dark Lord was nothing but the paranoid fantasies of a disturbed attention-seeker.

Seamus was positive their dorm room would become a war zone. Harry most likely would not want anything to do with him, for which Seamus could hold no ill will, and Ron would certainly go on the attack against all of those who had wronged Harry, and rightly so. Neville's confidence had grown by leaps and bounds and the recent events at the Department of Mysteries were sure to have only deepened his faith in Harry.

And then there would be Hermione with whom to contend; coupled with that of which Ginny Weasley was capable, Gryffindor House was rife to become a battlefield.

"Ah, shite."

He had no idea how Dean Thomas would react or adjust to these developments. As friendly as they were, Seamus was loath to ascribe to them the relationship that Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared. Rarely were they in contact outside of school save the occasional owl, and had few similar interests. Indeed, one of the predominant reasons they had migrated toward each other was because Harry and Ron had bonded so quickly, and Neville, who had once lingered on the periphery, was obviously more interested in being part of their crowd than in hanging out with Seamus and Dean; not that Neville was ever unkind – to anyone, really – but Seamus supposed it all boiled down to the laws of attraction.

He dreaded what the coming term would bring and what it would mean for Gryffindor House, though he knew deserved whatever punishment would be heaped upon him. He was worse than Malfoy; he was even worse than You-Know-Who. At least Malfoy and the Dark Lord, no matter how evil and twisted, had chosen a side. Granted, it was the wrong one and one which Seamus himself would never join. Still, which was worse: doing evil, or doing nothing? He knew the answer and didn't like it.

He was so lost in self-recrimination, he didn't notice his mother's approach.

"Son?"

He sighed. "I really mucked it up, Mam."

She raised a brow and looped her arm through his, guiding him toward the swing among the rose bushes. "Is this about the Potter boy?"

He looked askance at her, eyes wide. As he sat down, he felt a weight lift, but still oppressed. "How did you know?"

"Oh, Shay," she sighed. "I did you no favors when I refused to answer your questions about the First War against You-Know-Who." She shook her head, her anger at herself apparent. "There were things I should have told you, things you needed to know." She turned to face him. "Especially about Harry."

He cocked his head. "You talk as if you know him. Personally, I mean."

She nodded and averted her eyes. "Because I do. I was close friends with Lily, his mother. We were all at Hogwarts together, in Gryffindor, of course."

He felt stupid. He should have known this. How many times had he walked past James Potter's Seeker badge on display in the Great Hall. He knew the date. Why had it never occurred to him that his own mother must have been not only in school with Harry's parents, but in their class as well?

Moira Finnigan faced east, the sun warm on her skin as she closed her eyes and listened to the cows lowing in the fields of the neighboring farm. "I ran, Shay."

"Mam?"

"I ran," she repeated, her voice thick with anguish and shame. "Not very long after you turned one. I knew what was coming, what would happen. I didn't need to read tea leaves to see it. So I packed us up and ran." She bowed her head. "After Alice…"

"Who?" he asked, when she didn't further elaborate.

She cleared her throat. "Alice Longbottom," she whispered.

He pulled a face. "Neville's mum?" he guessed. "You knew her, too?"

She nodded. "She was my best mate. I loved that girl, Seamus. With everything inside of me, I loved her. She was so sweet, so kind. She was the most decent soul I have ever encountered. I would have done anything for her. And then that…that…creature…LeStrange got a hold of her and Frank." She trailed off, frowning at the ground.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, his confusion obvious. "Neville and Harry have been my dorm mates for five years."

She sighed. "You need to understand, son, those were dark days." She shook her head. "So dark," she whispered. She swallowed. "Like I said, I knew what was coming, and after Frank and Alice fell, I was never more sure. I felt in my bones that it was only a matter of time before he conquered us all and killed those who wouldn't obey. So I was glad that I had run, because I knew I wasn't strong enough to stay, but neither was I weak enough to surrender."

"Mam?"

"You bring a child into this world, you want to make it the best world possible for them. Voldemort had been growing in power, but many of us deluded ourselves into thinking that he would be vanquished. We bought into the power and serenity of Dumbledore, wrapping ourselves warm inside our little cocoons. Even though I knew people like Lily and James, and Frank and Alice, were taking active roles in the struggle, I didn't allow myself to believe I – or you, for that matter – would ever be touched, though I secretly knew better. And I was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

"There remained a modicum still hope," she continued, for once without prompting. "Most of the Aurors and their reserves had been depleted, but Frank and Sirius had signed up, and James and Alice became Hit Wizards, though most were unaware that was Alice's real position. They, and Lily and Remus, were the brightest witches and wizards of our age, much like you tell me is true of that young Granger girl. We had Dumbledore and McGonagall. The hope was dim, but it was present and we clung desperately to it. And then they all began to die. Or worse."

"Nev's parents were Aurors?"

She fixed him with a sidelong glance. "Neville doesn't talk about his parents, does he, son?"

Seamus shook his head.

"They're not dead."

His brow furrowed. "What?" He shook his head. "But Neville lives with his gran. And from what I've seen, she's a bit of a tyrant."

Moira smiled. "Augusta was always a fearsome witch, and had the talent and determination to back it up. She loved Frank so much, Shay; Alice, too. I imagine she clings tightly to Neville because he is all she has left of her family."

"Well, then, where are they?" he demanded. "The Longbottoms?"

Her eyes drifted away and her voice donned a singsong quality he had never before heard. "Why, they're in hospital, Seamus. Saint Mungo's, actually. Long-Term Spell Damage Ward. I visit them on occasion, when you're away at Hogwarts."

He chewed on that for a moment. "What's wrong with them?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"The Cruciatis Curse is a vicious beast, Seamus. Even the strongest of us buckle under its weight. But for poor Frank and Alice…" She sighed. "Bellatrix LeStrange captured them in their own home. Tortured them." She bit her lip as tears slid down her cheeks. "They're insane. They will never recover. They lie in their beds, never moving, never blinking, never taking notice of the world around them which continues to carry on as if they had never been a part of it."

She stood and picked at her apron. "It's worse than death, Seamus. Death stalks them, laughs and pokes at them, but never claims them." She clasped her hands. "That is what evil is, son. It exists to spread loss, to spread suffering. That is why Voldemort is so dangerous – not because of his power or his minions, but because he doesn't care. Whatever humanity he once possessed was snuffed out long ago for whatever reason. He is, purely and simply, unadulterated evil."

He had to force his mouth to close, his teeth aching with the effort, his tongue glued to his upper palate.

"It all was done right in front of Neville. He was her bargaining chip, you see. Bellatrix is powerful, yes, but so were Frank and Alice. Granted, they were never in Lily's league, or even that of Remus ,but were on par with James and Sirius. But she had their son, and so she had them." She sighed once more. "I only pray he doesn't remember."

Seamus looked up at her and blinked. "Harry does."

"What?" she snapped, grabbing his chin in her hand. "What did you say?"

"Harry remembers what V…what You-Know-Who did to his parents."

"Merlin!" She released him and shoved nervous hands in her pockets.

"Do you remember when I wrote you about the Dementors? About how they affected Harry during that Quidditch match because they use your worst memory?"

She nodded.

"It was that memory they used, the one in which his parents were killed. I overheard him telling Ron and Hermione." He closed his eyes. "He doesn't remember much, but enough so that the Dementors can paralyze him. He remembers the Dark Lord coming into his bedroom. He remembers his mother standing between him and the Dark Lord. And then he sees a green light."

Moira's hands flew to her mouth as she squeezed shut her eyes and furiously shook her head. "Oh, that poor boy. That poor, sweet boy."

No words passed for several long moments.

"I knew it wasn't over," Moira finally whispered. "Even after Harry defeated him the first time, I knew we were just biding time, that he wasn't really gone, that he was out there somewhere, lying in wait. I was terrified when you got your letter, but I knew I couldn't prevent you from going. You were already having too many bursts of accidental magic. I knew you had to go, and I knew once you saw Harry again…"

"Again? What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?" She wrung her hands. "Oh, Shay, yes, I was friends with Lily and James, but you were friends with Harry, from the moment you both were born."

He blinked. "What?"

She nodded, an unwilling smile tugging at her lips. "You and Harry and Neville all used to play together when you were babies. Lily, Alice, and I would get together to discuss all of the latest goings on, and you three boys were such good mates, but you and Harry in particular."

"Me and Harry?" he blankly repeated.

"Oh, how that boy loved you, Seamus, and you him. Every time you two were together, it was as if you were brothers. You would play together, eat together, even sleep together. No one could calm you like Harry. You suffered so with the colic, but all I needed to do was deposit you in Harry's crib, and he would squirm his way over to you, wrap an arm around you, and you'd nod right off. It was absolutely adorable. All of us were so pleased; we wanted you three to be as close as we were, especially since you would all be at Hogwarts together."

"I can't believe this," Seamus breathed.

"Do you know your name was one of Harry's first words?" She smiled. "He couldn't pronounce it exactly, of course. He called you Shammy." She laughed. "Oh, but you knew he was talking to you. Whenever he would say your name, your face would light up and you would clap with excitement." She looked away. "It wasn't long after…."

Seamus wanted to vomit and surprised his mother by bursting into tears.

Moira fell to her knees and took him in her arms. "What is it, son? What's happened?"

"You didn't betray anyone, Mam. I did."

"What do you mean, baby?"

"All last year," he sobbed. "I was so horrible to him, so miserable. A complete git. And he tried so hard, Mam. He tried so hard to warn us that You-Know-Who was back, tried so hard to protect us, to help us arm ourselves so we wouldn't be cannon fodder. He tried to help me." He choked on his tears. "And I denied him. I ridiculed him. I allowed others to do the same. I told him he was insane, that he was going to get all of us killed, and that our deaths would be his fault."

"Oh, Seamus," she whispered, her voice warring with disappointment and compassion.

"I know, Mam," he rasped. "I know, but it's too late now. What's done can't be undone. He'll never truly forgive me and I don't blame him. I wouldn't either." He pulled away and hung his head. "He looked at me with such sadness, but he never gave up on me, not fully, even though I wanted him to. He looked at me as if he didn't know who I was. And now I don't know who I am either."

She smoothed his hair with her hand and let him talk.

"I'm so scared, Mam. I'm terrified. You were right; the Dark Lord is coming. And if Harry falls, he'll come here. I'm a half-blood; you're a blood traitor. Da's a Muggle." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, even though he knew how much his mother detested that habit. "I thought if I didn't believe it, then it just wouldn't happen, and now I don't know what to do. I want to be his friend again, Mam. I do. I joined the DA and tried to make it right, I apologized to him, but Hermione and Ron think I'm rubbish and I don't blame them."

"It doesn't matter what they think, Shay. It matters what Harry thinks." She raised a brow. "Maybe you should ask him what that is."

"He said he forgave me."

"Do you believe him?"

"Yeah. I guess. I don't know! Harry said he forgives me, and I've never heard him say anything he doesn't mean. And that just makes it worse!" he raged, tears beginning anew. "Hermione called me that night, that night at the Department of Mysteries. And I didn't go. I didn't go, Mam. I apologized, tried to make it right, and then mucked it up all over again. Harry's never asked anything of us, Mam, nothing that he wouldn't ask of himself. Less, probably. But the only one who's stood by him from the beginning is Hermione."

She rested her head atop his own. "I'd be lying if I said I would have wanted you there, Seamus. You're my son, my only child. I love you more than I can ever possibly say. If I could, I'd keep you away from all of this, pull up stakes and run again, but you have to know that's no longer an option. The Dark Lord is coming and most believe only Harry can stop him. He won't be able to do it alone."

She sighed. "If you can't stand at his side, make it a clean break. Allow him to move on and distract him no further. Many will die before this is over, Shay. Maybe your friends, our family, maybe you, though Merlin knows I'm on my knees every morning and every night praying that doesn't happen."

"But?" he whispered.

"But, if you wish to stand with Harry, then do so with your whole heart. I can't make this decision for you, son, for that decision would be selfish, serving my own aims. But don't do what I did. Don't run. I abandoned my friends and my world out of fear. I carry the guilt with me to this day and it is that, not my magic, which drove the final nail in the coffin of my marriage to your father."

She shook her head. "If I could have sent you away with him, I would have, to keep you safe, but you know how hopeless he is. As much as he loves and is enthralled by our magic, he doesn't really understand it, nor does he wish to."

She released him gently and stood. "Learn from my mistakes, son. Hold fast to your friends. Don't give them up, whatever the danger." She began walking back to the house and then paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "Else one day you will wake up to find you have survived, but have forgotten how to live."

This was a trip, she decided.

Cordelia still couldn't get quite used to whatever Doyle or the Powers or whoever had done to her, and she was more than a little pissed off they had seen fit to do so without her permission or even any warning.

As if she needed some kind of upgrade to her unchallenged fabulousness?

Bitch, please.

And besides, seeing magic? Actually seeing it? What was she supposed to do with that?

Still, it was interesting.

It was bizarre and beautiful and transformative; it was also scary, disconcerting, and just plain weird.

It was one thing to know that magic was real, to know people who possessed it and wielded it for both good and evil, but to see it pulsating and radiating and alive was another thing entirely.

It had been distracting enough with Wesley on the ride back to her apartment. She knew that he had some reserve of power, although not, she guessed, anywhere near the level of Giles, but looking at those gathered in her living room, her breath was all but stolen from her body. It was both exquisite and terrifying.

And it was the best she had ever seen Willow look.

Not that she would ever tell her, of course.

She looked then at Buffy and could see the magic swirling about her. It was different from that of Willow, though she couldn't think of the words to qualify exactly what that difference was. More malevolent? She didn't get the sense that whatever was in Buffy was evil per se, but it was dark, ancient, and not belonging to the girl herself.

Her eyes flitted toward Tara and it was all she could do not to weep at the sheer beauty of what she saw. Tara wasn't as powerful as Willow, she noted, but the colors were more harmonious, more gentle. There was a peaceful calm which emanated from the girl and appeared to wash over them all, and Cordelia was grateful for it.

She cleared her throat and realized Angel was staring at her, confused and worried, and she felt her heartbeat thump like a snare drum, threatening to burst forth from her chest.

She could see it, his soul, and it was his; it wasn't just some stupid curse or a spell of Willow's – it was his, it was Angel. She felt the tears gather in her eyes and she blinked them back, because she absolutely was not to going to cry.

"That's what I call an entrance," a slightly jealous Anya said, nodding her head at Cordelia, who recovered herself and smirked.

Unconsciously, Buffy and Angel moved to stand next to each other, their eyes narrowed. Riley said nothing in favor of discovering what was troubling them.

"Anything?" Buffy muttered.

Angel shook his head.

Cordelia raised a brow before unceremoniously pushing Wesley away, grabbing a squawking Willow, and pulling the girl toward her. She looked at Angel and Buffy.

"How about now?"

They shook their heads.

"What's going on?" Willow demanded.

"I can't sense them," Angel said. "I can't hear their heartbeats."

Willow's eyes widened. "Buffy?"

"Nothing," the Slayer said tersely. "What's happening?"

"Magical shielding," Anya whispered, looking upon Cordelia with awe. "Now that's nifty."

Cordelia smiled at her and released Willow, both grateful for the loss of contact.

"How is this possible?" Angel asked.

"All things are possible," Cordelia sniffed. "It's just a question of knowing how to do them."

"Then how did you do it?" he demanded.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Um, guys?" Tara interjected. "That's not really the hot issue here."

"That's not the hot…" Wesley thundered, his eyes wide, before falling quiet. "Oh, yes." He nodded. "Quite." He turned toward Cordelia. "You were rather tight-lipped about your miraculous return. Not that I'm not thrilled you're with us once more, but…"

She patted his arm. "We have time. Not much, but some."

"Hugs," Xander grunted.

"Please and thank you." She'd make him wait for it, though.

Cordelia allowed herself to be passed from person to person, receiving hugs and well wishes, though she made sure to stay with no one for too long; there was only so much coddling she could bear.

The embraces from Willow and Buffy were a strange mixture of perfunctory greeting and heartfelt concern, which she found surprising, rather lovely, and somewhat irritating, though she maintained her composure. She caught the eyes of those whom she did not know, pleased to see warmth and kindness in their gazes; she was always willing to be paid court by strangers.

Still, she wouldn't soon forget that no one had thought to bring even one present.

At last she found herself in Xander's arms, startled to be reminded of how well they fit her, wondering how she had ever let herself forget it, and a wave of soft sadness overcame her. If nothing else came from this mess and what was to come, her renewed connection to him was worth it all. He had no magic, she saw, and for this she was grateful.

There were no rainbows floating around him, no bursting prisms; rather, there was a complete absence of color. He glowed white. He absolutely glowed with goodness.

Xander was good.

That was the only epithet which could possibly describe him, and that angered her because he was so much more than a banal word which people tossed about and applied to everything from incredible sex to a tasty French fry. Xander really was the White Knight.

When he wasn't kissing witches in abandoned factories, of course.

She was just thankful she wasn't still in love with him, because…yeah.

"How are you awake?" he finally asked, after placing a chaste kiss on her lips.

She frowned and raised a brow. "So I should still be on my back, waiting for someone to do something?"

"Not unless you're Harmony."

Her eyes darkened. "Do you know she came here and tried to bite me?"

"I always thought she had a thing for you."

"Actually, she had a thing for Oz, but whatever."

"What!" Willow screeched.

They ignored her, smiling stupidly at one another. The others could sense their bond, all but see it tangibly joining them, and kept a respectful distance. Buffy inadvertently found herself looking to Angel, who appeared sad and nostalgic. She understood. Cordelia and Xander's reunion was a painful reminder to all of them of simpler times.

Well, she frowned, perhaps not simpler, but less confusing.

She wasn't sure that was right, either. It hadn't been easier when they were in high school, when she had been with Angel, Xander had been with Cordelia, and Willow with Oz, but those were some of her happiest memories.

Xander guided Cordelia over to the couch, anxious for her to get off her feet, but paused to allow Dennis to adjust the cushions and fluff the throw pillows. When Angel came to sit next to her, Xander said nothing and discreetly moved across the room. Angel was touched by the gesture, almost a tacit permission or even approval, though he would spare them both the embarrassment of voicing his gratitude.

She folded her legs beneath her and curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Hi."

He went to touch her, his hand hovering in the air, then deciding he didn't care what the others thought of their relationship or any speculations they might later posit, before twining their fingers together.

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

She nodded after a moment, giving his question serious consideration. "Comas? Not very rejuvenating, but yeah, I'm okay."

He took that for what it was. "What are you doing out of the hospital?"

She turned to look up at him. "They dressed me in rayon." She raised a brow. "I'm just supposed to put up with that?"

"Well, medicine is an inexact science."

"Apparently," she snorted before falling silent for a moment, wondering how best to answer his unasked questions. "I was with Doyle."

She felt him freeze against her, his muscles stiffening with tension and sorrow, and she ignored the gasps from the others.

"He's okay, Angel," she whispered, grave eyes peering up at him as she rubbed his arm. "Really."

He nodded but said nothing.

"Oh, before I forget, the next time you see the Oracles?" She smiled and bared her teeth. "Tell them I said hi."

His lips twitched. "What did you do?"

"Threats, intimidation, and physical violence. Best meeting ever."

He inclined his head. "Impressive."

"Naturally."

He looked down at their joined hands. "This was planned? The Powers?"

She nodded. "I really don't like them and I don't understand what they're about – I'm not particularly sure I want to – but maybe things will be better now that Doyle is working with them."

Angel doubted that but held his tongue. "Couldn't hurt," he finally said. His eyes flitted about the room, taking in the curious glances of the others. "What do they want with you? Why now?"

"Something's coming," Xander said.

Cordelia sharply raised her head, her eyes boring into his, and nodded.

He cocked his head. "It's after Angel."

"Yes."

"You're the bait?"

She smacked Angel's hand. "Stop growling," she admonished, pleased when he fell silent. She smirked at Xander. "It's kind of sad how little my role has changed since Sunnydale, but luckily it's been expanded from guest star to lead."

"You were never just a day player," Buffy said.

Cordelia looked askance at her, doubt and gratitude plain on her face. "Thanks," she said, offering a small smile.

"I don't know what it is, Angel," she admitted, turning back to him. "Doyle wouldn't tell me, and I'm not sure he even knows. But it's real, it's coming, and it planned on killing me to get to you. Xander has changed that."

She sighed and looked up at her very best used-to-be. "You did everything right. Everything I would have wanted. Thanks."

There was a lot more she wanted to say, but knew he would read between the lines. His calculated aggressive ignorance had never fooled her. He was the maestro who read the subtle notes in the voices of all those whom he loved, both in the words and the silences.

"I kind of owe you," he said sheepishly.

"And, what, you think this makes us even?" she barked, glaring, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

His eyes narrowed and, after a moment, he released a breath and laughed. "I've really missed you," he said quietly.

"Well of course you have," she laughed. "I would too, if I were you. And I thank god every day I'm not." Her nose wrinkled. "Jesus, Xander, what the hell are you wearing? You come to see me for the first time in two years, I wake up from a coma, and you're sporting a shirt that looks like the awning of a Halloween store. It's obnoxious, and so are you. Why don't you just beat me with a stick?"

He colored as Anya, Buffy, Tara, and even Willow snickered.

"Why? Is all kinds of candy going to pop out of your ass?" he sniped back.

"The closest you ever got to my ass was kissing it, and even then you needed Yahoo Maps."

Riley looked at Buffy. "You really weren't kidding."

She shook her head. "This? Is nothing. It's their version of getting coffee."

His eyes widened.

"A thousand apologies, my liege," Xander sneered, as if there had been no interruption. "I was a little preoccupied."

"I guess so, what with fighting your best friend and mine." She sighed. "Very well. Once again I shall overlook your ridiculous wardrobe and focus on what's important: me."

"Gee, there's a radical shift in priorities," he drawled, eliciting snickers from everyone, including Angel.

She couldn't let him have the last word, so she flipped him off. "Oh, shut up."

She looked up at Anya. "Hey."

Anya waved gaily. "I'm very happy that you are not dead or mentally incapacitated."

"Thanks."

"What she meant…"

"I know what she meant, Xander. She's happy I'm alive; so am I. We don't need a translator. Anya and I understand each other just fine." She stood up, cocked her head, and considered THE other woman more closely. Finally, she nodded. "I like the blond. It suits you. And you actually do your roots." She turned to Buffy. "Take a lesson."

Buffy grinned and shook her head.

Anya felt a curious sensation, one which she had never experienced. Something moved through her, a lightness and warmth, something which she never would have admitted she craved: approval. Cordelia approved of her, of her being Xander's girlfriend. She felt hot and embarrassed as her eyes became wet.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The others watched and felt like intruders.

Cordelia nodded. "Sure. Thanks for making him happy." She turned to Xander. "I'm glad you are. It matters to me."

He blushed and looked at the floor, mumbling something not even Buffy or Angel could understand, though acknowledgment registered on Cordelia's face.

"Well," she continued, "there's a lot to do. Let's start with introducing me to those I don't know." She looked at Tara. "I heard you in the hospital, dressing Wesley down. That was awesome! He totally deserved it. Nice to meet you."

Tara smiled and nodded her head. "Same here. Glad you're okay."

"Dressing Wesley down?" a hopeful yet forlorn Buffy repeated. "And I missed it?"

Cordelia nodded. "Too bad, because it was award-winning. He was being a big jerk and Tara wasn't having it. I think my favorite part was her threatening him with Joyce. He might have peed, but I'm not positive." She leaned up to Wesley and patted his chest. "I forgive you. I know you were just trying to protect me, and I kind of love you for that. But not in a let's-kiss-in-the-stacks way."

He colored. "Yes. Well. I regret that I was rather rude."

"You were concerned," Tara said kindly. "I understood."

He nodded and let it go.

Cordelia looked to Willow. "This?" she said, pointing to Tara. "Pretty awesome. Probably better than you deserve, but congrats."

Willow smiled, pleased. That was as close as she had ever gotten to a compliment from Cordelia Chase and she wasn't going to allow the all but mandated snub to ruin it.

"And the stud in the corner must be Riley," she continued, giving him a sidelong appraisal before turning to Buffy and nodding. "Nice."

Buffy grinned and nodded her thanks. "I think so."

Riley beamed bashfully at both of them.

"Now," Cordelia said, "let's talk about Xander and Angel making out in my bedroom. By the way," she frowned, "Dennis! Do we have Lysol?"

She raised a triumphant fist into the air as a can floated toward her.

"What!" almost everyone bellowed.

"We did not make out!" Xander screamed. "It was just a hug!" He blew out a breath. "We don't need to mention the frottage, do we?"

Angel cackled and leered at him, surprised but pleased when Xander blushed and smiled.

"You hugged?" Buffy and Willow screeched, as Riley and Wesley gaped at Xander and Angel, respectively.

"You're such a brat," Angel said to Cordelia, who sighed with gleeful smugness.

"Yes, Xander and Angel finally had a Hallmark moment, and it's all thanks to me." She struck a pose. "Cordelia Chase: Miracle Worker."

"Well, I guess so," a stunned Willow remarked.

"So when are we breaking Faith out of the pokey?"

Cho Chang sat at the bureau in her bedroom, her restless eyes looking out the dormer window and scanning the moors below.

A fine layer of mist swirled about the roots of the trees which marked the entrance into the woods bordering their property. She thought it would be marvelous if they would envelop her and carry her away to a place where she wasn't praised for meaningless things or despised for her weaknesses, which were, admittedly, many.

She sighed heavily and looked down at her hand, which held the shiny new Head Girl badge. She found it rather difficult to find any joy in this achievement. She frowned and tossed it over her shoulder.

All of her work, all of her planning, all of her struggles had been for naught.

Two months would see her returning to Hogwarts, to the sullen whispers of the jealous and the outright hostility of the betrayed. She had provided further ammunition for those Slytherins who had always despised her, as well as to the Gryffindors, who would doubtlessly be rallied against her by Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hufflepuff House had never thought her good enough for Cedric, and her dalliance with Harry so soon after the former's passing had only furthered that belief; her later perfidy of Harry put an end to any hopeful reconciliation or amiable indifference. The Ravenclaws would shun her.

She deserved it, she knew. She had been a right git. Thankfully that twit Marietta had transferred to Beauxbatons and hopefully her absence would help quell the ire her treachery had sown.

She grimaced and fought back the wave of memories threatening to assail her.

How stupidly she had taken Marietta's side, how foolish she had been to endorse the girl's machinations, all because she herself believed salacious gossip about the nature of the relationship between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

Her brow furrowed. Not that said gossip was completely out of the realm of possibility, she added to herself. Merlin knew that no two people were closer than Harry and Hermione, although for argument's sake she should include Ronald Weasley somewhere in that equation.

Still, everyone knew that Harry and Ron had rowed on any number of occasions, as had Ron and Hermione. So, therefore, when all was said and done, it's wasn't unreasonable to argue that the relationship between Harry and Hermione was more than just mere friendship. That didn't mean, however, her conscience lectured, that there was anything romantic between them.

She sighed. And, of course, rather than just asking Harry, she had chosen to believe rumor and speculation over the very real feelings she knew Harry had once had for her.

"I was a complete ninny. A jealous twit."

It wasn't as though there had been anything serious between her and Harry, but there had been a chance of real friendship, and she well knew that Harry didn't take his friendships lightly. But, no, she had been hurt and petulant, and hadn't gone when Hermione had called.

Now Sirius Black was dead, Hermione had almost died, Voldemort had attacked the Ministry, and the entire wizarding world was in chaos. She wasn't arrogant enough to believe that her presence at the Department of Mysteries could have altered the outcome, but if she had gone, at least she could say that she had done something other than acting like an arse.

"Cedric would be so ashamed of you," she muttered to herself, angry at the tears which now threatened.

She furiously blinked them back and stared at her reflection.

"All right, then, enough sobbing. Enough regrets and hormones and irrational fears and stupid Madam Puddifoot's and all the rest of it." She nodded with a confidence she didn't feel. "It is time to put childish things behind you."

She watched with a curious detachment as her reflection mirrored her movements, as she tamped down her rage at her own ineffectuality.

"You will go back to that school with your head held high. You will be the best damn Head Girl Hogwarts has ever seen and you will make both Cedric and Harry proud of you."

She glared into her own eyes. "And Merlin willing, maybe for once you will be proud of yourself."

Interim Minister of Magic Amelia Bones sat behind her desk and listened impassively as Auror Tonks detailed the earlier scene at Diagon Alley and the attack on Harry Potter, disgusted by the idea that adults would swarm a teenager like a plague of locusts. She nodded and grunted at the appropriate lulls in the conversation, her eyes never leaving the face of Percy Weasley, who became even more despondent as the events were laid bare.

"Thank you, Tonks," Bones demurred. "Weasley! Suggestions?"

Percy raised his head and blinked rapidly. "Minister?"

Bones rolled her eyes. "You were allegedly the brightest student of your class. You know all of the parties involved. I am interested in hearing your opinions."

She smothered a wry grin as she watched Tonks give Weasley a disgusted appraisal.

"I'm not sure…"

"You aren't sure of much, are you?" Tonks hissed under her breath.

Bones held up a hand. "That will be quite enough, Auror Tonks. Weasley, you are undoubtedly aware of how badly you miscalculated by placing your faith in Fudge and Umbridge. What I want to know is if your brain has atrophied to the point where you will be of no use to me. If so, you would be wise to leave now."

She was relieved and heartened when the young man made no move to exit her office. Good; perhaps his character was not quite as weedy as events had led her to believe. She leaned forward and fixed him with a glare.

"You have unwittingly found yourself in a position once applicable to Potter himself: those whom you trusted have either turned against you or have proven to be incompetent. How do you suggest we handle this latest development?" She elegantly raised a brow. "You have been debriefed. Were you Potter, what would be your primary concern?"

Percy nervously licked his lips. "The media?"

"Is that a statement or a question?"

Tonks snorted.

"A statement? Yes, a statement. The Prophet has been maligning Harry since he matriculated at Hogwarts."

"Oh, so now it's Harry, is it?" demanded an icy Tonks. "Not the crazy Potter boy?"

Bones said nothing as Percy hung his head. "If you are unable to face this woman, Weasley, how in the name of Merlin do you plan to reconcile with your family? Or do you not wish to do so?"

"Of course I do!" Percy exclaimed.

Bones offered a rare benign smile. "Their loyalty to Potter far supersedes that of Auror Tonks." She dismissed the strangled cluck emitted by Tonks. "Knowing Molly as I do, she will welcome you back into the fold, as will Arthur, though he will be harder to win over. As for your siblings, well."

She shook her head. "I am unfamiliar with your eldest brothers, but the reputations of the twins speak for themselves, and given how badly they ran afoul of Umbridge, it will most likely be difficult for them to divorce you completely from her reign of terror. Young Ronald and Ginevra may indeed be lost to you forever."

She watched as his eyes filled with tears. Excellent; all hope was not lost. Still, she wasn't about to sanction his wallowing, for he had only himself to blame for his predicament.

"Weasley, pull yourself together! Now, how can we best assist Potter?"

"If you were to come out and declare that the Dark Lord has in fact returned and throw the weight of this administration behind Harry Potter, that would be a good start," Percy blurted.

Bones narrowed her eyes. "Continue."

"Well," Percy said, primly folding his hands in his lap, "what I most noticed about Harry during the time we shared at Hogwarts was how he responded to the attacks on him from outside the school."

Bones nodded for him to continue.

"While people like Draco Malfoy – indeed, most of Slytherin House, for that matter – harassed him on a daily basis and, I imagine, continues to bother him, far worse was his reaction to the constant onslaught of the wizarding press to his every word and action."

"He really doesn't like the attention," Amelia mused.

Percy nodded, gritting his teeth. "It is something he is often accused of enjoying and exacerbating, but I have only ever witnessed him being embarrassed by the attention he receives. He eschews it as much as possible."

Tonks scoffed. "So why did you paint him as a belligerent brat demanding everyone's notice?" She smirked. "Perhaps because you knew those were the accusations that would hurt Harry, Ron, and Ginny the most?"

He flushed and didn't respond, keeping his eyes on Amelia's nameplate. "Mister Fudge and Miss Umbridge used The Prophet to destroy what little credibility Harry had left. I believe that were it made clear people in positions of power, other than Dumbledore that is, actually supported him, it would go a long way in his fight against the Dark Lord."

Bones nodded to herself, steepling her fingers and looking out her window. "Agreed."

"But it won't be easy," Percy cautioned. "Rita Skeeter has made it her mission to discredit Harry as well Hermione Granger whenever such an opportunity presents itself." He scowled. "Insufferable cow of a woman."

He startled, shot the Minister a panicked look, and then blushed.

Bones slammed her hand down on her desk. "That's the kind of backbone I'm looking for, Weasley!" she thundered. "Woe that it took this long. As for Skeeter," she smiled predatorily, waving a dismissive hand, "you leave that woman to me."

Tonks raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"This conversation is to go no further than this room," Bones continued. "Is that understood?" She looked first to Percy and then to Tonks, her eyes promising swift action should her edict be ignored.

"Yes, Minister," Percy replied.

"Of course," Tonks agreed, nodding.

"That includes Dumbledore, Auror Tonks," Bones said severely. "I will not allow this office to be used. If I get one whiff that anything said here finds its way into the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, not only will you be dismissed from your position with prejudice, but criminal charges of espionage and treason will be filed against all parties involved. Is that quite clear?"

Tonks paled. "Crystal, ma'am."

"Excellent. You both are dismissed."

She looked down at the papers on her desk and said nothing further as Tonks and Percy rushed from the room. When the door closed behind them, Amelia inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath, wondering if she had the wherewithal to pull this off.

Heading the Department of MLE had been grueling but relatively free from the political machine in which she now found herself. She didn't question her integrity or commitment, but was cognizant there were any number of people waiting in the wings for her to stumble so they might press some hidden agenda. She couldn't afford to muck this up; too many people were counting on her to turn back the tide from Fudge's idiocy.

She picked up the letter she received the night prior from Harry Potter and once again scanned its contents.

The media she could control, but Dumbledore was another animal entirely. However, Potter had provided her with some extremely persuasive ammunition. As Potter's reputation had been attacked last year, so too had that of Dumbledore, and while Potter would eventually sway people back in his camp – they were too fearful to do otherwise – Dumbledore's advanced age and his seeming inability to control the goings-on at the school which he administrated had damaged him in the eyes of the people far more than he realized.

Were Potter telling the truth, and she had no doubt that he was, should Dumbledore attempt to corral Potter in any way, there were any number of criminal charges that could be brought against him. Amelia smiled at the thought.

The question was who to trust? Despite Fudge's ousting, the Ministry was still littered with his past appointments, as well as underlings desperate to line their own pockets with the bribes Cornelius had so readily accepted.

She liked Tonks well enough; the woman was competent in her job and her affection for Potter was obviously genuine, but her loyalty to Dumbledore was profound, perhaps even eclipsing that to her career. She was quite certain Weasley was remorseful, but she was unwilling to allow Potter to be his sacrificial lamb in finding his way back into his family's good graces.

She turned swiftly when the fireplace behind her roared to life.

"Amelia!" a voice boomed.

"Ah, Augusta! So good to see you. How are you?"

Lady Longbottom's face appeared in the flames. "Quite well, thank you. And you and your fair niece?"

A fond smile crossed Amelia's lips. "Susan is lovely, thank you. I'm most pleased by her class standing, as I am sure you are with that of young Neville. How is he?"

The unmistakable beam of pride was answer enough. "With each passing day, Neville reminds me more and more of his parents."

Amelia bowed her head to remember Alice and Frank Longbottom and their sacrifice. "That is fantastic. What can I do for you, Augusta?"

"Direct as always," Lady Longbottom acknowledged. "How refreshing." She grinned. "Amelia, I am in receipt of a most interesting letter."

The amused Minister raised an eyebrow and held up her own Potter communiqué. "As am I."

"Wonderful! I think it would behoove us to speak of this in more detail. Perhaps tonight?"

Amelia nodded. "Of course. I would like to invite both you and your grandson to my home, say half past six?"

"Right. See you then."

"Augusta, before you go…"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe him?"

Augusta chuckled. "Oh, Amelia, there's not a doubt in my mind." She disappeared from the flames.

Minister Bones swung her chair back around, her monocle affixed firmly in place, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Nor in mine," she whispered.

So, Potter had reached out not only to her but to Lady Longbottom as well. She wondered as to his other allies. She was sure a Weasley must be amongst them, but who else?

She considered the question as she quickly composed a letter to Susan advising her niece that they would be having guests this evening.

Cordelia sat back and watched as the others began arguing about how best to accomplish a mission in which only a few believed.

She rolled her eyes as they debated points both major and minor, as well as attempting to convince each other of the efficacy of what they were doing. She looked down at her watch and sighed.

She had refrained from putting in her two cents because she had expected Xander to take them all in a firm grasp, but it appeared that her return had caused him to falter somewhat. She was sad that her mere presence had so shaken his confidence, but more than that, she was pissed off that he had allowed it to happen.

Well, time to take care of that nonsense.

"All of you just shut up!"

They turned as one to stare at her, blinking owlishly. She glared at each of them in turn before her eyes settled on Xander. She then broke out her best Glare of Doom, very pleased when he withered before her. To her surprise and delight, however, he immediately rallied and nodded to her.

"Listen up!" he barked. "This is how it's going to go."

She sat back and smiled, satisfied. She knew Anya would have gotten him there eventually, but who had that kind of time? She was on a schedule.

"Angel and I are out," Xander continued. "We're both on record as having visited Faith in jail and I scoped out their security while I was there. Vampires can be captured on video, so they have footage of Angel as well as of me."

Angel grunted his agreement. He was angry, but Xander's logic was sound.

"Gunn, Wesley, and Cordy are also out. They're known associates of Angel and we can't take the chance that someone in the LAPD hasn't taken notice of them."

"That's true," Kate said, nodding her agreement. "I know I wasn't the only one paying attention. I got the closest, but I know for a fact I was being watched."

Buffy shrugged. "So that leaves the Sunnydale contingent, minus Xander. We can deal."

Xander shook his head. "Sorry, Buff, but you told me yourself that you went with Angel and saw Faith when she turned herself in to Kate."

Her eyes widened. "You can't seriously be considering having Riley walk into that prison," she argued. "Not only should he not have to deal with this, but we have no way of knowing how Faith will react to him!"

"Please don't speak for me," Riley said quietly.

Buffy turned toward him, her eyes searching. "I don't want you to be hurt."

His hand covered hers. "And I appreciate that, but this isn't about me or Faith. It's about Cordelia and whatever the hell is after Angel."

"I didn't know you cared," Angel sneered.

Buffy turned to glare at him.

"Don't be obnoxious," Cordelia snapped at Angel, punching his thigh.

"I don't," Riley barked at the vampire. "I care what happens to the rest of us if something happens to you. In case you forgot what life is like in Sunnydale, we have our hands full. If whatever's after you gets through, what then? We can't control both the Hellmouth and your city."

"Dude's right," Gunn said.

"I'll go," Willow said softly. She cleared her throat before raising her head and meeting their surprised gazes. "I'll go," she said more loudly. "I can do this."

"I know you can, Will," Xander nodded. "I have complete confidence in you."

Willow beamed as Cordelia once again rolled her eyes, this time with Anya joining her.

"But," he added, "I'm worried. Your magic can slip past your control when you're angry, and you have a right to be mad at Faith." He raised a brow. "Not as much as Buffy, Riley, or I do, but if you tell me that you will be able to control yourself completely, I'd like you in on this."

Willow faltered, doubt seeping from her eyes as her teeth began worrying at her lower lip. She didn't like it, but Xander was right. She knew she was powerful, but her magic was new; she was still learning its limits and, more often than not, she messed up. They couldn't afford that now; too much was riding on this and they only had one shot.

She blushed. "Maybe it's not such a good idea," she finally said.

Riley patted her shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with admitting so. As part of a team, the best thing you can do for yourself and your teammates is acknowledging potential problems before they occur. It takes grace, dignity, and courage, but we already knew you possessed those strengths," he grinned, eliciting a beam from Willow.

Cordelia and Anya snorted. Loudly.

"Oh, shut up," Tara scolded them, running her fingers through Willow's hair. "And don't stick out your tongue, sweetie."

Willow abruptly closed her mouth before she could stick out her tongue, causing her teeth to clack together. "You don't know me."

"Uh, yeah," Xander said, giving his best friend the side-eye. "Anyway, from what I was allowed to see for myself, I've made a rough blueprint of the jail." He turned to Kate. "I'd like you to look it over and make any suggestions." She nodded. "As for the actual retrieval, the team will be Riley, Tara, and Anya."

"Me?" Anya asked.

He nodded. "Buffy and Willow probably don't want to admit it, but you're the best under pressure, and when things go wonky, you can come up with several alternative plans at once."

She became smug. Cordelia nodded her approval.

"I learned from the best," Anya chirped, tweaking Xander's nose and laughing when he slapped away her hand.

"Besides," he continued, now blushing, "you'll be able to control Riley and Faith if necessary. Faith won't hurt you because she knows doing so will bring down a load of hurt on her from me."

"What does that mean?" Angel demanded.

"It means that Faith isn't dead because Xander didn't want her dead," Buffy said. "Believe me, there were opportunities both before and during the coma, and I was more than happy to take them." She scowled. "He saw something in her, something I didn't see either because I couldn't or I didn't want to, but I listened. It's only recently that I'm glad I did.

"But trust me, Faith knows how dangerous Xander can be when someone he loves is threatened, and she knows that both Willow and I will back him up without question when it comes to that." She shrugged. "Why do you think she went relatively easy on Cordy last year? Faith has a lot of bravado, but Xander can be very scary when he wants to be."

Cordelia and Willow nodded.

Angel blinked and said nothing.

A slow smirk spread across Cordelia's face. She never thought she'd see the day when Buffy would so blatantly come across for Xander; she was pleasantly surprised.

"Also," Xander added, turning to his girlfriend, "if Tara needs help with the spell, you're really the only one who can do that. It's your spell, after all."

"What spell?" Willow asked. "What do you mean it's Anya's spell?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Will, how did you think Anya was able to summon D'Hoffryn all those years ago? She was a witch!"

Startled, a flattered Anya smiled and nodded.

Willow turned toward Buffy and frowned, her eyes narrowed. "Xander told you that," she guessed.

Buffy colored. "Doesn't matter. It's still true."

"But what's the spell?" Willow asked Anya.

Now annoyed, Anya reached into her pocket and withdrew a sheet of parchment. She opened it and smoothed the creases before handing it over to Willow, who blanched.

"Wow. This is…wow. A simulacrum? Really?"

Anya nodded again. "The spell is neither that advanced nor that difficult, really. The problem is the amount of magic required to maintain it. It's constant."

"How we do get around that?" Gunn asked. "Once this is over, Tara will be gone and she can't afford to keep a spell running at that level." He blinked. "And what the fuck is a…whatever that word was?"

"A simulacrum is a rudimentary representation of a person or thing," Angel answered. "It's fashioned in the model's likeness and then animated by magic, and is more effective than a golem."

He frowned. "Gunn's right, though. The level of power required to keep a spell like that running is immense, especially when taken into account that, in order for this to work, the simulacrum will have to be animated for probably several years." He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, looking up at Anya. "Blood magic?"

She nodded. "As a Slayer, Faith is a magical person. Her blood will anchor the simulacrum to this realm and will serve as her substitute. Also, the fact that she will continue to reside in Los Angeles means that she can replenish the spell as need be."

She bit her lip. "Although, I would prefer it if Tara, Buffy, and Willow would consent to use some of their blood as well. The more magic animating it, the more realistic the simulacrum. Tara and Willow can always come back to recharge the spell, but I don't think it will be necessary."

"Not a problem," Buffy said. Willow and Tara nodded, the former somewhat reluctantly.

"What about me?" Xander asked.

Anya smiled and patted his cheek. "You're not magical, honey. I'm not either; not anymore. Wesley could contribute if he so chooses, and were Giles and Joyce here, I'd ask them as well. Dawn's a wild card, and I don't think that's a good idea anyhow. I'm not willing to take any chances where she's concerned while Glory's still running amok like a whirling dervish."

"Agreed," said a grateful Buffy. "Wait, what? You'd ask Mom?"

"Well, of course. You're the Slayer, Buffy. Slayers are only born of Potential Slayers."

Buffy blinked. "What?" She turned to Wesley. "Did you know that?"

"No," he answered slowly. "The Council always assumed that the choice of Slayer was random, left up to chance by the spirit animating them."

"That's what you get for assuming," Anya sang.

Wesley glowered at her while Cordelia snickered. He turned to glare at her, but instead burst out laughing.

"What's so funny," she demanded, now royally pissed off as the others began joining in his laughter.

A guffawing Xander saluted her. "All hail, Pippi Longstocking!"

"What?"

She then noticed that her friendly ghost had stopped brushing her hair. A very bad feeling began coursing through her veins. She tentatively reached up to her head with her hands and discovered her tresses were now in two pigtails. Two very crooked pigtails.

"Dennis!"

Minerva McGonagall stormed into the Headmaster's office, dragging with her a weakly protesting Harry Potter. Luna Lovegood serenely followed, eyes limpid as she stared around the space with undisguised interest.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, eyes twinkling. "Professor McGonagall! Now that we're all here, perhaps you would kindly explain the purpose of this summons."

She coolly regarded him, raising an eyebrow.

Flitwick, Sprout, Pomfrey, and even Snape, their eyes wide, took a step back.

Harry was positively mortified and shot a terrified look toward Luna, who was busy calmly poking at one of Dumbledore's silver instruments with her wand and frowning.

He wanted to hex her into oblivion.

In lieu of a direct answer, Minerva turned to the other Heads of House, inquiring as to whether any of their students had reported unusual detentions assigned and overseen by Umbridge.

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted, the twinkle now gone, "what is this about?"

"Well, Dumbledore," she said coldly, refusing to affix even one of his myriad titles to his surname, "I was just wondering if perhaps Madam Umbridge had used her Blood Quill on students other than young Mister Potter here."

Flitwick and Sprout gasped; Pomfrey and Snape scowled.

Dumbledore's eyes widened as he sat back down in his massive chair. He stared at Harry, who was blushing fiercely his eyes trained on the floor. Never had he suspected anything like this and he was furious that the castle itself had not seen fit to inform him of these grievous developments. The castle's protection wards should never have allowed such action, regardless of whether he was in residence as Headmaster or not.

Umbridge had briefly held the title, yes, and thus many of the wards which were responsible for governing the school, but the Founders themselves had created protective wards to guard the students against such assaults, for one never knew when a teacher or other administrative official might misuse their power. The use of a Blood Quill against a student was indeed an assault, far more so than Severus's perverse abuse of the house point system.

"Harry?" he whispered, devastated.

Harry said nothing and McGonagall was far from finished. He winced when she snatched his wrist in her hand and held it up for all to see.

"I must not tell lies," she seethed. "That is what it reads." Color rose high in her face as her blood pressure continued to climb. "Can you even imagine how often he must have been forced to write that line for it to imprint and scar his skin in this manner?" she roared.

Poppy clucked her tongue and bustled over to Harry, all but tossing McGonagall aside as she performed with her wand an impromptu exam, muttering under her breath the entire time. This would not go unpunished, she decided, and if she couldn't aim her wand at that miserable wretch Umbridge, she'd find someone on whom to take out her anger.

"Mister Potter, you should have come to the Infirmary directly after the first assault." She raised an eyebrow. "In fact, I find it doubtful that Miss Granger would not have advised you to do exactly that." His blush was answer enough. "Perhaps you would care to explain to me why, in all of your many visits to my office, I never once saw these scars?"

She turned and glared at Dumbledore. "Scars which never should have been allowed to happen within these walls."

Dumbledore said nothing, but withered slightly under her condemning glare. He would wait and hear the explanation Harry offered.

Seeing that her student was loath to offer any details, Minerva decided to pick up the slack. "The only reason I myself discovered this," she said stiffly, "is because while Mister Potter and I were discussing his course selection in my office, Miss Lovegood encouraged him to inform me of it. When he refused, she canceled the glamour disguising the scars and then told me how they came to be in the first place."

Her eyes bored into those of Luna, who stared back with guileless nonchalance.

"And how is it you became aware of this?" Snape demanded of the girl.

Harry bit his lip and waited to see how Luna would answer. He was hopeful she wouldn't reveal her ability to see through glamours, as that talent was rare and he didn't relish Dumbledore exploiting it.

"Miss Lovegood," Snape snapped.

Luna continued walking around the office, observing all of the treasures it contained. She was fairly certain she detected nargles, but she wasn't quite sure. Crafty little buggers.

"Miss Lovegood!"

Startled, Luna turned around to face the professor. "Oh. Hello."

Snape drew in a ragged breath and rubbed his face with a hand. "How did you become aware of Mister Potter's scar?" he bellowed, each word an increasing decibel.

"Why, it's always been there. Voldemort gave it to him, didn't you know?"

His eyes bulged. "The scar on his wrist!"

"Hm?" she asked. "Oh," she smiled dreamily, "one morning while at breakfast, I was sitting at our table across from Harry, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table, because that's his House, of course, and I suppose he forgot to put the spell on. He looked rather tired, you see, but that could have been from him trying to avoid the chupacabra, as there was one loose in the area around that time. Or perhaps it was that pesky leprechaun who likes to follow Harry about."

She shrugged and twirled a lock of hair around her finger, seemingly oblivious to how angry Snape was becoming.

"Anyway, I saw the light from the candelabrum reflecting off the scars." She sighed wistfully. "It was quite beautiful, really, like a peachy spider web. Oh, but that of a normal spider, of course, not an Acromantula." Her eyes became impossibly wider. "It would be brilliant if Daddy could interview one of those for the next edition of The Quibbler." She nodded. "I best speak with Professor Hagrid. Oh, look! Nargles!"

She floated away.

Harry swallowed his snickers as Snape pressed his lips into an angry white line, the other professors staring at Luna with a mixture of confusion and consternation, although he noticed McGonagall and Pomfrey were smirking. He watched as Luna summarily dismissed them all from her thoughts and glided over to the corner to stare up at Fawkes, who regarded her with similar fascination.

McGonagall cleared her throat and glared down at Harry. "Again, I put to you my earlier question, Mister Potter: why did you not inform me of this," she snapped, grabbing his wrist from Pomfrey's hand, "when it occurred?"

He felt the anger rising within him, the frustration of the past year swelling and crashing over every raw nerve: Umbridge, the DA, Fudge, the Ministry, Sirius. Despite the protests of Hermione and Ron, he thought he had been handling things rather well.

Granted, he was often surly and had isolated himself from his friends, in part to avoid a scene like this, when his control was tenuous at best and volatile at worst, hoping to spare them the brunt of his self-loathing and furious emotions.

He knew McGonagall was concerned for him, that her anger was directed at Umbridge and not at him, but the reins were slipping. He felt rather than saw Dumbledore silently urging McGonagall to forgo this line of questioning; he felt Snape's glee at what was his impending eruption.

And he knew it was impossible to stop himself.

"I tried," he seethed, his eyes narrowed as he glared right back at her, yanking his wrist free from her grasp. "More than once, I tried. How many times did I come to you, like you always told me I should, only to be turned away, to be told that I was making things more difficult, to keep my head down and nose out of trouble because I was just feeding more fuel onto Umbridge's fire?"

Minerva paled as her arms fell to her sides, her hands trembling slightly. She felt the blood drain from her face and pool into her feet, which were like blocks of ice.

He was right. He was absolutely right.

He had come to her, several times, most likely for help, and she had shooed him away like an annoying gnat, inadvertently blaming him for whatever troubles he was experiencing, unwittingly reinforcing his belief that he alone was responsible for whatever befell him.

She had always told him that he could come to her, she had tried so hard to instill in him that he could trust her, and the one time he had tried, the one time he believed her words, she had denied him.

She had failed him. Again. As she had in his first year, disregarding his warnings about the Philosopher's Stone.

"Minerva," Dumbledore sighed heavily, his voice dripping with disappointment.

His scolding immediately relighted her ire, but before she could summon the words to castigate him in turn, Harry surprised the entire room by pushing McGonagall behind him, leaping forward, withdrawing his wand and brandishing it against the Headmaster, who paled.

"How dare you!" Harry hissed, only barely able to refrain slipping into Parseltongue, his entire body vibrating with fury. "How dare you blame her? Where were you, Professor? Where were you when that…that miserable bitch sauntered in to this castle and proceeded to rip our lives to shreds? You think I was the only who was punished with that Quill? Do you have any idea what that woman did to us all? How she almost destroyed this school and everyone in it?

"No. You disappear with no warning, provide no reason, and then come back with your twinkling eyes and gentle smile, casting blame on the innocent when the only one responsible for all of it is you!"

"Harry," McGonagall murmured. "I appreciate your words in my defense more than you will ever know and they are perhaps more than I deserve, but you must…"

"No! He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and then hides behind this nebulous 'greater good' of his. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of him telling me what to do, where to go, how to feel."

He slammed open palms down onto Dumbledore's desk, turning hateful eyes onto startled blue ones as he fought for breath. He wasn't going to allow his temper to give away that which needed to be hidden, but he was going to put Dumbledore on notice once and for all.

"You consigned me to hell for eleven years because it was convenient for you to do so. Let us not pretend otherwise." His glare intensified. "Do you have any idea what those people did to me?" He paused. "Do you even care? I know you have your suspicions, yet you've never asked for confirmation." He smiled and it was poisonous. "I wonder why."

Albus was horrified. What had he done to this boy?

Harry snorted. "You saw fit not to check on me, not even once, for over a decade. Then you bring me here, because you had no other choice, because you knew Voldemort would return, because you needed me to defeat him, because you know you are too weak to do so."

Flitwick and Sprout gasped; an intensely curious Snape inched forward.

"I've accepted this as my burden," Harry continued, "as you knew I would, but you will no longer be dictating anything to me. If you try, you will discover how difficult winning a war can be when your primary weapon refuses to fight."

"You are not a weapon, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "and I care very much about your well-being."

Harry laughed, a horrible sound, like an mistuned piano. "Oh, yes, you care for me, as long as I prove useful."

He shook his head in exasperation. "Just how thick do you think I am, Professor? You knew Hermione would determine what was hidden on the third floor corridor. You knew what I would find in the Forest that night. You knew that I wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, yet you did nothing as the whole ostracized and taunted me. You knew I didn't enter myself in the Tournament, yet you stood back again, watched, and said nothing as the entire school turned against me. You knew Sirius was innocent and it was within your power to order him a trial, yet you never did. You knew what was happening to me in those alleged Occlumency lessons."

Harry's eyes shined with absolute furor. "And when every battle arrived at Hogwarts, you yourself were conveniently absent. Did you honestly believe that I was unaware of what you were doing? I knew from first year!"

Dumbledore paled. "Harry, I assure you..."

"The last time the Chamber opened was fifty years ago. You were here then as the Transfiguration professor. You might not be able to speak Parseltongue, but you will never convince me that you didn't know precisely where the entrance to the Chamber was. I find it incredible that, as someone who communes with all the ghosts in this castle, you wouldn't know about Myrtle and how she died, not to mention where and at whose hand."

Dumbledore said nothing and found he was unable to hold Harry's gaze.

"Then in my third year, Sirius was returned to me, but only in name. He was wanted for a crime he never committed and by which time you knew he was innocent, but that point is moot. What I would like to know, Professor, is why the head of the Wizengamot did not demand a trial for the man he knew to be my legal guardian, the best friend of my parents? Why did you not insist that Sirius be questioned under Veritaserum?

"I could perhaps understand you overlooking this necessity after Voldemort's attack on my parents, but by the end of third year, you knew he was innocent. You certainly believed in it enough to encourage me and Hermione to go back in time to save him!"

Snape was almost apoplectic by this point and McGonagall's wand had somehow found its way into her hand.

"And let us not waste time debating the ridiculousness of the Tournament, the agony of which you could very well have spared me had you the desire."

"You have to understand…" Dumbledore feebly trailed off.

"I believe I've been more than understanding and for far too long!" Harry snapped. "You say that I am the one to defeat Voldemort, but rather than training me to accomplish this, you dismiss me when I ask questions you would rather not answer. You disappear on mysterious missions which you never explain. You see fit to provide me with information only when you feel I am capable of handling it, when in truth you know there is very little I cannot handle."

Harry smirked. "Do you know what I think? You have no idea what you're doing where Voldemort's concerned. You're operating on nothing more than speculations and suppositions, yet you have no qualms about reordering my life to fit an agenda which might be nothing more than the fancy of a delusional man who is as obsessed with Voldemort as Voldemort is with me."

Flitwick's mouth fell open. Sprout had to cast a silencing spell on herself before she broke out in laughter.

"You have established some ridiculous schedule to which I am supposed to adhere," Harry continued, "when it is my life that is on the line and you are completely ambivalent about those lives lost because of your continued silence. Their names are Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black, in case they slipped your mind. Do you think about them, Headmaster? I do. I see them every night in my dreams. I see them die before me while I am helpless to stop it. You may not have killed them, but neither did you lift a finger to stop their deaths, and you and I both know you had that power."

Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself.

"I will remain at Hogwarts and finish my education – on my terms, thank you, as I am the one who has to pay both literally and figuratively for that alleged privilege. I will defeat Voldemort because I know that, until I do, my friends will never be safe. I fully expect to die and, frankly, death would be a sweet release from the nightmare you have made of my life."

His eyes narrowed. "But don't you ever speak to me again as if we both don't know what has really happened, nor will I participate in any more of your qualifying rounds simply because you wish to determine my mettle. Is that clear?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and made his way across the room.

"I apologize if my tirade has in any way offended or made you uncomfortable," he said to Professors Flitwick and Sprout while noticeably ignoring Snape. "That was not my intention."

He was unsurprised when both professors were too shocked to offer any replies. He nodded to them and crossed to McGonagall.

"Professor, I would suggest that you alert Minister Bones to Umbridge's use of the Blood Quill. I will explain to her the circumstances and will provide the names of the other students she tortured."

Luna appeared at his side, threaded her arm through his, and guided him over to the sofa, where they both sat down. She whispered into his ear, her words lost to those others present.

Dumbledore continued staring at his desk. Until this moment, he'd had no idea how badly he had gambled.

Viktor Krum studied the pleasant if ordinary house with some small concern.

He still wasn't quite sure about wizarding Britain and how to navigate his way through it, and that obnoxious bus he had boarded was of little to no help. However, the psychotic driver had insisted that this was the correct address and Viktor figured he had no choice but to knock on the door and determine if this was the case.

Merlin, he was nervous, even more so than when he had sat atop his broom and tried to prepare himself prior to competing for the World Cup.

He had no idea about the contents of that which he was about to deliver and was loath to bring even more pain upon its recipients, sure they were still grieving. Still, it had to be done. It was time, overly so, he imagined, and he felt guilty that it had taken him this long to comply.

He didn't like remembering the Tournament and the events surrounding it. He was not ashamed of his behavior or performance, but he regretted that he had consented to enter. Outside of his relationship with Hermione and his surprising friendship with Harry, it had not been a rewarding experience. He cleared his throat and tried to quiet his mind, nodding to himself and straightening his robes. Dithering would accomplish nothing.

He picked up his bag and began walking toward the house, reviewing silently what he would say. His English had improved dramatically due to his correspondence with Hermione, though he knew his accent was still quite thick. Hopefully he would not make a fool of himself.

He sighed and raised his fist to the door, knocking upon it with three short raps. He fought the wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. This was ridiculous, he knew; he was a graduate of Durmstrang, a professional Quidditch player, and had just finished his mastery. He feared very little, yet he was afraid of this house, of the people therein, and their reactions to what he was about to do.

He had waited too long to do this. Whatever dressings these people had applied to their mourning, he was about to rip away. He jumped when he heard shuffling footsteps approach the door and felt his eyes widen preposterously when it swung open. He imagined he looked rather like a startled house elf.

"Yes?" a man asked. "May I help you?" He appeared to recognize Viktor, yet was having difficulty placing him.

"You are Mister Amos Diggory?" Viktor asked, in slow, halting English. He vaguely remembered the man being present before the final task of the Tournament.

"I am Diggory," the man nodded. "And you are?"

"Hello, Mister Diggory. My name is Viktor Krum."

Amos Diggory paled, his lips turning white. He swallowed heavily and plastered a sickly smile on his face. "Yes, of course, Mister Krum. I recognize you now. What is it that I can do for you?"

Silently, Viktor reached into his cloak and withdrew the parchment. He held it up so that the man could read the handwriting, very proud that his hand did not tremble.

"I have a letter for you, sir, from your son."

Alastor Moody respected Hermione Granger; he respected her intelligence, her bravery, her loyalty, and her proven mettle in the course of battle. Potter was lucky to call her his friend.

However, he was now past all patience and ready to backhand the girl across the Channel.

He had been irritated, though unsurprised, when her incessant interrogation of him had begun the moment her custody had been transferred to him from the exhausted Auror who had been unfortunate enough to be assigned to her care as she rode the Knight Bus from London to Ottery St. Catchpole.

He had been startled to see Krum on the same bus and rather perturbed that Granger had not noticed the young man at all. The fact that Krum had been under a Disillusionment Charm might have had something to do with it, of course, so he was willing to cut some slack to the normally observant girl. He would attempt to discover later the game which Krum was playing.

The Burrow's wards had been strengthened exponentially thanks to the due diligence of the eldest Weasley child, Bill. Moody had no idea what those infernal Goblins really did at Gringotts, but if Bill's casting ability was any indication, he believed the wizarding bank truly was the safest place in Britain. It was now impossible to Apparate within a square mile of the Burrow, so he was helpless but to escort Granger on foot.

At least the girl had the foresight to shrink and stow her trunk under the watchful eye of an Auror while still on the bus. Ridiculous that children were not allowed to practice magic outside the school. They were in the middle of a war, after all, not in the midst of tea with the Queen.

He frowned. He didn't understand why the secrecy laws should apply to Potter and his friends given that, without their interference, there was a real probability that the Ministry would have fallen mere weeks ago. Besides, those who would be sixth years had received their OWLs, which should allow them to practice unrestricted. He suspected Dumbledore's meddling was involved. He would speak with Amelia later.

He was impressed with Granger's ability to keep a swift pace while never losing breath to ask her unending questions. He noted with amusement that she was untroubled by his lack of reply; in fact, other than a cursory greeting, she had not deigned to acknowledge him at all. He was also pleased that her wand was at the ready and her eyes darted about the road and the surrounding woods, searching for any sign of abnormal activity. Constant vigilance, indeed.

He doubted this was merely the influence of Potter. Granger, more than any young person he had met, was her own person. He rather thought the entire Auror corps could stand to learn from her. Of course, who couldn't?

If he issued a command, she followed it immediately, but didn't pause a second in her demand to know all of the information he had on Potter, his whereabouts, his relatives, and the new syllabus for Defense Against the Dark Arts, not caring that he was no longer the professor of the course. There were a host of other questions she posed, but he couldn't keep up with her rapid pace and seeming ability not to require breath.

He felt old.

He was of the mind that the girl deserved answers, for he truly doubted that Potter would have gotten this far without her, so any he could provide that didn't compromise his own conscience, Potter's trust, or Order operations, he freely granted, though all were perfunctory and he knew the girl remained dissatisfied. The subject soon became exclusive to Potter himself, which he had anticipated. Once she had discerned that he had no more knowledge than she about Potter's voluntary exile from all things magical, she proceeded to rant like nothing he had ever seen or heard, lambasting Potter's cavalier, thoughtless, and hurtful attitude.

"Merlin's balls, Granger!" he finally thundered. "If this is how you treat Potter when he's in your company, it's no wonder he's not owling you!"

He shook his head. "In case you had forgotten, the boy led a group of underage, undertrained wizards and witches into a ministerial department of which most people have never heard, let alone understand, where he watched the Weasley girl and Longbottom attacked, where he watched you almost die, and where he was taunted and tortured by that sociopathic bitch LeStrange!"

His magical eye scanned the area restlessly. "And let us certainly not forget that he was possessed by the Dark Lord and watched as his beloved godfather was murdered by the man's own cousin." He turned to face her. "Merlin forbid he take some time to himself and attempt to wrap his head around the fact that he has lost another link to his dead parents – and his proper legal guardian, mind – almost lost his best friend, blames himself for all the injuries you lot sustained, and was yet again attacked by his mortal enemy! If he doesn't feel the need to check in with you every time he takes a piss, what of it? Grow up!"

Moody gave her credit for not bursting into tears or scowling and launching a tirade, pleased when she became contemplative and the telltale blush of embarrassment began creeping up her neck. He nodded his approval.

Hermione frowned.

Proper legal guardian? Well, yes, Sirius had been Harry's legal guardian by virtue of being named godfather but, as a wanted fugitive, he had been unable to act in that capacity. She was sure, however, that Moody was trying to tell her something, his words precise yet carefully veiled.

Proper.

What did that mean, exactly?

In her opinion, it could be argued that Sirius had been named by the Potters via their will as Harry's legal guardian. She herself had never seen the will, nor had Harry spoken of it, but she highly doubted that parents who were being actively hunted by a serial killer and had gone under the Fidelius would not have made plans for their only child in the event of their deaths.

Hermione gnawed on her lip.

Why hadn't she thought about this before?

Further, it was suspect that James and Lily Potter would not have named backup guardians for Harry, given the fact that their best friends were also wanted by Voldemort. Of course, Remus wouldn't have been allowed to serve as godfather either, his lycanthropy precluding him from fulfilling that role. And it was inconceivable that Lily Evans Potter – considered the brightest witch of her age – was ignorant of her sister Petunia's prejudices of all things magical, so it would stand to reason that Lily would not have entrusted her only child to Petunia's care…

She gasped.

Moody raised an eyebrow and stared down his nose at her.

Hermione's lips thinned, pressed together so tightly they all but disappeared.

Dumbledore, of course. It had to have been. Only he would have the audacity and the questionable authority to place Harry with the very last people his parents would have wanted to raise him, not to mention the ability to keep Harry off the magical radar for a decade.

And if she had been able to put all of this together in the space of a moment, than it was logical to assume that Harry…

She growled low in her throat.

Now it made sense why Harry was staying away. Yes, she was sure he felt guilty that she had been attacked by Dolohov; that Ginny, Ron, and Luna had been injured, no matter how slightly; that they had been there at all; that Sirius had died; that it was all a machination of Voldemort's design. Regret and self-recrimination were Harry's constant companions, but terrible things had happened before and Harry had not removed himself so completely from their lives.

But if he suspected Dumbledore had been manipulating things – and it was with sad irony that her mind quickly proposed several other possible scenarios for which Dumbledore might have been accountable – it was no wonder Harry was refusing contact. And how in the world had she not put these pieces together before?

Damn it!

She was supposed to be intelligent, not some simpering schoolgirl who fawned over other people!

And Harry knew Dumbledore was watching them all: Harry, Ron, and she herself.

Harry was trying to protect them.

Idiot, was her first thought, which quickly faded and was replaced with a suffusing warmth of exasperated fondness. Stupid, wonderful boy.

And obviously Moody was in on it, she realized. He couldn't say anything without violating Harry's trust and Dumbledore's confidence. But, then, on whose side was he?

Oh, Merlin. Not another side!

She sighed and grimaced at Moody, who replied with a bland look.

At the noticeable lack of any noise whatsoever, they turned their eyes forward and noted they were standing before the open door of the Burrow, where they were being observed with wide eyes.

Molly Weasley was scandalized; Ginny began snickering, which set off the twins; Bill was unusually solemn, which made Fleur laugh; Ron decided he had absolutely no questions for Mad-Eye Moody regarding Harry Potter.

"Alastor Moody!" Molly roared. "That is no way to speak to a lady!" She crossed the threshold, pushed him aside, wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, and led the girl into the house. "Welcome, dear," she said gently, "we're so glad you were able to join us!"

"You are?" asked a befuddled Hermione.

Moody rolled his magical eye at Molly's scolding, which only made Ginny and the twins laugh that much harder. He followed several paces behind, in search of any potential threat. Word was, there a ghoul who lived in the attic. Nasty business, ghouls.

Hermione was now hopelessly confused by Molly's overt solicitousness. Yes, Molly had always been cordial, but their relationship had been rather reserved since those ridiculous articles printed about her and Harry during their fourth year. She watched with wide eyes as Molly scurried about to enlarge her bags, which were then banished to Ginny's room, inquire after her parents, her own health in the wake of the events at the Ministry, her summer schoolwork, and any number of other things, the sheer volume of which soon had Hermione feeling overwhelmed.

In the middle of all of it, Molly had somehow managed to make tea and scones for everyone, the refreshments appearing on the dining table.

Hermione did her best to answer any and all questions, shooting Ron looks of utter incredulity, discomforted when Ron appeared as lost as she herself was.

Moody, amused by the entire situation, rightly guessed that Potter had taken Molly Weasley to task about the importance of one Hermione Granger. Any third party could see the three of them would not be parted for anything, and certainly not by a parent's sense of propriety.

Well, good for Potter. It said a lot about a young man who went to such lengths to protect his friends. It also suggested that Molly Weasley was more of a player in this than that for which she was given credit. He suppressed a chuckle.

Oh, Potter was good, so good. He couldn't wait to see what else the boy had planned! But now he had to press his own agenda.

"Right then," he barked, "you lot should be made aware that Potter was attacked this morning in Diagon Alley."

The explosion was, of course, immediate and predictable.

"What was Harry doing away from his relatives?" Hermione demanded, now furious that Moody had not seen fit to impart to her earlier this news. "What about those precious blood wards of Dumbledore's, eh?" she sneered.

Molly gave the girl an appraising look. Moody smirked.

"But Harry was with me this morning at the bank," Bill argued, his eyes narrowing. "When did this happen?"

"What was he doing with you?" Ron trilled.

"I was ravishing him in one of the private offices under the direction of the Goblins," Bill replied, rolling his eyes, sending Fleur into gales of laughter as everyone else turned to stare at him. "Honestly," he sighed, "it was Gringotts business." He turned to glare at his youngest brother and Hermione. "And none of yours."

Hermione went red in the face from anger, but Ron, startled by his brother's unusually snappish response, paled and backed up several steps, dragging Hermione with him and whispering furiously into her ear. Whatever he said was lost to the rest, but served to calm her down.

The twins thought it best not to mention their visit with Harry, and if Hermione and Ron's jealous response was any indication, they now understood why he had admonished them not to mention Luna Lovegood. They were curious, however, as to why Harry had not told them he had earlier met with Bill. Surely Harry hadn't needed to consult with a curse-breaker merely to retrieve some Galleons from his vault.

"Oh dear," Molly fretted, preparing to whip herself up into an hysterical mothering frenzy the likes of which the world had never seen, "was it Death Eaters?"

"No," Moody scowled, "just your average run-of-the-mill fools in all their obnoxious glory." He shook his head. "Potter was spotted outside of Flourish and Blotts by ordinary shoppers, who proceeded to harass and maul him when he declined to give autographs or speak of Voldemort."

He again rolled his magical eye when several present flinched at the name.

"Is Harry all right?" whispered a now tearful Hermione.

"Aye," Moody nodded, "he's fine now. Tonks healed his wounds."

"Wounds!" Ron exploded. "What did those sick bastards do to my Harry?"

He was incognizant of the curious glances sent his way by Fleur and George at his possessive phrasing. Ginny and Hermione were careful not to look at Ron, while Bill and Fred weren't even paying attention. Molly glared at Fleur and George, a silent bid to ensure their mouths stayed closed. She wasn't yet entirely sure how she felt about Ron's relationship with Harry, whatever that might have been or whatever her son might wish was between them – as well as Hermione, for that matter – but she would not stand to see him questioned or ridiculed for it. In that spirit, she let his language slide.

"They roughed him up a bit," Moody gruffly admitted. "Now that Fudge is gone and a woman of sense has assumed office, the tide has changed and the general public believes Voldemort has returned, even if the blasted Prophet has not seen fit to comment on it. The public sees Potter as their only hope and the only answers they want are his."

He clucked his tongue and shook his head at the stupidity of the populace. He then laughed.

"Anyone who ever wondered how Tonks got her job got their answer today. Bloody brilliant, she was, stunning people left, right, and sideways, threatening to throw the lot of them into Azkaban and rustle up some Dementors just for funsies."

"Go Tonks!" the twins cheered.

"She let Potter finish his business and then Apparated him to Hogsmeade," Moody finished. "I assume he is now at Hogwarts."

Hermione grabbed Ron's hand. "That's where we need to be," she said.

Ron nodded and they made for the fireplace.

"No you don't!" Molly screamed. She sighed as Ron and Hermione flinched. "I'm sorry, I should not have yelled, but you two are behaving toward Harry exactly like those people in Diagon Alley. I understand that you love him and want him with you, but he is entitled to his privacy, even from his friends."

She raised an eyebrow. "As his friends, I should hope you would respect that."

Hermione deflated and nodded sadly, but Molly noted with displeasure that Ron's stubborn streak was about to rear its ugly, pointed head.

"Ronald," she began severely, "I do not agree with the way Alastor spoke to Hermione, but he made very valid points. Harry is dealing with an awful lot right now and we need to give him time to process everything he has been through. I know you miss him; I do, too. I would like nothing more than to have him here with us and, as soon as he asks, I'll go fetch him myself and I don't give a whit what Dumbledore has to say about it. If it will make you feel better, I will contact the Headmaster later and inquire after Harry's condition but, for the love of Merlin, let the boy alone."

Moody grinned at Molly's words, noting with glee that she had said she would get Harry as soon as the boy himself asked; Dumbledore was no longer a consideration. Oh, he so wanted to see that showdown. A feeling of utter bliss swirled about his head.

Ron scowled and stomped over to the sofa, throwing himself down atop it. "No one tells me anything. I'm always the last to know."

"Drama queen," Fred whispered to George.

"Oh, stop whining, Ron!" barked a cross Ginny as Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Potter will be fine. At least he's not alone," Moody said. "The Lovegood girl is with him."

"What!" Ron and Hermione thundered.

Ginny frowned.

Bill raised an eyebrow.

Fleur smirked.

The twins eyed each other before Fred then conjured a box of popcorn.

Anya twirled about Cordelia's living room. "What do you think?"

"I think I've discovered a new fantasy," a happy Xander sighed. "But you need some beakers or test tubes or something." He nodded. "You know, to complete the look."

She smirked, ignoring the mutterings of the others and smoothed the lapels of the overly-starched lab coat before adjusting the glasses. She didn't like the frames, but at least the lenses were regular glass. The pleated skirt was a bit snug, but she liked that. It was impossible for clothes to be too tight, in her estimation.

The silk blouse was lovely and she determined then and there that Cordelia would not be getting back that particular item. She placed a barrette between her lips and hastily drew her hair into a chignon. She was wearing more makeup than usual, but Cordelia explained that wearing more than was necessary made her look older than wearing none at all.

It was all very confusing, but she was fairly sure that Cordelia knew what she was talking about.

"Why do you have so many costumes in your closet?" Buffy demanded of Cordelia, who rolled her eyes.

"I'm an actress. They're for auditions. Duh."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Oh."

"Cordy's Closet," Xander said, furrowing his brow. "Sounds like a porn movie."

Cordelia smiled. "Well, you would know."

He blushed and fell silent.

"Are you sure this will work?" asked a worried Angel.

Anya frowned. Okay, she had been a pretty good sport about all of this. She had encouraged Xander to leave Sunnydale and care for Cordelia. She herself had schemed and plotted to ensure the survival of her boyfriend's ex, a woman with whom she knew Xander still to be in love. She had put up with Willow and Buffy for two years just for the sake of Xander's happiness. But Angel had crossed a line, and now she was pissed.

As far as she was concerned, Angel was useless. Sure, he did some good, but if he got staked, the Powers would get themselves a new Champion the next day. She knew of the reputation of Angelus long before she had ever stepped foot on the Hellmouth and had borne witness to the path of savagery the Scourge had cut across Europe. She knew what Angelus had done during his last emergence and she knew that, eventually, he would find his way out again.

She herself didn't subscribe to the comfort of a soul curse in the manner of Buffy and Willow. The soul may have created Angel, but it didn't negate the presence of Angelus. In reality, it was Angel who was the curse of Angelus, not the other way around, the way Buffy and Willow had romanticized it.

For whatever mysterious reason, Xander was willing to put up with Angel during this mission, but she wasn't. She didn't know him, didn't like him, had never been in love with him, and owed him nothing. Not only was he a vampire, the lowest of the low in terms of demon classification, but he was male and thus doubly worthless.

Right. It was time to punch his ticket in.

"Are you doubting my ability to portray someone of intelligence?" she demanded. "Do you find it impossible that I could present myself as someone knowledgeable of scientific principles and the study of psychology? I, who have lived over one thousand years, who have seen races rise and fall, the collapse of entire civilizations?" She snorted. "Get serious." She then scowled. "Uppity vampires. They live a century or three and think they know everything."

Gunn burst out laughing as Angel backed up a step.

"I wasn't trying to offend you," he said quietly. "I just think it makes more sense for Riley to play this part, given the fact that he actually has an advanced degree in psychology."

"Riley is the token penis of this expedition," Anya sniffed. "As such, he is to protect both Tara and myself. He is strong and virile, with many muscles. He has military training. It only makes sense that he act as our bodyguard, for one will be expected given that we are heading to a prison. He also looks the part and is very gallant and commanding."

Angel wisely offered no opinion on this declaration.

Riley said nothing, continuing to lace up his boots, though his cheeks were flushed.

Buffy watched him with amusement. It was obvious that Anya had a crush on Riley, and she suspected Riley had one on both Anya and Xander. She supposed she should have been angry or jealous but, in truth, she found the whole thing endlessly adorable.

Of course, should the mutual crush proceed beyond certain boundaries, then action would be required. For now, however, watching Xander and Riley blush while pointedly ignoring each other as Anya shamelessly flirted with both of them was too endearing to halt, as well as providing her with future blackmail material.

"Let's run through it again," Willow suggested.

Anya nodded. "I am Doctor Margaret Forrest, junior psychologist with the Initiative, a joint operation between the United States Marine Corps and the National Institutes of Health. I am interviewing subject Faith Lehane as part of my post-doctoral research on the increasing rate of urban violence committed by young women."

She nodded to Tara. "This is my research assistant, Joyce Osbourne, who will be recording the interview. Also with me is Lieutenant Graham Miller, who is functioning as our personal protection and official representative of the military." She beamed.

Cordelia nodded. "Very good."

"I'm worried about the names," Buffy said.

"They can't use their real names, of course," Cordelia patiently explained, "and it's easier to remember aliases if they're based in part on the names of people who they actually know."

Buffy looked up at Riley, who was now shoving things into his bag. "What about Graham?"

He shook his head. "Graham's on assignment in Belize. I doubt they'll check, but if they do, he'll cover for us."

She nodded warily.

Tara raised an eyebrow at Willow. "Our badges?"

"I'm just finishing them up now," the witch replied, making final touches on her laptop screen before sending the files to Cordelia's printer. She jumped up, ran to her bag, and withdrew a small laminator.

"Have you all done this before?" asked a suspicious Kate.

Willow, Buffy, and Xander looked at each other before turning wide eyes on Kate.

"No," they chorused.

She shook her head and laughed, crossing to Xander. "I've added to your blueprint. You'll find additional cameras you didn't spot during your visit, as well as three exits which are unknown to any but personnel. Attached is a roster of personnel you would do best to ensure your team doesn't encounter." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure Willow can call up their files, including pictures, via the very illegal yet useful backdoor she somehow has established in the LAPD's firewall."

He praised her profusely, to the point where it crossed the line straight into flirting, causing her to blush. Of course, being that Xander was so irrepressibly Xander, he was completely oblivious to this. Cordelia, Buffy, and Anya watched with amusement. Xander finally finished his babbling and passed the map to Riley, who nodded, and the personnel list to Willow, who saluted him.

Anya was very jealous that she had not yet been saluted by anyone and proceeded to declaim this quite loudly.

Buffy exhaled. "Okay. Phase Two?"

Willow nodded, handing out the badges to Tara, Anya, and Riley. "I'll be outside in Riley's Jeep. I'll hack the mainframe at approximately zero-nine-hundred and take the security cameras offline. Tara will have approximately two minutes and thirty seconds to cast the spell and create the simulacrum."

She frowned and consulted her notes. "Then Tara will cast this charm of Anya's onto Faith, which should make it so no one can see her. If she needs my help, I'll be close enough that she can draw on my power. Faith should be able to walk right out with the others." She looked up at Anya. "What is this spell, anyhow?"

"It's called a disillusionment spell. It doesn't make you completely invisible, more like transparent. No one will be able to see Faith unless they're truly looking for her, and with the simulacrum in her place, it shouldn't be a problem. And, like you said, if Tara needs extra power, you'll be nearby for her to call on, but I really don't think it will be an issue."

"This is very risky," Angel sighed.

"It's what we're doing," Cordelia said flatly, shrugging. "It's our best bet. If it goes wrong, Tara can cast the charm on all of them and they can get the hell out of there. Good luck to the cops trying to track down transparent people with phony credentials."

"What if the Initiative gets wind of this?" Kate asked.

Riley shrugged. "Unofficially the Initiative no longer exists. Officially it never did. They might suspect me of being involved, and therefore Buffy as well, but they learned the hard way about what we do and they're not anxious to go against the Slayer and her friends again. We know where all the bodies are buried – literally – and they don't know who else we've told. Not to mention they just don't have the ability to control Buffy; the most they can do is keep her drugged."

"And what if they just decide to kill her?" Angel snapped.

"They won't, because they have no knowledge of what a Slayer truly is other than myths told to them by former HSTs, which are varying and therefore unreliable. They're not even sure Buffy can be killed. She died once but is still here, and they don't know why. Xander's involvement in her resurrection is unknown to them.

"They also know a second Slayer is already in existence and they won't take the chance that killing Buffy won't create another, one even more unpredictable about whom they have no knowledge. They're unsure as to the true power of the Council and the extent of their holdings, and they're unaware that Buffy is no longer allied with the Council but they don't know whether the Council is aware of them via Buffy."

"And they have no idea how to handle witches," Xander added. "Their testing on human subjects was confined to werewolves and after the episode with Oz, Walsh got so much flack from her superiors, human testing was banned. Willow and Tara are well beyond them, and they know it." He looked down at the floor. "I've thought about all of this, Angel. I wouldn't risk my friends needlessly."

"We know that, Xander," Tara said.

Buffy, Riley, Anya, and Willow all nodded.

"It's just so many variables," Angel said softly.

"No more so than what we're up against every single goddamn night," Gunn grunted.

"Angel, I know that you wish to take part in this scenario and I understand that you are worried for all parties involved," Wesley said, "but the bottom line is that this is being done to help Cordelia and, by extension, you. That's the end of it."

Angel grimaced and fell silent.

"What will the rest of you be doing?" Tara asked.

Cordelia sighed. "Packing up my stuff and getting ready for my departure, as well as trying to deal with Dennis." She looked up at the ceiling. "I get that you're mad, Dennis and I wouldn't be leaving if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but I'll die if I stay here. As much as I like you, I'm not yet ready to be joining you in the afterlife." She waited a moment and then looked at the others, shrugging. "He's pouting."

"Well, he'll have company soon enough," Gunn said.

Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

He blinked. "Isn't Faith going to live here?"

Cordelia's eyes widened. "I did not agree to that." She shook her head furiously. "If you think for one minute that I'm leaving my apartment and my ghost in her slutty hands, think again."

"Where is she to live?" asked a confused Wesley.

She stared at him and raised a brow, her judgment of his stupidity complete. "Not my problem, but I assumed at the hotel with Angel. I sure as hell don't like that option either, any more than Buffy does, I'm guessing, but I don't trust Faith enough to be out of Angel's sight for one minute. And with her staying at the Hyperion rent-free, I suggest Angel makes her get a job. Since he won't be paying me my pittance of a salary, he can keep up the rent on my apartment. Eventually, I will be back. I fought too hard for this place to let it go now."

Buffy hesitantly agreed. "The only reason I'm involved at all is because Faith will be under Angel's watch. She has to stay with him. He's the only one strong enough to contain her." She sighed. "Look, Xander and Angel say she's changed - fine - but as far as I'm concerned, Faith is still a wild card and we really have no idea how she'll react to being out. Angel should be able to keep her in check, but I'm going to be monitoring the situation, as will Giles."

"And what is it you think Giles can do?" Angel snidely asked.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Faith is scared of him. She respects him as a Watcher and wishes he had been her own. She also knows how far he'll go to protect me. You tell her that Giles will be keeping an eye on her and I can almost guarantee she'll toe the line." Her lips curved into a feline smile. "And if Giles isn't a threat, why did Angelus try so hard to remove him from my side?"

"Ha!" Xander cried.

Angel scowled. "Shut up, both of you."

"Testy, uppity vampires," Anya groused.

Susan Bones sighed and gently laid aside the letter from her aunt. She was pleased that Neville and his grandmother would be joining them for dinner, even if the latter was, frankly, rather terrifying. She didn't know Neville well but, when their paths had crossed, she had determined him to be a genuinely kind and decent boy who was always unfailingly polite if a bit skittish. Given the fact that he had joined Harry Potter at that assignation at the Ministry, however, perhaps Neville was finally growing into his Gryffindor heritage.

She stood up from her desk and glanced over at her nightstand, frowning. She had never before been the recipient of so much mail in her life, especially from people she didn't know or whose acquaintance could hardly be called familiar. She supposed the uncomfortable feeling was somewhat akin to that which Harry experienced on a daily basis. She shuddered.

She was justifiably proud of her aunt for being named the interim Minister, but the appointment had brought about with it a deluge of requests and offers of friendship from people whose intentions could only be called dubious. She knew they were hoping that some relationship with her would garner them favor with her aunt, but she was not about to be used for her name or connections, nor would her aunt ever tolerate such nonsense. She picked up the letters and tossed them into the rubbish bin.

Honestly. As if she wished to hear anything Draco Malfoy had to say.

"Little ferret," she grumbled.

She didn't really know Harry any better than she did Neville, but she had formed a speculative opinion about him over the past five years; while Hufflepuffs were gregarious with their own, they were more watchful of those of other houses. She knew Harry was brave, if rash; kind, if distant; and more intelligent than most realized. She knew that he, like both Neville and herself, was an only child who had lost his parents during the first war.

She had been raised by her aunt, thankfully, and Neville by his grandmother, but she knew nothing about Harry's life away from Hogwarts, save that he lived with Muggles when school was not in session. She had heard whispers of the sort of people they were, but as everything was unsubstantiated rumor and she was not one prone to idle gossip, she dismissed them, though she was curious.

Indeed, she was very curious about Harry Potter.

She reclined on her bed and crossed her legs at the ankle, staring up at the yellow canopy stretched atop her bed, considering that which she did know of him.

His two best friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron she had known since childhood, mostly through Ministry functions and mutual friends. She liked him well enough, she supposed, though found him to be obtuse on occasion and rather belligerent. Little was known about Hermione outside of Gryffindor, save her incredible intelligence and her devotion to Harry. She was still unsure why Hermione had not been placed in Ravenclaw – where she clearly belonged and where her intellect would have been a badge of honor for that house – but instead in Gryffindor.

Oh, she had little doubt of Hermione's courage, but it was painfully embarrassing to witness how the Gryffindors treated her. They were full of pride and adoration when her actions brought fame and house points, but ridiculed her when someone of another house received a higher grade or she was bullied by an insolent brat like Malfoy.

Susan frowned. She supposed Harry and Hermione were very much alike in that regard: loved when it suited, despised when it was convenient.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

The gossip surrounding Harry and Hermione – often perpetuated by their own house, no less! – had been circulating ever since he had saved her from that mountain troll in first year. While Susan herself did not engage in gossip, she did pay attention to it. Her aunt had told her often that there was usually some kernel of truth in rumor and it was always wise to be aware of the intentions of the people who surrounded you.

Of course, said rumor also speculated with regard to Ron Weasley.

Harry and Hermione were frequently believed to be dating, with Ron somewhere in the mix. It was assumed that all three were involved with each other, but split off on occasion, which was why they rowed so often. Now that she considered it, Susan realized that from what she had directly witnessed, Harry and Hermione in fact argued very little. Harry and Ron argued on occasion – huge fights which echoed throughout Gryffindor tower – but usually blew over in a couple of days.

Ron and Hermione, however, fought frequently, which some mistakenly offered as proof of some volatile romantic relationship. So, depending on the month or the class or the whatever, Harry was either involved with Hermione or Ron or both of them.

She snorted. She found it absurd that three people her own age were engaging in some sort of illicit union right under the nose of Minerva McGonagall. The very thought of the stern professor not only being cognizant of but tolerating such a relationship was laughable.

In truth, she doubted that any of them were involved; not seriously, at any rate. Harry had briefly dated Cho Chang last year and Hermione had been escorted by Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball in fourth year. Outside of that, however, it was rare that the trio were seen in the company of anyone but each other. Indeed, they preferred it that way, which only egged on the speculation.

She sighed and rolled onto her stomach.

Harry Potter was an enigma, one she found she wished to unravel. She knew that Voldemort was gaining power and that, eventually, there would be some kind of final battle, most likely at Hogwarts. She didn't understand the belief that Hogwarts was the safest place in wizarding Britain given that Voldemort had managed to infiltrate it one way or another for the past five years. If it was not possessed or Polyjuiced professors, it was possessed diaries or ridiculous tournaments. How did Dumbledore expect students to feel safe within its walls? Ludicrous.

She had been one of the first people who had signed up for the Defense Association after learning from her aunt that Harry could produce a corporeal Patronus, and she prayed he would continue the secret lessons this year. These were dangerous times, and she recognized that with her aunt in power, it was more likely than not that the Bones family would be targeted once again. She was determined that what befell her parents would not happen to her. She was a Hufflepuff, after all.

Many failed to recognize the importance of Hufflepuff House, dismissing its residents out of hand because they had not the cunning of Slytherin, the courage of Gryffindor, or the intelligence of Ravenclaw, but those people were wrong. Hufflepuffs embodied all of those qualities, but tempered them with kindness and wisdom.

Zacharias Smith was an aberration, the exception rather than the rule. Susan desperately wanted ten minutes alone with the Sorting Hat to demand why the hell it had cursed her House with that wanker.

Hufflepuffs were brave like Gryffindors, but not brash, and while they had a thirst for glory, it was one that could only be slaked by glory for them all, not just one. It was why they had rallied so fervently behind Cedric Diggory, not because he was the best of them, but the best of the school.

And true to his nature, Cedric had insisted that his House not denigrate Harry during the course of the tournament. He had not demanded that they support Harry equally, but he refused to allow members of his own house to wear those ridiculous badges Malfoy had conjured. In the end, Cedric had argued, regardless of whether he or Harry won, the glory would belong to Hogwarts.

He also expressed his belief that Harry had not entered his name in the Goblet of Fire, which anyone with half a brain should have figured out for themselves. One need only look at Harry during the course of that year, and it was obvious that the boy was terrified, participating only because he was compelled by a magical bond.

Which made no sense whatsoever, for how could Harry be forced to compete under threat of the loss of his magic when – regardless of whether he had submitted his name – he was not of legal age to enter into a binding contract? It was tantamount to magical rape, Susan felt, and her aunt had agreed.

Hufflepuffs were not the brightest, but they were the most studious and hardworking. Ravenclaws competed with each other for grades, while Hufflepuffs sought to ensure that every member of their house did well in their classes; while a Hufflepuff might not be first in their year, there were none who were in the bottom half. They held study groups, had peer mentors, and often conferred with the older students over concepts which eluded them.

The pomposity of Ravenclaws was only tolerated because there was no denying that its students were brilliant. In the end, however, they had been outmatched by Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor. Susan wondered how Padma Patil would fare when they returned in September. She felt there would be some members of Ravenclaw who would castigate the girl for not overtaking Granger during the OWLs.

She herself didn't understand that kind of rivalry, where the pursuit of knowledge was somehow secondary to the speed with which it was attained.

Susan smirked and reveled in the knowledge that the entirety of Ravenclaw was most likely furious that Luna Lovegood was the first in her class for her year. Given the way the entire house shunned her, Susan assumed it was only a matter of time before the Ravenclaws tried to worm their way into Luna's good graces. Not that it would matter, of course, for Luna was truly uncaring as to what others thought of her.

Susan herself wished she had that self-possessed a nature. She thought it atrocious the way Luna was treated, but the girl just shrugged it off, as if it hadn't occurred to her to be offended or hold a grudge, and was pleasant to everyone. The behavior of the Ravenclaws toward Luna was not something that would ever be tolerated in Hufflepuff, for which Susan was proud and relieved.

She was not of the opinion that every Slytherin was evil; the idea was ridiculous. People tended to erase those portions of history which they found uneasy, and while it was true that Voldemort was of Slytherin, the last Dark Lord, Grindelwald, had been a Gryffindor.

The problem with Slytherin, as she saw it, was that it was loudmouths like Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson who often took center stage of Slytherin House. They were rude and unpleasant people and, because of their grandstanding, others thought them representatives of Slytherinrather than the exception.

Her experience with Slytherins was limited, granted, in part because most of her classes were held jointly with Ravenclaw, but she had always found Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode to be rather neutral. They weren't outgoing by any stretch of the imagination, but neither were they cruel; they kept their distance from everyone, including their own house members. Daphne Greengrass had never been anything but polite and cordial with her.

And there was something to be said for cunning, which was distinct from intelligence. There was nothing inherently bad about knowing the system and how best to work within it. It was all a question of ethics.

Hufflepuffs strived to be an amalgamation of all the houses, as the Sorting Hat had been suggesting for generations: they were loyal like Gryffindors, but theirs was a not a blind loyalty and they preferred the virtues of people over the merits of ideas; they were intelligent but, unlike Ravenclaws, they understood that knowledge was more than a recitation of facts – what truly mattered was how one implemented those facts; they were cunning like Slytherins, but sought to improve the system rather than manipulate it.

She was proud of her House and her people but dismayed by how many chose to remain on the sidelines of the coming war, overly cautious, rather than firmly announce themselves as allies of Harry Potter – or even of Voldemort, for that matter. She didn't understand how people could see their world fall down around them and do nothing but wait to see who emerged the victor, and she was no longer willing to abide it.

She had been regarded since first year as the de facto leader of her class within her house. Perhaps it was time to lead by example.

Willow was endlessly annoyed that Tara had had the audacity to call shotgun and was left with little choice but to climb into the backseat of Riley's jeep and sit next to an equally perturbed Anya. She understood full and well what Tara was doing, or at least suggesting, and while Willow didn't necessarily hate Anya, they sure weren't going to become bosom buddies anytime soon.

Sighing, she strapped herself in and glared sullenly out the window.

Tara and Riley exchanged amused glances and settled in for a long ride.

Anya glared at all of them before reaching into her purse and withdrawing a small ancient book and proceeded to thumb through it carefully, ignoring everyone.

Riley was downing coffee like it was nectar. He was fortunate that the elixir didn't affect him the way it did everyone else.

Well, mainly like Buffy and Xander.

Buffy and Xander bounced like kangaroos without coffee; with it, they were like manic, apoplectic spider monkeys who climbed on everything and everyone.

For him, coffee was a soothing balm and his nerves were already frayed from lack of sleep.
Of course, none of them had gotten much sleep the past few days and tensions were running abnormally high. Thankfully, Cordelia and Xander had taken everyone in hand, and Buffy and Angel were following their lead. His lips quirked.

It was actually rather pleasant that all of them were getting along as well as they had been. He wasn't going to be Angel's number one fan anytime soon, but he liked Gunn and Kate. He hadn't yet spent much time with Wesley, so he didn't have an opinion as to the former Watcher, but the man appeared knowledgeable and a decent enough sort. He certainly wasn't looking forward to seeing Faith again, but she was needed and he respected that.

Besides, soon enough, he would be back in Sunnydale and things would return to normal. Well, as normal as things could be.

He had a feeling that Buffy had cottoned on to his crush, or crushes. And how embarrassing was it to be a twenty-five year old man who had an infatuation with his girlfriend's very male best friend and that man's girlfriend? Jesus.

But Xander was so cute!

He shivered, shook his head, and absently flipped on the radio.

"Ooh!" Willow cooed. "I like this song! Turn it up, please!"

Tara and Riley shared another Look. It beat the looming silence, they supposed. She shrugged, he sighed and complied, and the music got louder.

A cheerful Willow proceeded to murder with aplomb a once-pleasant pop song. Horrified, Riley turned to a nodding, knowing Tara.

"She's tone deaf," she quietly confided.

"Gee. I never would have guessed."

he smirked.

"Come on, baby, let's get away," Willow tunelessly shrieked. "Let's save your troubles for another day."

Riley and Tara were then horrified when Anya gamely began singing along. In imperfect harmony.

"Come go with me, we've got it made. Let me take you on an escapade."

"Let's go!" Willow and Anya chorused.

They looked at each other with bright smiles and increased their volume.

"Oh my god," whispered a frightened Riley.

"They're bonding," Tara lamented.

This was unlike anything she had envisioned.

This was ghastly.

Suddenly, the car shook.

A nervous Riley glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening, and paled.

"Do I even want to know?" Tara asked, head hung and a hand covering her eyes.

"I think...I think they just…busted a move."

"The world is doomed."