1. Chapter the First

_Wow. Um…this is awkward. For those of you who don't know (which is pretty much everybody, we're assuming), Tel and I came up with this *brilliant* premise for a storyline like…a century ago or something. We eagerly began the writing process, and then got caught up in things like college (or dropping out thereof), and we got a little, well I'll just say it. A little lazy. And then we got back on that crazy writing train for something like a chapter, and before you know it, we were both married and squeezing out babies. That's right. We've both spawned. Some of our marriages, however, were more successful than others… Anyway, we are mega friggin' sorry if we gypped anyone out of the ending but…We're baaaack! (Hopefully you read that in the Poltergeist kid's voice.) So here goes, the much-anticipated (by us…) next chapter. _

_Btw, we are starting fresh on a new screen name. We DEFINITELY didn't forget our login info and delete the email account that was attached to it, don't think so ill of your beloved authors. That is why there is going to be a scary amount of updating for the first day or two. And then we will slow down, but theoretically not crap out entirely, as before. We want to know what happens just as much as you do! Thanks for sticking with us, loyal readers! *cricket cricket*_

_Disclaimer: Tel and Pel own pretty much nothing. Harry Potter least of all. However, they do own a very dedicated love of both Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Does it count? No. Should it? Yes. And that's all that matters._

_This is a crossover fanfic between Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It will be AU, and so it will not follow the original storyline. We will try not to mess it up too badly. It is set in the Marauders' era, after they graduate but before they are... horrifyingly murdered. As for Buffy, it is set in the middle of the 6th season roughly. After Buffy is whiny and depressed, before Willow is whiny and depressed. Knowledge of Buffy isn't absolutely required, but would definitely help._

_Pel and Tel will share story-writing responsibilities, but they may not always alternate reliably. Writing styles may conflict, but hopefully plot lines won't. Please enjoy. We love you. Was that awkward? Too much too soon? We're rusty._

Hope was rare.

Ever since Lily Potter had left the protective walls of Hogwarts, the days had grown darker and more uncertain. News, when it could be obtained, read like a continuous obituary. Evil was rising, and the world tense, aware that conflict was inevitable.

And yet a smile could not help from flitting across Lily's soft features every few minutes. Evil could go suck a sugar quill as far as she was concerned. For the first time in so long, she had hope for the future.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted Lily's musings as she positioned the last plate upon the table. James came whipping around the corner with child-like exuberance. At the sight of his wife, his grin grew wider. Within a span of seconds he managed to pull her close, kiss her deeply, and continue excitedly towards the door. His good humor faltered only slightly as he carefully peered out into the doorway. One could never be too careful these days, even when expecting guests.

"None shall enter but those most loyal to Godric Gryffindor in this sacred place!" he bellowed with authority. "What is the password?" Mutterings and half-hearted curses squeezed their way between the many locks upon the door.

"I hate to break this to you, Prongs, old pal, but we're the only friends you've got. Who else could it possibly be?" Lily recognized Sirius's smooth and confident tone. The wizard never spoke with uncertainty.

"Perhaps you are simply a particularly clever minion. After all, it's not too difficult to imitate that irritating whine that the house of Black is plagued with." James gave Lily a cocky smile, all too pleased with his teasing. "Once again, sir, I ask of you the password."

Remus Lupin, who was apparently too hungry to wait much longer, gave out a soft sigh. "James Potter is the greatest wizard in the land."

"And?" pressed James.

"He is the best quidditch player ever born."

"And?"

"And he happens to ride a big broom to make up for his lack of-", but Sirius was cut off by the door quickly swinging open.

"That's quite enough. You may enter," said Mrs. Potter, who was quite ready to defend her husband's honor.

All mischief forgotten, the Marauders, minus one, quickly exchanged enthusiastic hugs and greetings. They did not see each other as much as they would have liked. While the demands of the world tugged at them, it never tore them apart. Years of pranks and foolishness had forged stronger bonds than those of blood.

Peter Pettigrew, ever behind, showed up several minutes later. He arrived rumpled and sweaty, but that was not unusual. Under his arm he carried a box wrapped in an attractive, white paper, tied neatly with a large black bow. The tidy appearance of the gift contrasted ridiculously with the rather mussed Pettigrew. Lily, normally so kind in thought and deed, felt snide comments rising in her throat. She swallowed them with a small frown, wondering if the stress of the past few weeks was getting to her.

An hour passed swiftly, filled with much laughter and delicious food. A passerby would have thought that fifteen people were chattering instead of five. Four, rather, as Wormtail remained reserved. He would not hold eye contact, and would only mutter a reply quietly when prompted. Feeling a poor hostess, Lily wondered if perhaps he was nervous for her to announce the news she had promised them all upon their invitation.

After sharing a quick kiss and a knowing glance with his wife, James stood up with a glass and tapped his wand against it. "As wonderful as my darling wife's dinner has been, we did not actually invite you ragamuffins here just to give you a free meal." James dodged a playful swipe from Lily. Then, with more seriousness than he had displayed all evening, he said softly, "We have wonderful news, and we wanted to share it with our family."

Remus leaned forward slightly. He had been most curious this past week. James had never been able to keep a secret. He had half expected his boisterous friend to blurt it out the moment he entered the safety of Godric's Hollow. Yet here he was, an hour into the evening, and still pausing for dramatic effect.

"Lily and I are having a baby." If a passerby would have suspected fifteen before, now the estimate would have been closer to fifty. The young Potters were flooded with exclamations of joy and shock and surprise from those closest to them.

"Is it a boy or a girl? When are you due? Have you been feeling OK?" asked Remus.

"Will you name it after me? Can I be Uncle Sirius the Magnificent? Do you think he or she will be sorted into Gryffindor?" rambled Padfoot.

"What a... pleasant... surprise," mumbled Peter. "I have a gift for the two of you." When all eyes turned upon him, Pettigrew grew red. "Not for the baby. I didn't know about that. Just for... you know... being friends and all."

"No fair!" exclaimed Sirius. "Now we look like right gits, coming with only empty stomachs." He winked at his smallest friend, who seemed even more nervous than before, despite the jovial tone of the evening.

Eager to end Peter's discomfort, Remus picked up the present and passed it to Lily. The glowing woman softly tore into the delicate paper, and set the bow aside carefully. Reaching into the box, she pulled out an apple made of gold.

"How... unique," said James, not without kindness.

"Ah, there is something inscribed," exclaimed Lily, slightly confused by the gift. Perhaps it was an heirloom of the Pettigrew family. "It says, 'Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.' That's really... nice. Thank you, Peter."

Sirius took the apple and tossed it from hand to hand. "Yes, Wormtail, it's very nice. Not to mention true! Hey, Lupin, fetch!" Remus was blessed with quick reflexes, saving himself from a scar that would forever remind him of his slightly dangerous friendship with Padfoot.

"It really is lovely. Eye catching. And gold instead of silver, which is always a plus to me, " Moony said with a purposely wolfish grin. He did not bother to warn James that he was about to throw it, but he didn't need to. Once a Seeker, always a Seeker.

"At the very least, I can bewitch it to fly like a snitch!" laughed James. "We could all play, eh Wormy?"

Peter smiled, but it was chilling and cunning rather than warm. It contorted his face in a such a frightening way that Lily reached for James's hand out of instinct.

"I've had such a wonderful time here in Godric's Hollow. I can't thank you enough for inviting me," he whispered softly, though it was closer in kind to a hiss. He stood slowly and shuffled to the door. Before stepping out onto the slightly muddy path, he turned back to the silent room. "No man is free who is not a master of himself."

The Marauders all thought this rather odd. Then they thought nothing as the world ripped open before them with a horrifying screech, and everything they knew disappeared into the darkest black any of them had ever witnessed. There was no light, no sound, no joy, and above all, no hope.

When Lily awoke upon rough rocks and asphalt, the first thing she saw was a sign proudly stating, "Welcome to Sunnydale!" The second thing she saw was a morgue.

She almost missed the darkness.


	2. Chapter the Second

_Disclaimer: Pel and Tel do not own Buffy or Harry Potter. Which they are very sad about._

_Welcome to the second chapter! Thanks for staying tuned! We appreciate the traffic coming our way, but would love to hear from some readers. How is our characterization? Anything confusing? Give us the good, the bad, and the ugly. We value your opinion._

The tinkling bell over The Magic Box shop front door rang out in welcome. From the back room, Rupert Giles straightened over the box of miscellaneous occult objects he was unloading from a shipping box. His brow furrowed. Strange, he thought. Generally the Sunnydale locale got enough of the supernatural just simply existing so near the Hellmouth. They rarely sought it out. And when they did, Buffy usually ended up having to repair the damage.

Giles made his way to the front of the store. When he got close enough, he was able hear a sound he'd gotten all too used to of late.

"I don't bloody care if you're from Mercury's second sun. Fact is we're closed. Come back tomorrow," Spike, decidedly Giles' least favorite creature in all of existence, was saying to four rather frightened-looking travelers.

"Er-Spike," Giles cut in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm helpin', ain't I? We don't have the time to get these ninnies back to their dimension," Spike replied, rather like a cocker spaniel, Giles mused, begging for a biscuit after some inane trick. "We got enough on our increasingly smaller plates as is, eh?"

Giles ignored him with difficulty and addressed the new-comers.

"So sorry about him. What is it you were looking for?"

"We're not sure at all, unfortunately. We don't even know where we are. Are we in Lichfield?" One of the men, a tall handsome chap with glasses and black hair that could do with a trim pondered, almost to himself.

"W-w-what? Er-no. This is Sunnydale." At their puzzled expressions, he elaborated. "California?" Their expressions didn't change.

"I'll call Buffy," Spike volunteered.

Greetings and introductions were exchanged easily once the Slayer and the rest of the Scoobies arrived. They learned the tales of their travelers and Buffy easily reported the biggest events of hers, following some unspoken inexplicable trust she felt for the strangers. There was an easy comfort about the little shop that had been absent from Sunnydale for far too long now.

Buffy listened contentedly to the conversations passing through the room. She was surprised to see Willow speaking quietly, intently, to the withdrawn man called Remus.

"I can do magic! Pretty impressive stuff. I got good at it, but I also kinda can harness all that is evil and bend it to my every will," she said it as a warning, as a confession, and Buffy sensed relief in her voice. Remus was the first outsider that Willow had really connected with since she and Tara had split up, and Buffy was glad to see her start recovering. "I'm also a lesbian." She said it loudly. Loudly enough to break off the other conversations in the room, and she reddened to the shade of her hair as they all stared at her. "Wow. Heh. That was pretty poor..timing…" she finished.

The traveler called Sirius had just unwrapped some sort of sweet, a Chocolate Frog, according to the wrapper. It remained frozen, halfway between the wrapper and his mouth, in some sort of morbid digestion limbo. "Wow!" He said, breaking from his reverie and shoving the candy into his mouth. "We've never met anyone who was gay before!"

"Oh, look!" Remus said eagerly, snatching an oddly-shaped playing card with a wizened old man depicted on the front out of the foil candy wrapper on Sirius' lap. "You've got Dumbledore!"

After a long evening of intense conversation with the travelers, the Marauders, Buffy suddenly sensed an urgency to the situation. The woman, Lily, had divulged that she was pregnant, and a war sat heavily on the wizarding people of their world.

"So first off, we need to figure out what we need to get you back to your dimension, or world, or whatever. From there, we can see what can be done about this Dark Lord guy," Buffy announced.

"You mean to align yourself with us?" Remus asked in a voice that conveyed neither trust nor disgust very clearly.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'm the Slayer. Sort of in the mission statement."

"Now there's something we never considered. A mission statement," Xander joked. "Helping to save your ass and the asses of your loved ones since 1999. And again from then to 2005. And from then—"

"Anyway. You were saying," Spike cut in, gesturing to Buffy. Xander glowered at the bleached vampire, who then poked his tongue out for only his foe to see. Xander made enraged gasping noises, ignored by the group.

"Of course I want to help. I'm sure you'd do the same for us if circumstances were different, " Buffy was standing now, and the people who knew her well prepared themselves to be inspired by a motivating speech. But then,

"Right, let yourself believe that, girlie," Sirius goaded. "Besides, what could you possibly do for us? You're not exactly the most intimidating monster slayer ever. In fact, you're almost…adorable." He feigned an apologetic grimace. Buffy, in turn, sputtered in wordless fury.

"Well, you—I—You—Ugh! Nevermind," she turned to the other Marauders. "You're all welcome to stay with me. Even you." She shot a glare in Sirius' direction, who actually threw his head back in shoulder-shaking laughter. Buffy huffed once and with that, the meeting was adjourned.

"Anything?" Jonathon asked eagerly, his eyes brightening.

"Absolutely everything. Unlimited wishes. And super hot," Warren assured him, almost manic to get his cohort on board.

Jonathan looked left to Warren, a sheen of eager sweat forming on his brow, and right to Andrew, who looked nervous but had, as usual, been easily swayed by Warren's manipulative speeches. He nodded once, feeling like a hardened criminal giving the go-ahead to a fellow inmate about to stick it to some common foe. The others returned his nod, and Andrew got to work.

Andrew folded his legs underneath of him as he sat down in the center of a large pentagram that had been chalked onto the hard cement basement floor. He gathered various grasses and herbs, set them ablaze, and placed them carefully into the individual points of the star, muttering prayers in unintelligible tongues.

Warren had been increasingly glad of late that he had decided to keep Andrew around a little longer. He had planned to let one of the Rwasundi demons take him the night he'd killed Katrina, but damn it if the little dweeb hadn't proven his worth. For now.

There was a sharp popping sound and the smell of sulfur pervaded the room. They collectively coughed and waved away the angry air around them, wondering what had gone wrong. After a minute to clear their lungs, Andrew sighed deeply and with a tone far too serious for him, uttered seven words that carried with them a foreboding that went altogether beyond chilling:

"I sense a disturbance in the force."


	3. Chapter the Third

_Disclaimer: Pellakanoiel and Telmerethiel own only their warped minds. Everything else belongs to Joss Whedon or miss J. K. Rowling. Bless those wonderful people!_

_A rather quick update, this one. As authors, our own critique against our selves is that we must be careful not to rush along. So many ideas are rolling in our heads, we find it hard to take our time and enjoy each chapter._

_Please review either way and share your thoughts!_

Although Dumbledore had witnessed it several times in his long life, he still found it difficult to reconcile the imposing figure of the half-giant Hagrid with that of the blubbering half-man in front of him. Rubeus had always had heart that more than matched his large body. At the moment, the giant sobbed as though that very heart had broken.

"I tell you, sir, they were gone!" he bellowed, the grief echoing within the small office. Fawkes the phoenix, unmoved by the emotional plight, ruffled his feathers in displeasure at being disturbed. Even several stodgy, old Headmasters grumbled in their frames.

Dumbledore allowed Hagrid's tears to flow for a few moments more, seeming to not notice the annoyed individuals around him. He had found neither potion nor spell was a match for a good bout of tears. When the sobs slowly drifted into hiccups, the patient wizard politely offered a rather garish handkerchief, splashed vibrantly with clashing colors. Hagrid took it gratefully, and proceeded to further disturb the peace with loud snorts and honks.

"Now, dear boy, you will have to forgive this old man, for I am afraid I do not quite know what it is you are talking about." The Headmaster bestowed Hagrid with a very kind smile that soothed his raw nerves. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning, whenever that may be."

Hagrid took a deep, fortifying breath. He felt worse than the day of his expulsion. "I went o'er to the Potter's this evening," he began, barely holding back a fresh wave of emotion. "I had hoped to find Sirius Black there. I've been trying to work out a deal with him, ya see, to borrow that fancy bike o' his. And everyone knows that the best to find any one o' that group is the Potter's." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, ever the polite audience. It was indeed well known of the friendship between Lupin, Peter, Sirius, and James. Unfortunately, that had not worked in their favor with the dark lord rising. Where one was, the others were to follow, making them an easy target.

"Well, professor, sir, when I got there... they... were... GONE!" Hagrid's wail pierced the stone walls of the castle, waking young students and starting afresh the rumors of the Shrieking Shack. Even the Bloody Baron found himself drifting faster towards safer, more remote sections of the ancient school.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was the only person far removed from his visitor's cries. He had lived long, and had dealt with many sorrows over the years. This, however, was by far the gravest tidings he had received since he had taken his position as head of the wizarding school.

"It is imperative that you calm yourself, Rubeus," stated Dumbledore. He had not yelled, but the look in his eye quieted the weeping man immediately. "I am deeply sorry that you should have this responsibility put upon you, but I must know exactly what you saw. Was the lock broken? The door smashed apart?"

Hagrid's brow furrowed in concentration. He felt the importance of the situation weigh heavily upon him. Dumbledore rarely ever asked for anything, and when he did, only a fool would not comply. "No, professor," he finally said. The door wasn't locked, but it wasn't forced open.

Dumbledore nodded silently, but looked more troubled than before. His mind shifted quickly through possibilities, discarding some, holding tight others. "Did you search the entire house?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you found no bodies?"

Hagrid, fearless in the face of ferocious beasts, paled at the very thought. Had he stumbled across the dead bodies of James and Lily Potter, her knew without a doubt the rest of his days would have been spent languishing in St. Mungo's. "No, sir. No bodies. No anything. Just dirty dishes. It looked like they had simply run off, leaving everything a mess."

Dumbledore paced across the wooden floor, his mind working in ways even the brightest Muggle could not conceive. James and Lily were far too responsible to take off without notice. And if Hagrid was the first to discover them missing, it was safe to assume Remus, Sirius, and Peter were gone as well. But were they dead?

The greatest wizard of his day stopped his pacing and gazed upon one of the many magical artifacts populating his room. Voldemort wanted the Potter's dead, that was for sure. Aurors were on the top of his list. But as a man, Tom Riddle had always been a braggart. Had he managed to best any one of those powerful wizards (or witch), he would have left their mutilated bodies to be found, or even announce it himself. No, the situation was not entirely the dark lord's style.

For a mere second in time, Albus Dumbledore allowed his shoulders to sag and his heart to feel heavy. Though he adored each of his students, the Marauders (as he knew they enjoyed calling themselves) had always held a special place. Their disappearance was a great blow. It was yet another tragedy to add to the many of this era. He felt almost as though he collected them, as Arabella Figg collected cats. If only he had chosen a different path. Perhaps then he would have found himself light on tragedy but laden with woolen socks instead.

The second in time passed and the Headmaster stood strong once more, with only the keen eyes of the phoenix bearing witness to the moment of indulgence. No bodies meant no death. No word from his missing Aurors meant misfortune had indeed befallen them. Most troubling, no forced entry meant no enemy... at least in appearance.

"I am afraid, dear Hagrid, that this is just the beginning of our troubles."

_  
Lily felt foolish.

Here she was laying upon an uncomfortable floor, an unknown distance from home, in a strange place among even stranger people (Vampires? Seriously?), and she could not stop thinking of baby names.

Perhaps I am still in shock, she thought while gazing up at the ceiling. After all, no class she had ever taken had covered how to deal with dropping through a massive hole in the fabric of the universe. She hadn't even begun to think how it had happened, or why, or even who was behind it. No, she found such dark and troublesome thoughts elusive for the moment. Names, however, came easily.

"James," she whispered into the darkness. "What do you think of Aurelia for a girl? You know, like Auror, but more suitable as a name."

James rolled towards his wife, ignoring the protests from the many bruises caused by the fall. "Lily, my darling, my pearl, my sweetheart," he whispered back with a kiss in between each endearment. "I think that's the ugliest name I've ever heard."

The muffled 'oomph' that was a result of Lily's fist in James' stomach did not awaken Sirius Black. He found himself restless this evening, and counting his problems was not as efficient as counting sheep. He rolled over on the hard floor, fluffed his pillow a few times, and attempted to find a position that was nearly bearable. He understood they were imposing upon the inhabitants, but could they not have found a comfortable place for them to rest for the evening?

He could just imagine the irritating smirk on that tiny blonde's face as she laid out their bedding upon a floor as hard as Lady Black's heart. She was beautiful, no denying that, but her smug confidence had grated upon him. Did she not realize that they could be a threat? How dare she strut around as though she was in charge. And now, here she was, prancing about in his head and chasing away all chance of sleep.

"Buffy's not even a name," he grumbled as he thumped his pillow with unnecessary vigor.

While the Potter's cuddled and Black muttered to himself, Remus found his brain was taunting him. Whatever spell had thrown them into this fascinating new place had been terrifying. It would be logical, he knew, to start puzzling out what spell it was and how to get back. But every time he tried to think about the odd aspects of the situation, his brain brought him right back to a refreshing possibility.

In his world, as much as he loved it, Remus Lupin knew he was unwelcome. The curse that had been placed upon him at a young age had made sure of that. He did not complain about it to his friends, and he had indeed adjusted to his unique... talent over the years, but still he could not stop the voice inside of him that spoke only of the great burden he was upon society. 'Evil,' it hissed. 'Unworthy.' He believed it.

But that was his world. Sunnydale did not follow those rules. The little witch, Willow, had only just barely touched upon magic with Lupin, but it was enough for him to know that it was not the same. If it was different, then maybe he too would be different. Better. Human.

A very dramatic sigh escaped the gorgeous lips (as described by numerous witches) of Sirius. "I don't think a map is going to get us out of this one."

Remus allowed his trademark half-smile to to cross his face. It was a comfort to know that even the blackest of nights could be illuminated by a single star.


	4. Chapter the Fourth

_Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling are very happy people. Joss Whedon and J. K. Rowling own Buffy and Harry Potter respectively. Pel and Tel are not happy people. Therefore, they must not own Buffy or Harry Potter._

_Hello, folks! We do hope you're digging the story so far! Enjoy, and do please review! We would love to hear from you. It helps us pretend we have friends._

Giles had been eager to start researching the newcomers' problem. He rose early that morning, but Anya, as usual, had beaten him there.

He pondered briefly his relief that Anya had worked out so very well as his replacement. He'd had his worries in the beginning, but Anya's fundamental knack for commerce made her a natural. She'd been taking over bit by bit, and Giles had gradually been sleeping the night through.

Once Buffy and the other, rather later risers had arrived, the easy comfort of last night seeped in despite the urgency of their situation. Especially so for the Black heir, as he kept nodding off in his chair, clearly unaccustomed to rising earlier than tea time.

Finally, Buffy, irritated with having to yell over Sirius' snores and "harumphs!" approached his oversized chair, toeing the mass.

"Hey, if you feel like joining us any time before lunch, we're taking time out of our crisis to fix yours," she barked, entirely unamused.

"What?" he gruffly demanded. "Did your lipstick smudge, then, girlie?" He rolled onto his stomach, covering his head with an obnoxiously vibrant sofa throw.

She huffed, throwing her arms up resigned. When she rejoined the others, she looked to Giles.

"So, what do we know?" So began the meeting.

"Er…the apple obviously has something to do with it. 'Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.'" Giles began. "And the incantation…"

"'No man is free who is not a master of himself,'" Lily reminded him, embarrassed to look so pleased with herself. Anya grinned at her in encouragement.

"I'm thinking the incantation must have worked rather like a-a-well, something like a trigger," Giles responded.

"Makes sense," Buffy said. "I think we should start with the basics. The most obvious suspects."

"Mmm, I rather think a re-telling of the evening's events are in order from each of our views," Sirius had awoken finally it seemed, and joined them, kicking his crossed ankles up on the tabletop. Buffy shoved them off and he grunted, annoyed.

"There's no point," Buffy argued. "We know the story. Now-"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot Miss Super Princess Tiny Amazon Warrior Buffy gave the orders round here! That's a stupid name, anyhow: Buffy. No power behind it whatsoever. 'Sirius', now there's a name that strikes fear in the heart of-"

Buffy cut him off. "That's what you want? To scare people? Well, I've got news for you. You've come to the wrong dimension. This place is mine. I call the shots. You want to be in charge, you can find your on damn way home and order around your lowlies!"

Sirius glared an electrified stare at her, which she returned, undaunted.

"Oh, do carry on then," he answered when he realized he would need to be the one to break the tense interaction.

"Ahem. Anyway. The prime suspect would obviously be Peter," Buffy announced, a little awkwardly.

At once, an angry outburst arose from the Marauders. Even soft-spoken Remus shoved away from the table to argue.

"Now hold on, girlie. I agreed to let you run this show on your terms, but when you accuse my friends of-of-mutiny…that's too much!" Sirius shouted over the uproar.

"Really, now! Peter is far too loyal to do any such travesty!" Remus defended.

"Frankly," James started, a bit calmer than his comrades. "Wormy's a bit of a dunce. He's too thick to orchestrate something like this."

"Well, fellows," Lily, the voice of reason, spoke from her seat, never having jumped from it to defend Peter's honor. "Now it's no secret that I'm none too fond of Wormtail, but Buffy's right. It had to be him. And James is right, too. He's clearly working for someone else. He has to be. So let's don't rule out an Imperius Curse."

"…so he's water-proof?" Xander chimed in, genuinely confused, it seemed.

Willow smacked him in the back of the head. "Imperius," she corrected. "Not impervious."

"The Imperius Curse puts one under the thrall of another. It's difficult, nigh impossible to resist, and let's face it, Peter's not exactly he of the iron will," Remus said.

Discussion went on for a while longer, trying to nail down a clear-cut suspect, deciding unsuccessfully the best course of action. Eventually, a few broke off for a research party, the others drifted lazily into easier topics: past battles, stories of triumphant snitch saves, attempted murder plots. Even Buffy and Sirius began to swap stories of past foes.

"I hate this place," Andrew said, rubbing his forearms with his palms.

"Grow up, Nancy!" Jonathan responded, ducking Andrew's half-hearted smack.

"Ladies-"

"Sorry…" they both responded, and Warren grinned inwardly at his manipulation.

If Warren were honest with himself, he didn't like the morgue anymore than Andrew, but he'd never admit it.

"Whatever. Okay?" He clapped his hands together. "Just do the mojo thing and let's get out of here."

Jonathan, small and insecure, shrunk even as he walked into the center of attention. All eyes were on him. "Oh, God," he sent up a silent plea. "Oh, God, please, please don't let me throw up."

"Ahem." He cracked his neck, his back, the individual knuckles of his fingers…

"Go!" Warren demanded.

"Okay! Jeesh! This kind of thing takes preparation." But he followed Warren's terse urgency.

Jonathan knelt down ceremoniously, lowered his face to the ground, inhaled deeply, and… "A plane crashed here," followed by explosive giggles and high fives between he and Andrew. Further followed by their foreheads cracking together. When the black cleared from their vision, they saw Warren's slightly manic face above them.

"Morons," he released his hold on the back of their shirts, letting them fall back to the cement. He turned to depart, knowing the wouldn't let him get far. He was smug in his accuracy.

Then Jonathan was sitting again on the ground, surrounded by abrasively scented herbs. He murmured prayers and chants, feeling electricity raise goose bumps on his arms and legs. Unfortunately, this high was short-lived, for soon they heard a crack and were coughing away angry smoke as, for the second time in two days, a spell had gone awry.

"What the hell?" Warren demanded. "Fix it!"

"Hang on, hang on." Jonathan began a second enchantment, which caused the streetlight above to flicker. "Residual magic."

Warren looked back and forth between Jonathan and Andrew, who simply nodded in understanding. He caught Warren's eye and was prompted to explain.

"He means that some strong magic was already worked here recently. It's like a blockade. There's something in the way of our spell."

"And…how do we fix it, Spock?"

Andrew sighed patiently. "We either reverse whatever powerful spell happened here. Soon. Or we kill the subject slash subjects of the original spell. Soon."

"We'll do what we have to," Warren decided, and turned to leave.

Giles squinted hard at the tiny foreign text, written on paper quite possibly made of flesh, and swallowed hard around a newly formed lump. "B-Buffy?"

She came into the back room smiling, having spent most of the afternoon bent over books, pretending to research a way home for the Marauders.

"Read this. Quickly," he shoved the book at her and directed her to the correct passage. She furrowed her brow in concentration.

"Hmm."

"Well?" Giles demanded.

"I'll let you know in eleven years when I familiarize myself with whatever language this is."

Giles huffed impatiently and Buffy pouted as he snapped the book back from her. "What's the 'it', Giles?"

"It's unattainable, Buffy. That artifact doesn't exist anymore,"

"There has to be a way to get it. Not a word to anyone yet."

Giles nodded gravely.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

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Xander rubbed his brown eyes with his palms and groaned dramatically. If only he had known that cute, tiny blonde who had shown up in his life so many years ago would one day lead to ridiculous amounts of reading. And pain. And humiliation. And angry, bleach-blonde vampires with irritating accents who were Billy Idol wannabes and weren't nearly as tough as they thought they were… Wait, what was he doing again?

"It feels like we've been doing this forever," he bemoaned. "It's almost as though we're in this terrible fanfic, and the writers haven't updated for nearly a year." Xander couldn't stop the shudder that ran through his body. Being stuck in a fanfic was his idea of hell. "They'd probably have me making out with Spike, and saying words like 'sophisticated' and drinking fine wines. And you would probably still like guys, Will. Will?"

The red-headed witch (one of two now) continued to stare at her book, but her eyes weren't moving. After a few moments she looked up and her eyes were filled with sorrow. Xander was glad, not for the first time, that his male hormones protected him from deeper, scarier emotions.

"Do you think some things are just meant to be?" she whispered to her best friend since childhood. "I mean, do you think some people are meant to be together? No matter what happens?"

Xander gulped audibly. Sure, he and Will had their romantic moments. As teenagers they'd mixed signals, awkwardly bumped body parts, randomly made out during a life-and-death situation, and destroyed pretty good relationships. But what friends hadn't? He loved her, more than he loved his entire, drunken family. More than he loved his collection of Bruce Campbell movies. Even more than he loved the sexiest of Xena episodes… Perhaps he had a thing for lesbians?

"Xander? Are you thinking about Xena again?" Willow chuckled softly.

"Um, no. I mean yes. Always. But that's not the point," he panicked. Loving someone did not mean you were in love. He had to handle this carefully. Willow was a delicate, shy girl, and he didn't want to hurt her.

He took the good witch's hand gently in his own. "Listen, Will. You know how in the start of show, it kinda makes sense that Xena is with Hercules? How they just seem to fit together? But then Xena moves on and they're just friends. And then she meets Gabrielle, and they kiss, and it's really hot? I'm your Hercules, sweetie. Not your Gabrielle."

Willow slowly drew her hand out of Xander's. She saw him wince, waiting for copious amounts of tears and snot to come pouring out of her. She turned away from him and her shoulders began to shake, jerking with great emotion.

"Ah, Will," he sighed as he reached for her. "I didn't mean to … wait, are you laughing?!"

Willow finally allowed her giggles to burst forth. There was a certain kind of magic in laughter that no spell could reproduce. Still shaking, she threw her slender arms around her very own village idiot. "I wasn't talking about you, goofball. I was thinking about Tara."

"Oh," Xander sighed. "Oh." He blushed. "Oooooh. This is charmingly awkward of me." His best friend hugged him tighter, her pain forgotten for a few shining moments.

"If it's any consolation, that was a fantastic metaphor."

"Wasn't it? Let's pretend this didn't happen. Like every other day of our lives."

"This is strange."

Sirius cocked a very carefully groomed eyebrow. "Strange? That's the best you can come up with? You, Moony Lupin, who never earned less than an Outstanding on your exams? The extensive vocabulary tucked away in that head of yours get damaged on the way here?"

Remus hardly showed a flicker of irritation. Padfoot was infamous for being grouchy when he had gone days without girls fawning over him. "I am infinitely apologetic that my terminology did not properly encompass the grand range of bizarre that is this misadventure. Is that better?"

The Black heir merely grunted and shoved the dusty tomes across the table. Never in his life had he ever looked at so many books. Not even the scandalous ones under his bed that had pictures of Muggle women in bathing suits. He needed a woman. Any woman.

The bell above the Magic Box entrance tinkled merrily as the world's favorite Slayer marched inside.

"Well, maybe not just any woman," muttered Sirius.

"I'm sorry, did the man who is entirely comfortable using all of my shampoo in the shower have something to say?" inquired Buffy in a clipped tone.

"I thought you smelled rather lovely today," snickered James, conveniently returning from a lengthy trip into the stacks with his wife.

Sirius's lips pulled back in a distinctly canine sneer. "Really, Potter, I thought you had gotten over your infatuation with me. For your child's sake, man, you must let go."

The Seeker opened his mouth, prepared to deliver a scathing retort when a polite, very British cough interrupted him.

"Ahem," Giles muttered, shuffling his feet. "Now, let's… let's not argue. Has anyone had any luck? Any, um, portal spells? Reversals, perhaps? Magical artifacts?" he addressed the carpet in between his comfortable shoes.

The Marauders and Scoobies all shuffled and muttered confessions of failure. Remus frowned, tracing his finger over the incredibly intricate pattern carved into the binding of "El Libro de la Bruja." Giles' careful translations in the margins didn't help much. For once in his life, he understood how the others felt about studying. There was too much swimming around in his head.

"I don't understand why we're here. I mean-" Lupin stopped and sighed, gathering his fluttering ideas and half-thoughts. "Why this place? And why now? This is several years ahead of our world. Or were we just sent in time? Is there another set of Marauders living their lives right now?"

Giles took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he perched them carefully back on, he noticed that all of the Scooby Gang had gathered as well. They looked at him confidently, assured that he always had the answers. It filled him with joy and dread, pride and concern. He had never let them down, and didn't plan to now.

"Now, I'm afraid all I have are conjectures, guesses, if you will."

"Educated ones though!" Anya chirped. "We deal with weirdoes like you all the time." She smiled and nodded reassuringly at Lily.

"Quite. Um, yes, well, we have dealt with a direct branch dimension before. That's where you have doppelgangers, variations of one's self." Lupin noticed Willow slump slightly in her seat and look uncomfortable. "Alternate realities such as these are based off of one action, one monumental change that affects everything. This, however, is entirely different."

Buffy smiled as her Watcher's eyes began to gleam. He was an uber nerd for stuff like this.

Giles forged ahead, his voice growing stronger. "No, this is new. For example, your magic doesn't properly work here. Your wands don't seem to channel it correctly. Witchcraft is a completely unique art in our world. If there was a Hogwarts, I certainly would have uncovered it. And the vampires of your world are nothing at all like the demon-possessed that infest Sunnydale. No, what we have is two entirely separate, individual worlds that have never crossed paths. Until now." The intelligent librarian finally stopped to take a breath. "It's quite exciting, really."

Sirius, who had been silent for far too long, finally broke in. "For you, maybe. The rest of us are a bit sick of resting on blondie's charming, stained comforters. I've seen house elves that have nicer belongings than this."

A great snapping noise rang through the tiny shop as Buffy shattered the stake she had been carving. "Listen to me, you ungrateful little shampoo-stealing, whiny, smug bastard," she seethed, taking a frightening step closer with every syllable. "The pregnant chick hasn't complained as much as you, princess. So either you find those house… whatevers and ask them to save your ass, or you suck it up and deal with the fact that I'm the hero of this story."

A long, awkward silence reigned for several seconds that even Anya was terrified to break. Buffy slowly inched her face closer to the glaring wizard in front of her until their noses were nearly touching.

"You owe me a new stake. Start carving," she spat as she tossed a knife on his lap.

With slightly superhuman speed, Buffy strode across the store, flung on her jacket, and headed for the door. "Going to kill some vamps," she announced. As she reached for the handle, Spike flung the door open with the usual dramatic flourishes.

"Oh good. Apparently they're just delivering themselves now," quipped Buffy.

"Where's your mini me? We have plans. Some stupid shallow drama show. I hate it," he said too casually to be believed.

"I sent her to Dad's. There's too much going on. I don't really want her around if there are portals opening again." The Slayer's eyes met Spike's, and animosity was replaced with a mutual understanding. Spike simply nodded, and headed towards his favorite chair near the center of the bunch. Buffy quietly left.

Giles did what he had always done best: Ignore incredibly awkward situations and move forward. "Um, as I was saying. The most important part of your question, the reason Sunnydale was your destination, comes down to two beliefs. You can choose to believe that you are here through mere misfortune. It is, well, a rather long tale, but not so long ago the walls of our world were weakened. Holes were ripped open to many strange worlds. Those tears have since been repaired, but it is much like any other wound. Our world will never truly be as well protected as it once was. The walls are thinner, and easier to penetrate. So perhaps you have arrived here simply because it was the easiest path for the spell to take." He paused, allowing everyone to ponder over this possibility.

"Why is this bunch always so depressing?" muttered the vampire as he attempted to light a cigarette.

"Why do you keep coming here?" Xander asked. Spike didn't bother responding. Like with children and dogs, he found ignoring the poor behavior taught the silly creature to stop.

James wrapped his arms around his wife and softly rubbed her tummy. "What's the second option?"

Giles smiled, glad to see that someone was listening. "Well, the other belief is a bit cheerier, in my opinion. Perhaps you arrived here because magic is ambivalent. Yes, it sent you away. But maybe it brought you to the one place with enough magic to send you back. I think it took you where you would have the best chance to receive assistance."

Anya, Xander, and Willow wrapped their arms around each other and gave their best, award-winning smile. "That would be us!"

Sirius balefully looked up from his carving to glance at the eager trio. He turned quietly to James and mock whispered, "I think I'll still look into that house elf idea."


	6. Chapter the Sixth

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The days passed with increasing urgency. Temperaments were running high, there was an air of distinct… failure. All involved were cursed with a heavy, empty feeling at each days' end.

…And Buffy still didn't like Sirius Black.

The Scoobies had adapted quite well to the Newcomers, though it would admittedly be highly impossible to shock them anymore, lest Willow were to do something crazy, like end up on some vengeance-fueled murderous rampage.

Yes, everyone had fallen well in with one another, and it became routine to congregate at the Magic Box each day to discuss plans and ideas. Or, more accurately, try for 10 minutes, get frustrated, cry, give up, and chatter like fifth graders.

Giles watched this each day, more and more irritated. Buffy still hadn't divulged to the Marauders that the secret to their return home had been destroyed before any of them had been born. Before Spike had ever been born.

Giles stood behind the counter fiddling with the cash drawer and watching his companions carry on like ticking bloody hormonal time bombs. He huffed and scrubbed at his spotless lenses incessantly, as even Anya, usually so devoted to earning her paycheck, sat in Xander's lap, flipping idly through a bridal magazine.

He huffed again, rather more loudly than he meant to.

Buffy, nearby, looked up from Sirius' repertoire of 'look at this scar' stories, and chuckling, asked,

"Something the matter?"

Embarrassed and irritated, Giles hesitated, then responded.

"Well you know, now you mention it, rather a lot's the matter. This plan? This sit-around-and-chat-each-other-up plan? It-it-well, it sucks!" His brain had begged him to shut up before he ever spoke, but his mouth was too stubborn, it seemed.

Buffy, armed and dangerous, stood from her chair.

"Oh?" she asked in the tone the Scoobies had learned to fear. The room stiffened.

"Well—I just mean…we're sitting around, not researching…playing footsie?!" He gestured to Xander and Anya, who violently jerked away from one another. "We should be trying to find ways to fix this! Problem solving! I don't know- praying? Buffy, there's a war waging, and we're sitting here planning a wedding!"

"Hey!" Anya protested, affronted. "You did us already! Stiffly criticize someone else now!" She was ignored.

Buffy narrowed her eyes into slits, and a brow raised in what Giles recognized as a challenge.

"Hmm. You want to tell them then, Giles?" The onlookers exchanged nervous glances, but they too were ignored. "Go ahead. Tell Lily that we can't get her back in time for her to bring that baby to her own home, in her own world—that her home may not even exist when and if we get them back. Pull out your charts, and-and your texts. And tell these people that if they ever do make it back home, it'll be to a wasteland of broken and bloodied loved ones."

Giles closed his eyes in regret, and wished to himself that he hadn't spoken at all.

"I…I only meant…we've been in these situations before. Some hopeless something or other comes along, we panic, and we cry, but we've always been able to sort it out. Just…we could be trying harder. …Is all."

Buffy calmed then, her face softened.

"Well then please. Tell me where to look."

She turned back to the table, conversation terminated, Giles knew.

He hated that she knew he was out of ideas…superfluous. Ineffective. He'd forgotten to consider the Marauders, he realized. He faced them now.

Lily sat with unspilt tears in her eyes. James, whose expression was unreadable, was comforting her. Remus sat silent, stunned, his mouth hung open. Sirius however, looked merely amused. He turned in his chair, and crossed his legs casually.

"So Buffy…"

They met again the next day, as per usual, but there was a nearly tangible change in the once comfortable atmosphere.

The Scoobies seemed sheepish, though they all knew that only Buffy and Giles were guilty.

The Marauders, usually friendly and open and genial, sat secluded, distrusting…in mourning, Giles realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach.

James spoke first, cutting startlingly through the tense silence.

"Buffy. How could you have kept this from us?"

"Now, now. There's no call to lay blame. I'm sure Buffy and Mr. Giles thought it best for our safety," Remus cut in.

Buffy sighed, frustrated. "No. You're right. Blame. Big blame. I'm Blame Gal. I'm sorry. It's just…it was so devastating. I just didn't know how to tell you. I mean…even if there is a way to get you back home, it could be months before we can find it. And by then, it might be…"

"…too late," Sirius finished, and patted her hand comfortingly. She looked confused, but only in passing. No one else seemed to notice, so she pulled away and turned back to the conversation.

"Um…hello, morons?" Anya broke in, her own brand of ex-demon-y enthusiasm not even the slightest bit infectious.

Xander's eyes widened and he laughed forcefully.

"Honey?" he asked her. "You had something to add?...Politely?"

"Well, yes. Yes! Because I am a useful member of both society and the Scoobies." She beamed. "See…remember when Buffy went to hell? A-after she brutally murdered the only man she'll ever love and ran away to escape reality. Not when she sacrificed herself for the good of mankind and we ruthlessly yanked her out of what we believed to be unspeakable torment, when really we took away her omniscient peace and utter happiness, love and warmth."

"You're coming to a point soon, right?" Willow prompted.

"I already did! God, do you need like, a helmet?"

"An…Honey…"

"I know. It's just—ugh. Well time works differently in different dimensions, of course!"

"Ah," Giles began, and pulled his glasses off to clean again. "Yes, Anya, that's an excellent point." (She beamed again.) "However, there's no way to be certain at what speed time would work in their dimension, as compared to ours, and even if we could, what could be done about it?"

"Oh!" Willow shouted. The table gaped, startled. She flapped her arms, and said, "Sorry! Just…excited. There's—there's a spell! W-we can do! To…to figure out the speed time would move there! A-and maybe alter the speed!"

"Mm, I've heard of that. Kali's Strife, isn't it?" Anya asked knowledgeably.

Giles looked worried.

"Willow—that spell is extremely dangerous. It slips into the indefinite places between time and the dimensional walls. You—you could get stuck there. Not to mention it borders on extremely dark magics that may start you down a path from which no one could possibly return."

"Ugh! I can do it, Giles! I brought Buffy back from the friggin' dead!"

"Hey!" Xander whined. "I helped!

They argued for another ten minutes, until Buffy was fed up.

"Willow, no. It's too dangerous," she said with finality.

"No, Buffy, listen. I can do this! It's complicated, and-and risky, I know that. But I think I've more than proven myself. Why don't you trust me?"

Anya perked up.

"Um…how about because a few weeks ago you cast a spell that made me believe I was in love with Old English." (Giles opened his mouth to protest, but Anya carried on despite.) "You nearly got Spike and Buffy killed. And you had your greasy gay paws all over Xander!"

"Oh thanks for your support, Miss Summons-My-Ex-Boyfriend-God-of-the-Trolls—"

The meeting dissolved into chaos. Giles could scarcely hear his inner-English turmoil and as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard something altogether more alarming.

"Quiet! Please!" Remus shouted, red-faced and shaking. "Now," he stood." We've been silent spectators up to this point. But we're talking of our families. Willow is willing. Eager, even. Our loved ones, James and Lily's baby, they're innocents. They've got no choice, no chance. No protection. If Willow is willing to risk the danger, please. We are begging you to let her."

Willow mouthed a silent thanks to him, and turned back to Buffy, who also got up from her seat to speak.

"Remus, you're new here. You don't know how things work, so we'll work this out amongst our own. Thanks." She trampled over his gasps of shock. "Willow- if you want to risk your life before we've even looked for another option, fine. But when you get stuck in the inter-dimensional time sphere? Call someone else to rescue your ass." She turned to leave. As she was exiting, she heard Sirius guffaw.

"Oh-ho! Girlie didn't get her way. Like I said…adorable."

Willow's mind was made up; she was going to do what she could to help. She had sat by, utterly useless, for six years. She was ready to prove her worth. She wasn't arguing- she ignored Xander's protests as she collected the ingredients in stock at the Magic Box.

Anya's dissent, however, was decidedly harder to ignore.

"Willow!" she'd barked. "You'll die! And you heard Buffy! We're not allowed to rescue you!" She shook herself mentally, forcing herself to shut out the tremors of fear.

Once at the cemetery, Willow fell into her own. She felt the familiar sense of power buzzing through her veins, the sensation that came before any powerful spell. She was no longer nervous; she simply knew that she would be successful. There was no question, no other option.

She seated herself in what felt like the center of the graveyard, lit the traditional candles and herbs, chanted the chant, cut the throat of the sacred blood pheasant and bled it over fresh grave dirt as the spell dictated, and entered easily into the trance-like state that came with dimension hopping.

Spike gathered up his coat, cigarettes, and shopping list, intending to head to the open-late convenience store for a few necessities. He shut the door to his crypt behind him, and immediately became aware of the muted, dreamlike quality the atmosphere took on whenever some big nasty was attempting something too big and nasty for their like.

He closed his eyes in the stillness, allowing his senses to overwhelm him, shifting this way and that through town. Finally he found the cause of the disturbance. He was and was not shocked as he dropped his shopping list and hauled off to the cemetery.

"Bloody hell, Red…" he muttered around a cigarette.

"What's that? D'you feel that?" Warren's head snapped up from a book and he whirled around to his accomplices.

"Dude, paws off," Andrew replied, shoving Warren's clammy hand away. "Feel what?"

"The-the air. Everything's…quiet. Dulled. Something's up."

Jonathan looked concerned, prompting Warren to explain.

"Look, dude. Something big is happening. Okay? How can you guys not feel it? It—it's making my skin vibrate, my eyes swivel in their sockets. Oh, wait, no. The eye thing is me. But seriously. It's—it's like I'm underwater." He shut his eyes, concentrating. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I've read about this, I think," Jonathan volunteered. "It's…it happens when someone close by does heavy, dark magic. It's like a veil. So that no one outside the loop can detect it. It's called like…Odeth's Mask, or something. But—"

"But nothing, shrimp cake! We gotta find it! And stop it! It's probably huge, right? Like Godzilla if he was a man-witch." Andrew, panicked, produced a small penknife from his pocket. Warren snatched it away.

"But—" Jonathan began again.

"You're right. We need weapons. This?" Warren waved the tiny, dull blade. "Ain't gonna cut it. And by it I mean Godzilla. And by cut, I mean…" He smiled.

"Listen! Guys, this is bad—"

Jonathan heard a gun cock. Warren had a rifle. He held a pistol to Andrew, who, brow shiny with nervous sweat, stuffed the weapon eagerly into his waistband and immediately adopted thuggish mannerisms.

Warren held a second pistol to Jonathan, who reached out for it, hesitated, and reached again. Instead of the cold metal of the gun, however, his hand found the penknife.

"More your style, Mini Me," Warren explained with a heady sneer.

When Spike finally found Willow, it was too late; she was deeply engrossed in the trance, and pulling her out now risked trapping her already unstable presence in the ether forever.

"Damn it, Willow!" He paced, awaiting the first signs that she was stable enough to be pulled away from the spell, and also keeping an eye out for any other baddies with intentions less noble than his own.

Finally, Willow's body ceased convulsing, the cries she emitted sounded less hollow, and Spike recognized that her consciousness had found its way back. She gasped awake to find a very irate vampire tapping his steel-toe-booted heel and staring at her sternly. She felt it inappropriate to mention how ill she felt, how unusually weak she was at the spell's end. Or how completely wigged this made her.

"I like your blood pheasant," he said, pointedly casual. "Those run kind of expensive, don't they? Seeing as how they're oh, endangered, indigenous to India, and HOLY."

"Spike, I-"

"No. Don't, Willow. This? You? Evil's not your look, pet."

"How'd you find me?"

"I went outside. I could feel something evil a-stirring. Followed my whatchacallit, spider senses or what have you. Only the big—and I mean BIG—bad can feel spells this dark. D'you know what you might've called here with this?"

Too many things happened at once for even Spike's hypersenses to keep up then.

Suddenly, all of Willow's dark magic implements were safely packed away, the witch had flown up from the dirt and had Spike pinned to a tree, seething.

"Buffy doesn't hear about this, understood? Buffy hears this, and Spike hears this." He felt a poke at his chest. She held a stake to his heart.

"Shove off," he pushed the witch away. "I'll keep your bloody secret. Pun quite intended." He flicked his cigarette in her direction, careful not to get it too close. "Only 'cause you're not as cute when you threaten lives. Especially mine."

Suddenly he was in the graveyard, quite alone.

This was short-lived, however. Spike threw himself behind a large, conveniently-placed tomb and awaited whatever was on its way.

He was disappointed, however, to find it was only Warren, Jonathan, and that other one—the "Trio." Spike scoffed and made to reveal his presence. He stopped short when he caught a snatch of Warren's self-indulged monologue.

"Shut up! It's—it's gone. The air thing—it disappeared. Damn it! I'm positive it came from here though."

Spike watched the Trio look around, gather clues in all the wrong places…except Warren, who seemed to sense exactly where Willow had sat performing the uberblack of magic not three minutes ago.

"I don't know, dude," Andrew said, lifting a large rock and inspecting the underneath side for a sign of the intruder. "I couldn't feel anything except a weird itchy sensation."

"Yeah well. That's what you get for leaving milk sitting in my Iron Man commemorative drinking glasses!" Jonathan snapped at him.

They were hushed by Warren, who made some offhand threat to their mothers, and they exited the cemetery.

Spike, a distinctive heaviness clouding his thoughts, followed suit.


	7. Chapter the Seventh

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Ugh, Buffy inwardly scoffed. Why does he have to be so…intolerable? She was still fuming about the conversation The Marauders and The Scoobies had had in The Magic Box earlier that day. And by 'conversation,' she thought, I totally mean 'fight.'

She was hot and tense from patrolling, but she had dusted two vamps trying to break into some long-dead guy's crypt. She couldn't believe Willow! Her best friend, who had just put her through more hell than was ever necessary in one lifetime, PURELY by magic, and she wanted to summon all the nasty beasties of the Hellmouth to this one spot? As if they didn't have a enough to deal with! All right, maybe that's not exactly what the spell would have done, but Buffy still couldn't believe the audacity.

"Whatever," she huffed aloud to herself, as she unlocked her front door and let herself inside.

It was unnervingly quiet. She had expected to hear the usual ruckus that greeted her in her home. It seemed like every week there were new house guests, sometimes welcome, sometimes…not so welcome. Buffy looked around and spied Sirius, cuddled up on the couch with a throw and a plate of cookies, watching what looked suspiciously like a particularly dramatic chick flick…

"Speaking of not-so-welcome…" She muttered under her breath, but loud enough that Sirius snapped out of his reverie.

"You! Welcome home! I was just…" he ferreted, panicked, for the remote and flipped the tv off.

"Watching Diana confess to Nate that she only has 6 months to live?" she quipped.

"The news," he lied. "Where have you been then, Buffy, Warrior Princess?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I was out doing something productive, unlike you. Patrolling." She shrugged painfully out of her jacket and winced. Sirius cocked his head, as if confused. "Uh, patrolling: roam the city, ridding it of demons and foiling evil plots," she explained.

"I wasn't perplexed about the terminology, thanks, Princess. You're hurt," he nodded to her shoulder, where a bruise was quickly forming around a half-dollar sized, oozing wound.

"Oh. Uh, battle scars, ya know. No biggie," she smiled to sell her point, though it wasn't very convincing she knew. The truth was, she felt as though the Black heir was looking at her rather…hungrily. "Where… is everyone else?" she asked to cut the tension.

"Out, I s'pose. They said something about a…bronze? Olympics, you think?" Buffy ignored his stupid joke.

"Should we join them?"

Sirius shook his head, looking concerned. He stood, placing the cookies carefully onto the table. "Nah, let's get you cleaned up, blondie." He took her by the elbow and more dragged than guided her to the bathroom. He smiled inwardly because he knew the Slayer would never allow herself to be dragged to the first aid kit unless she really wanted to be, and in fact could pin him in a choke hold on the floor in seconds flat. She meekly protested, but used none of her fabled "Slayer strength."

She did sigh a whine a lot, however. Bloody hell, she was whiny for a superhero! Sirius carefully examined her wound, looking for…uh…shrapnel? He refused to tell her he had no bleeding idea what he was doing, but was acutely aware she knew. At least she was polite enough to keep it to herself.

Sirius poked through the medical kit for a moment, inwardly sweating about what he should pull forth from it. Buffy sighed, obligatorily impatient.

She sounded kind, however, when she said, "here. I'll show you. Not that you don't know." She didn't meet his eyes.

"You're mocking me, Miss Summers."

Buffy's eyes widened in pretend horror. "I would never! I just thought it would be faster this way since…" she noticed Sirius' eyes narrow, expectant. "Since…you're unfamiliar with this particular medical kid. Hard to find your way around." Sirius seemed amused and satisfied with her recovery.

He watched Buffy's slight hand rifle through the small plastic box until she produced what she was looking for: cotton gauze and disinfectant. She dumped the astringent liquid onto the gauze and blotted the wound, wincing and "ah!"ing as she did so. She moved the strap of her shirt off her shoulder, and Sirius stole a gratuitous gaze at bare collarbone.

All too quickly, Buffy had patched herself up, and was even gracious enough to let Sirius believe it had mostly been him. She rolled her eyes as they exited the bathroom, as he chattered on about how she might have bled to death had he not come to her rescue.

Buffy scoffed. "Oh please. I've survived way worse than this, and died from way less, now that I think about it."

"Way worse, eh? Worse than this?" Sirius rolled up his wrist-length sleeve until his well-muscled, as Buffy couldn't help noticing, forearm was exposed. There was indeed a thick, grisly scar there, spanning at least 4 inches right in the middle of the underneath side. "Wizard duel. Impressive, isn't it?"

Buffy raised a manicured brow, clearly in disagreement. She raised her shirt to expose her midriff, and Sirius noticed only her tan, lean stomach for a long moment. It wasn't until she started to speak that he noticed quite a large interruption of damaged flesh just above her navel. "Impaled by my own stake."

Sirius, feeling challenged, turned around and lifted his own shirt, and Buffy's eyes widened. Not at the shiny, puckered burn that covered at least 60% of his back, but that she hadn't noticed how broad his shoulders were, how he narrowed perfectly into a V shape at his hips. "I won't get into specifics, but you won't catch me doing that spell again for a long while." His eyes twinkled in amusement as he turned back around, and Buffy couldn't help herself. She smiled back at him.

Sirius bathed in her smile, and watched her brush her hair from one shoulder, cocking her jaw to him so that four snagged and gnarled puncture wounds stared back at Sirius like eyes. "What in the name of Merlin…?" he wondered aloud.

"Vampire bites," she said smugly. "You're impressed. Your mouth is hanging open. I win!" She grinned even more than before, and moved to turn away from him, as though the conversation was finished. He grabbed her again by the elbow, but this time only guided her back toward him.

They were too close for Buffy to assume his intentions were merely friendly, not that she minded much. Before she knew it, the lips that had rebelliously flitted in and out of her dreams for the past week finally brushed hers ever so gently. The lips became hungrier then, greedier, and before long their passionate embrace was -

Interrupted. By the Marauders and the Scoobies shuffling inside after a night of imbibing and dancing. They were laughing and stumbling, and thankfully didn't notice Buffy and Sirius tear away from one another, nor did anyone seem to notice how guilty they looked, or how close they were to one another.

"Buffy! How was your night!" Willow was the first to speak. She had a huge grin on her face, clearly feeling more relaxed now after a night of fruity, delicious cocktail-ness. She was overly-eager, which was her Willow-y way of saying, "Hi, Buff, I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier. Forgive me?" Buffy hesitated for a moment, still caught up in the fight. But it was difficult to stay mad at the good witch, whose eyes were so bright and eager to be back in the Slayer's good graces.

"Hi, Will," Buffy returned her eager grin. "My night was nothing special. Looks like you guys had a good time though." Buffy nodded at James and Lily, caught up in a deep kiss that made broken flashes of lips that were smooth and rough at once flit through Buffy's thoughts. To avoid giving herself away, she looked from James and Lily to Xander and Anya, who were already halfway up the stairs in a house they didn't actually live in, but were clearly too impassioned already to care much tonight. Buffy even thought she noticed Remus' hand entangled in Willow's, though when she looked back there was nothing to see. Perhaps she'd imagined it.

"Er…good night," Sirius announced awkwardly to the room at large, pointedly not making eye contact with Buffy as he shouldered past her into the dining area, where his makeshift bunk was.

Willow looked at Buffy, playful suspicion and confusion in her eyes. She was plainly asking, "sexy kissing times?" of Buffy's alone time with Sirius. Buffy shrugged casually, and slipped her hand into her best friend's arm, distracting the witch, who then eagerly  
launched into the tale of her evening.


	8. Chapter the Eighth

_Look! EIGHT chapters! Do you forgive us? Rumor has it the next one is in the works. Stay tuned, and please review and tell us what we've mucked up!_

"So...what exactly are we doing here?" Remus inquired, struggling not to sound impolite. They had been dragged to a crypt, complete with skeleton and cobwebs.

It was Mr. Giles that answered him. "Er, forgive the-the…décor. I thought it might be beneficial for you all to see what exactly a Vampire Slayer is capable of."

The Marauders, for all their familiarity with magic and "abnormality," as Lily's sister would have said, were huddled together with their backs to one wall. James firmly grasped his wife's hand with one of his, and the other hand rested on Lily's belly, which had begun to protrude very slightly. "Sorry, but what exactly is a vampire slayer? I mean it sounds quite self explanatory, but as she's agreed to helping us, I have to assume there's more to the story."

"Quite," Mr. Giles answered. "The very most basic definition of a vampire slayer is simple: a demon hunter. There is a discernable difference, however, between a Vampire Slayer, and the Vampire Slayer. Buffy comes from an ancient line of female warriors. Only one is called upon at any one time, and is only replaced when the last Slayer is killed. The Slayer carries a great deal of responsibility. She must defend the world against an evil most will never even know exists. She must lay down her life at a moment's notice, without hesitation and with no concern for anything save staving off the evil that surrounds this world."

"What happens when a Slayer gets too old to fight anymore? Are they retired?" Lily wondered naively.

"Er… well, no. I'm afraid that's not really how it works. The life of a Slayer is short and brutal. Every Slayer, at one point or another, will die for the cause."

"No pressure, eh?" Buffy quipped as she rounded the corner. She had a battle axe in one hand and a crossbow in the other. Slung over her shoulder was a bag that Giles knew contained stakes, crosses, and Holy Water. She let the lot fall heavily by the door before turning her eyes to her company.

"Buffy!" Giles snapped guiltily. He hadn't known she was within ear shot. "Buffy, I'm terribly sorry. I suppose I got carried away with my explanation. It isn't as intense as all that."

"No," she argued. "No it absolutely is. You said it well: it's a short, brutal life. No two ways about it. Unless of course your friends are raving lunatics capable of pulling you from the grave not once, but twice." He tone was far too conversational for her dark words. Giles regretted deeply her overhearing him. He wished he'd thought before he spoke.

The tension was cut quite suddenly, as Spike stumbled in, shoving in front of him what could only be a freshly risen vamp, still covered in his own grave dirt and dressed in funeral attire. The Marauders took in the heavy peaks and valleys of his face. This was definitely not the vampires that skulked around London alleyways, picking off the nameless and the lost. This was…a demon.

"So if Blondie's a vampire slayer, and Captain Highlights is a vampire, why…is he not dead? Why demonstrate with - ah - this rather ripe-smelling gentleman?" Sirius wrinkled his nose theatrically.

"I am dead. Stuff it. This is a demonstration, not a Q&A." Spike was not in the mood this evening. Not after what he'd just witnessed in the cemetery. He was careful to avoid Buffy's eyes, somehow she always knew when he was hiding something.

Giles detected Spike's terseness, but didn't altogether care. "It's quite a long tale, I'm afraid, and we are rather short on moonlight. Perhaps another time. For now, let's get started, shall we?"

Spike released the vamp and stood near the Marauders, just in case he needed to corral the newbie back to the center of the room, though he knew he wouldn't. Giles and the Marauders stayed off to one side, intently watching: the pupils to Buffy's teachings. She didn't speak. There wasn't need. Her lithe, graceful movements said everything the Marauders needed to hear to be sure Buffy was the right person for their considerable job.

Giles noted a shocking amount of animosity in Buffy tonight. She had been so…apathetic since Willow had raised her. She still patrolled, she still kept the streets of Sunnydale safe and the Hellmouth closed, but with none of the vigor and enthusiasm she had once possessed. He could hardly blame her. However tonight, it seemed back en force.

The Watcher supposed he ought to be thrilled, but all he could manage was dread.

Buffy and the vamp squared off, the new guy seemed to know instinctually what she was and how he could best defend himself. They tied up in the middle of the room very suddenly. Buffy had only a single Oak stake to her name, she'd left the more intimidating weapons and the goodie back near the door, entirely out of reach. She wasn't worried of course. The vamp kicked her in the stomach. She felt the air rush from her lungs and quietly cursed for leaving herself open.

"So…did he know karate before he died?" Sirius whispered. He was ignored, everyone else too intent on the battle.

Giles mused as he watched his prodigy, his life's work. As uneasy as Buffy's sudden change of heart made him, he couldn't help but feel a little awestruck. Rather like a composer, he conceived, hearing a symphony reprise a new work for the first time.

Before he could finish processing this thought, the tide of the fight turned from casual to intense as Buffy kicked the novice vampire in the face, sending him flying backward to land with a howl on his back several yards away. She was on top of him before her audience's eyes ever reclaimed him.

"This is the best part," Spike muttered with a sadistic half-smile.

A ferocious yell issued forth from Buffy as she drove the stake into her foe. The vamp was supporting her weight and she fell to the ground as he disintegrated into the powdery trademark dust.

The Slayer stood, dusted herself off, and gathered her belongings before she acknowledged her audience. "Any questions?" She didn't allow time for responses before sauntered out of the crypt, leaving the door open so that they could follow.


	9. Chapter the Ninth

_There is a beautiful, unique sort of magic that comes with pregnancy_, Lily mused as her eyes lingered over each of the bizarre iems that populated the Magic Box. She could not say, exactly, what was different about the world around her. Well, technically everything was different, she supposed. But all of that strangeness aside, she had come to realize lately that the way she experienced the world had begun to change.

Lily heard the light tinkling of the entrance bell behind her followed by the soft chatter of people getting to know one another. She witnessed with amusement the shop keep Anya's face light up at the prospect of customers, and then just as quickly dim when she realized it was only the return of her companions. She had seen the exact same expression when she had arrived just ahead of them, eager to distance herself from the darkness and sorrow that was entombed in the crypt.

_It's not really left behind, though, is it? Buffy can never leave it behind. _The (second) ginger witch gazed sadly upon the tiny blonde woman who had just shown them what she was capable of. Although it had been an impressive display of strength and was reassuring in a sense, Lily had come away from the demonstration with great sadness. Giles' explanation of the duty and doom of a Slayer weighed heavily upon her mind. Though her own world was fraught with danger and the death of so many, her private world was filled with hope. There could yet be better days. There **would **be better days. She would make sure of it, for the sake of her friends, her husband, and the life growing inside of her. Buffy, however, would never experience hope for the future. She would fight with everything she had until one misplaced step, one misjudged strike, one slight second too late and it would all be ended in a rush of pain and darkness. Then another would rise to take her place and Buffy would just be another name on a long list of sacrificed lives that hardly anyone knew even existed.

Lily sighed softly and placed her hand tenderly upon her lower abdomen, as she had more and more frequently of late. She trailed her fingers lightly over a bit of wood that had a piece of amethyst attached to the end of it with twine. The Muggles had labeled this a wand and claimed it was useful for channeling positive energy. This made her chuckle softly. Muggles in their own world had shops such as these with similar claims. She had visited many with her sister Petunia, back when her sister still had hope that perhaps a great power was lying dormant within her.

As her smile faded, Lily purposefully turned her thoughts elsewhere. She did not like to think of Petunia. Her relationship with her sister had never recovered from the blow it had received on her 11th birthday. No matter how often she tried to repair their estrangement she came up against the same cold, hard heart that had somehow settled into the warm girl she had once known. Perhaps now, with a niece or nephew on the way, with her having a child of her own, with family becoming ever more important, perhaps...

_No, _she told herself sternly, and that was that. She quickly distracted herself as her eyes caught sight of a beautiful silk gown hanging in the back of the store. Her long fingers found their way across the material. _Oh my_, she mentally sighed. This was exactly what she had been trying to explain to James lately. Ever since her pregnancy began, she had gradually experienced a heightening of her senses. Food suddenly came to life in her mouth, the subtleties of flavor dancing across her tongue. Scents evoked feelings she didn't even know she had associated them. Music sounded sweeter, colors seemed brighter, and every day had given her a sense of rediscovery. It was touch, however, that stood out the most.

Her fingers deftly removing the garment from the rack, Lily brought the fabric to her face. She slowly rubbed the silk against her face, reveling in the smoothness and the chill as it seemed to flow across her skin. A soft moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes... and almost immediately snapped them back open again at the sound of a loud crash.

Xander stood before the pretty newcomer looking incredibly sheepish over a pile of books and miscellaneous items. "Oh, uh, don't mind me. I'm just here reading. As I do. Often." He bent down awkwardly and picked up one of the books. "See? I just got distracted by all of this book learning. I was just glancing through 'The Wand-Makers Debate'." He proudly showed her the cover. "Because I'm a master debater, you see." Xander's face flushed a deep red as giggles erupted from everyone in the store. "Oh, no, wait. That sounds so much worse aloud than it did in my head."

"As is so often the case with you, Alexander." Giles scoffed, not without amusement.

James strolled up to his wife and gave Xander a hard look, but cracked a grin when the dark-haired man-child began to look sincerely nervous. "Don't worry, mate. She has that effect on everyone." He wrapped a protective arm around his wife's waist and took the dress from her hands. "Is this what caused all of the trouble?"

Lily gave a shy shrug and nodded. "It's just such a lovely material, and we've been stuck in our clothing for a few days now."

Now it was Buffy's turn to look sheepish. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. It didn't even occur to me to think of long-term issues. I guess I was hoping we would have this wrapped up for you before clothing became much of a problem."

Sirius glanced down at his own dirty clothing. "We could use a bit of sprucing up." He looked over at Buffy, who was looking particularly pretty for a woman who had just taken care of the undead. "Plus I look particularly good in jeans." He winked at the Slayer, who rolled her eyes at him. This only made him smile. Any reaction was a good reaction. Indifference was what he couldn't handle.

With a semi-polite cough, Anya stepped up to James. "Yes, well, you are more than welcome to go get some clothes." She grabbed the dress out of his hands. "Somewhere else. Unless you have money." She did not back down at the wizard's raised eyebrow. "We're not a charity, ok? I don't know what your world is like, but here we expect money for fine items such as these!"

Giles rubbed his forehead and did his best to ignore Anya, which was how their business partnership functioned best. "Yes, well... um, yes, she does have a bit of a point. We would naturally love to help you get more comfortable here. Unfortunately, we do have a bit of a, well, a fund problem."

There was an awkward silence as the Marauders attempted to figure out exactly what was being said. Remus understood the situation first. "Ah. Not to be contradictory to your charismatic friend," he began politely with a nod at Anya, "but we do in fact have a monetary exchange system in place within our society." When he noticed there were a couple of blank stares directed towards him, two from his own companions, he clarified. "We have money."

Anya immediately tossed the dress back to James with her prize winning smile shining upon him. "Well that changes everything! Have a look around. Have several looks! If we don't have anything you want in stock I have a catalogue we could order from. No additional charge. Well, a small additional charge, but that's a minor inconvenience. Really minor when compared to a bunch of a trans-dimensional strangers with problems showing up suddenly on your doorstep."

Not a single one of the Scoobies so much as flinched, so Remus thought it best to follow their lead and generally ignore her. She spoke as though she was oblivious of common courtesy, but she did have a bizarre sort of charm about her. He resumed searching the many pockets and hidden compartments of his robes, shaking his arms occasionally to track down the jingling coins. His companions proceeded to do the same, and before long they had a sizable amount of galleons, sickles, and knuts piled upon the ornately carved side table.

Willow gasped as she picked up the coins. "These are amazing! Are they made by dwarves?" she teased.

"Goblins, actually. They're quite serious about it, too," Lupin responded, and was pleased to see her look of surprise.

"Goblins. Of course. Are you sure you guys aren't pirates instead of wizards?" Xander quipped. Then he looked nervous once again and quickly stammered, "And witch! You're not all wizards. Lily's a witch. In a good way. Like Willow is a witch in a good way. Except when she wigs out over her magic. I'm going to go be by myself now."

Buffy let out a whistle as she surveyed their loot. "We'll find a coin shop or gold buyer. These should do nicely. They gave me a good deal on mom's jewelr... Anyway, you'll have plenty of cash." She turned to her group and gave them the best smile she could muster. She watched as they each returned her happy expression, though they always looked nervous about it, as though she was only seconds away from slipping back into the world they had yanked her out of. Perhaps she was.

She cleared her throat and made a decision. Sure, there were more important tasks at hand. They were likely going to have to save the world again here shortly, and at the very least there was research to be done. But they were owed a break now and then, and this was likely the best opportunity they were going to get. "OK, gang. Looks like tomorrow we're going shopping."

* * *

"Like OMG, Buffy, what do you think of this?!" Dawn held an entirely too short and too bright mini dress up against her body. "Isn't it the cutest?"

"Dawn, that dress is many, many things. The 'cutest' is not one of them. More importantly, I already told you this trip is not for us." She did her best not to roll her eyes as Dawn's lower lip stuck out. Buffy remembered being a teenager, although it seemed a lifetime ago. But Dawn had no clue at all just how incredibly close they were to losing the house. Slaying might save the damn world, but it sure as hell didn't pay the bills.

"Oh, let her get it," Sirius chimed in at the perfectly wrong time. It was one of his favorite skills. He watched as Buffy's jaw tightened and she straightened her deceptively slender shoulders. She did so hate to be contradicted, but a lifetime of living with Walburga Black, mother from Hell, had helped hone his immunity to tough, tiny women. Plus that glare was just too damn cute.

"She doesn't need it," Buffy practically hissed. When she saw Dawn was out of earshot, she followed up by whispering, "Plus, Mr. I'm Not Even From Here, it's incredibly hideous."

"Yes, it is. But the best part of youth is looking back upon it and being mortified. If she finds something more suitable, I am more than happy to cover the cost." He let his gaze run down her entire length before returning back to blazing green eyes. "The same goes for yourself, Miss Summers."

Sirius kept his features smooth and unruffled as he watched his charming hostess struggle with a response. "I don't really... I don't need..." she shrugged her shoulders and gave a huff. "I mean thank you. I guess." She then turned away from him and headed off in the direction of Lily and James, who last he saw were quite eagerly perusing the maternity section of the department store. He gave a smirk to the Slayer's lovely backside and returned to his own shopping.

* * *

In his own corner of the store, Lupin stared gloomily at the selection of clothing before him. He was never much for Muggle clothing. It was so tight and restricting. Much of wizardry required a great deal of movement, and as an Auror robes allowed him to have a variety of spells and back-ups prepared should he be caught unawares. He pulled a top off of the shelf and swallowed. This hardly left any room for imagination, let alone necessary precautions.

A feminine laugh caused Lupin to quickly turn his head. He smiled as he saw Willow approach. He also did his best to ignore a slight increase in his heart rate, which he was intelligent enough to know indicated attraction. One he most certainly could not afford to indulge.

"Um, I know you're new to this, so I'm going to assume you didn't mean to pick up a wife beater." Remus looked at her blankly until she gestured towards the item he held in his hands.

"Oh. Oh! I see. So this is not normal every day wear?" he asked her quietly, hoping to avoid the attention of the other Muggles in the area.

Willow laughed again and put the tank back on the shelf he pulled it from. "No it is not. Not even for Sunnydale, California. If you come this way, I'll show you where some nice shirts are at. I used to help my boyfriend... my ex-boyfriend shop here all of the time." As they walked over to an entirely separate area of the store, passing an overloaded James and nearly giddy Lily, Willow self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear. Remus took this in but said nothing. He was not unaware that there was a mutual attraction building.

"Mind you he never really bought anything unless I made him," she continued cheerfully. "He preferred places like Hot Topic. Or band t-shirts. Or even garage sale t-shirts, really. But I think you'll like these more." She stopped in front of a stylish selection of conservative button down shirts in a series of dark colors. Willow began to look self-conscious once again and looked up at him shyly. "It's ok if you don't like them."

"No, not at all. They're exactly my style, if I wore this sort of thing." He grinned at her and reached for the dark blue shirt before him. Willow reached for it at the same time and their hands brushed across each other felt a flash of soft, warm skin and felt his body immediately flush with heat. The moment was just as quickly gone when both of them yanked their arms down. Willow blushed nearly as red as her hair, and Remus suddenly became very preoccupied with every other rack that was available. _As though things aren't complicated enough,_ he thought glumly.

* * *

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the reflection in the mirror. It wasn't his appearance that he found to be a problem (it never was), but instead the exchange he had witnessed between his childhood best friend and the red-headed little number they had stumbled upon. "Oh, there's trouble brewing there." he muttered to himself. _Guess we'll have to have a talk about that later, _he mused while turning around to catch a glimpse of his backside.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, clearly amused to have caught him checking himself out.

"I'm getting a glimpse of the view the rest of the world gets to enjoy so often. It's just not fair I don't get to watch myself walk away." Sirius winked as he caught Dawn watching their exchange. The poor girl gave a little yelp and scurried away as fast as she could. He turned back to Buffy, who was busy sighing after her sister, and gave her his most seductive smile. "I'm glad you showed up. I need your help."

Buffy looked intrigued despite herself. She watched as Sirius slowly slid his arms into a suddenly incredibly sexy sweater. He turned to her with that patented cocky grin and spread his arms out. "What do you think? I'm just not sure it suits me."

Buffy returned his previous gaze and looked him up and down slowly. Sirius tried not to look surprised as she bit her lip and sauntered towards him, her hips swaying in a predatory rhythm. She came right up to his chest, ran a finger softly down the lush material, and raised herself on the tips of her toes. Then, so close to his ear he could nearly feel her tongue tracing the contours of his skin, she whispered, "I think, Mr. Black, that you have it on backwards." She then returned an equally cocky grin and used that sexy saunter to take herself down the aisle.

After a few long, disappointed seconds, Sirius looked down at the black sweater. "Oh. Bollocks."

* * *

After two long hours, a trip to the food court that had been relatively successful, and everyone locating at least a few outfits, the tired group made their way to the exit. They were unfortunately halted when an irritating voice rang out. "So! Slayer! And... friends! We meet again."

James glanced over and watched as Buffy and Willow went from friendly exhaustion to extreme irritation in a matter of seconds. "You have got to be kidding me." Buffy glared over at three strange looking men who were all attempting what he assumed were supposed to be intimidating poses. "Of course I would run into you three. In the junior's department."


	10. Chapter the Tenth

Chapter the Tenth

The Marauders, along with Dawn, Xander and Anya, continued on through the store, whether by coincidence or because they wanted to avoid a scene in the middle of the crowded Sunnydale Mall, Buffy was unsure.

Only she and Willow remained, looking disdained and quite confused at The Trio, who looked surprised and embarrassed in their own right. Well, Buffy revised in her head, all except for the scary third of the group. Warren's eyes shone eagerly at the Slayer, and she averted her eyes. What the hell? thought Buffy. Averting my eyes from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Outdweebed?

"Juniors? Really?" Willow questioned skeptically, seeming not to have noticed Warren's uber creep.

"It's hard to find pants that fit my frame!" whined Jonathan defensively. Andrew patted his shoulder in wise understanding.

"…whatever," Buffy shook her head. "You must be lost. This isn't Nerdy-Losers-Who-Have-Deluded-Themselves-Into-Believing-They're-Super-Villians…R Us." Huh. Not my best.

"Oh yeah? Well - so's your face!" Andrew piped up. Buffy watched as Warren shot him a warning glare. Andrew immediately shrank into the shadows.

Buffy couldn't blame him. For all that he was perverted and weird, Buffy had never found Warren Meers particularly threatening. Until now. The small hairs on her arms stood on end. He had a look about him Buffy had seen many times before. A mixture of greed, hunger for power, a drive to succeed, but mostly, and most alarmingly, a willingness to destroy whatever or whomever stood in the way. Yes, it was a look The Slayer was all too familiar with. She realized with a start that she recognized the deadened void in his eyes as…soullessness.

She shook herself from her mental musing and forced her distracted Slayer brain back into the conversation, interrupting Andrew saying…something stupid, she was sure, and addressing Jonathan. "-that's great. What are you doing out of your mom's basement, anyway? Aren't super villians supposed to be like, furtive?"

"I'll have you know I don't live with my mom anymore, thank you! We've moved up in the world. Gone underground. Which is still…up. Even though it's physically… under… ground, which is um. Down."

"You…do understand the term 'underground,' right? You don't actually have to dig into sub terrain," this was Willow, who looked perplexed that someone could be that…well, stupid. "You're terrible hiders. In fact, I remember you always losing hide-and-seek in grade school. Who knew it would haunt you now, a decade later?"

"Better at it than you, witch! Or did you forget your Mask today?" Andrew said from behind Warren's shoulder.

"Uh - time to go," Warren looked shifty and nervous for just a moment, but recovered even more quickly, before Buffy, who was still pondering over her revelation, had noticed. He noted, however, that the witch's eyes had clouded over with worry, and she was regarding Jonathan with confusion. Warren turned a sickening smile at the pair of girls, looking each of them over in turn. "Slayer. Witch. See you soon." His grin widened, and he turned to face his cohorts. "Ladies. Let's roll." Andrew pulled the sunglasses that were nestled on top of his head back down to the bridge of his nose. He gave his most menacing glare to Buffy and Willow before Jonathan shoved him forward and they hurried their short little legs away to catch up with Warren.

Buffy stared after the Trio. "Well. That was weird." After they disappeared from sight, she turned to her best friend, whose brow was still furrowed worriedly. She stared at the spot where Jonathan had stood. "…Will?"

"Uh. Huh? Oh. Yeah. That was weird. Let's go." The witch wound her arm through that of the Slayer and steered her back toward the gang.

Once Buffy and Willow had caught back up with their companions, it was well into lunchtime and the group was ravenous. The pair had decided not to mention the encounter to the others yet, who seemed not to have noticed when they separated. Their disappearance was easily explained away by distraction via shoe clearance.

The group took the only table that was large enough to accommodate all of them, right in the center of the food court, as if on display for the rest of the patrons at the mall. It put Buffy on high alert and she found it difficult once again to concentrate on the fun everyone else seemed to be having. She wasn't so distracted, however, as to be blind to Dawn's not-so-subtle attempts at flirtation with Sirius, who was all too pleased with the attention. Buffy caught a snatch of him criticizing his beard, of all things, which she had honestly never noticed. His arms, his shoulders, his hands, his smoldering eyes, sure… Ahem. But his beard?

"Oh, I don't think it's too much!" Dawn was overly eager in reassuring him.

Sirius waved her away blithely, clearly thrilled. "Oh, stop, you. You're just saying that." He had a huge, annoying smirk on his face. Buffy was a little surprised to note jealousy in the Buffy Brain File labeled Current Emotions. She shoved it to the back of her mind for now.

"No I'm not! I think it's perfect! It looks very…coiffed." Buffy was sure she only knew the word through those ridiculous books Dawn read about vampires falling in love with humans or some such nonsense. Never works out, the Slayer thought bitterly.

Sirius noted Buffy's inner monologue and reached over to her, gently putting one hand on her upper arm. She started, having been lost in thought again. He grinned even wider, and Buffy found she had to forcibly roll her eyes, though she'd rather have sent him a sheepish grin back. Dawn, sensing the shift in attention, reached out to touch Sirius' beard again, but clumsily knocked over her soda in the process.

"Dawn!" Buffy chided harshly.

"It's okay, Buff. I got it! I'll go get some napkins." Willow smiled kindly at Dawn, who was blushing furiously, and excused herself from the table. She wandered toward the condiments kiosk on other side of the large food court. Just as she had reached it and begun scoping it out for napkins, she heard a sweet, familiar voice call her name from behind. Willow smiled involuntarily, returning the smile in the kind voice. She turned to find Tara, just as she knew she would. "Tara! Hi! It's um- hi," The witch could feel herself grinning and fidgeting like a moron, but she didn't know how to shut it off. She hadn't allowed herself to think about how much she had missed Tara recently.

Tara smiled back, her sweet, bashful smile, and said quietly, "hey. I d-didn't expect to see you here."

"Really? W-why not? Should I not have? Come, I mean?" Willow was suddenly worried and self-conscious, which was an entirely foreign emotion she couldn't reconcile feeling in Tara's presence. I shouldn't have come! I should have stayed home in my comfy pj pants and watched Glee! I knew it!

Tara laughed softly. "No, I don't mean that. I'd just heard that you guys had a new…project. I figured you'd be in Research Mode for a while, otherwise I would have called by now."

Willow thought she could feel the eyes of her companions on her back, but she ignored it as best as she could. "Oh! Yeah, it's been kind of a weird deal. Um, but we were just here doing some shopping. Getting our heads out of the books for a while, ya know. Heh." Willow wasn't at all sure why she was feeling this nervous. She almost felt…guilty? No, that couldn't be it, she must be overanalyzing. "Um, how…how did you hear about it? The-project. Um. That we were busy, I mean." Andrew knew about my spell. What if Tara felt it too? I shouldn't have done it. It didn't even work, Willow thought sadly.

"Oh. A-Anya told me. I had to come into the magic shop a few days ago, and we got to talking. I wasn't trying to snoop, I swear!" It was Tara's turn to look worried. It put Willow's heart in a vice. She had always so hated to see Tara's eyebrows turn up like that, like she wasn't sure if she were even allowed to be breathing. Willow entirely blamed her redneck, chauvinistic brother and father, and whenever she thought on the subject too long, a particularly nasty evisceration spell came to mind. Though she'd never hate anyone enough to use that ugly thing, she knew. "Oh! No, I don't mind! I was just a little worried because we ran into Warren and his minions a few minutes ago, and they hinted they might know something was up,"

"Oh. Heh." They stared at each other for another awkward, unbearable moment, until they both finally broke simultaneously.

Willow said, "I've missed you," as Tara was saying, "well it was great seeing you. Take care. Oh, sorry. Heh. W-what was that?"

The witch wished she knew a self-drown-instantaneously spell. "Uh, I said it was good seeing you." She smiled self-consciously again, and grabbed a handful of…crap! What was she supposed to be getting?! Shot in the dark. Grab something, Willow, you idiot! She grabbed a handful of whatever was closest and swept away without saying another word.

Tara stared at her back. "I've missed you, too." Her eyebrows knitted upward, and a moment later she went off in the opposite direction.

Willow returned to the table and dropped a handful of… she inspected what she had just plunked onto the table. Straws. "Here ya go," she sighed. Everyone stared for a moment longer than was appropriate and then dutifully returned to cleaning up the mess. All except for Remus, that is, who regarded Willow with an unreadable expression till she smiled an unconvincing smile and suggested they head home.


	11. Chapter the Eleventh

A/N: Hey, gang! We quite enjoy the four reviews we've gotten so far. We really appreciate it. This chapter is a little behind the scenes, setting things up for later. So sadly no sexy Sirius snuggles or Lupin lovin', but we'll get back to that before too long. Until then, thanks again for your interest and particularly your feedback.

* * *

It was a dark, moonless night as an owl swooped low over the quiet village of Godric's Hollow. Its keen eyes swept over the abandoned streets as it searched for a small morsel to refuel its long trip home. The hungry creature witnessed only two hulking figures walking steadily along the stone path that wound its way between the thatched cottages. Disappointed, it continued onwards to the forbidding forest just beyond.

Hagrid flinched and brandished his umbrella as menacingly as possible at the sound of nearby movement. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself when he heard the not far off hoot of a friendly owl. He attempted to calm his racing heart, but couldn't quite manage to settle down. He was not an easy opponent for anyone, dark wizards included, but this entire place was making his considerable amount of hair stand on end. He just couldn't get used to seeing the once bustling alleys of Godric's Hollow utterly abandoned. Neither wizard nor Muggle alike were brave enough to venture forth once the sun had set. Not anymore.

Hagrid flinched once more at the loud creak of the gate swinging open before him. He hoped fervently that the great wizard beside him had not noticed. Dumbledore might be bent and weathered with age, but he was also the safest person Hagrid could possibly be with at this time or any other. The half-giant did not want the Headmaster to take his nerves as a slight against his sill considerable power.

He need not have worried. Dumbledore's mind was focused solely on the task at hand, racing ahead and taking in minute details, as it formed and dismissed theories in nearly the same instant. He appeared as calm and reserved as he did at his bi-weekly Sunday brunches at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. There was no way for anyone to know how very much he dreaded this long avoided reunion with his childhood home of Godric's Hollow.

The large duo approached the front step of the Potter's home with deliberation. Dumbledore politely handed his handkerchief to Hagrid, who had already begun to sniffle as they slowly opened the door. The Headmaster took the lead, stepping silently into the hallway that led into a still lit kitchen. The scene before him was exactly as the blubbering giant had described. The table was still set as though it had been in use just moments before rather than a day prior. The only item worthy of note was torn wrapping paper that had fallen on the floor. Otherwise the room appeared as unassuming as any other.

Hagrid muffed a sob as he followed Dumbledore towards the stairs. He was filled with such sorrow as he took in the golden snitch whizzing around the gilded cage. He gave a great sniffle at the tiny figures on the griffin shaped side table that were in the shapes of a wolf, a dog, a rat, and a male and female deer. When he came to the portrait of the Marauders still celebrating and cheering their graduation, he finally broke down and cried.

"Cheer up, mate," portrait James called out to him kindly. "We have our whole lives ahead of us." Hagrid merely continued his wailing, unwilling to explain to the young and jovial James that everything had gotten much worse since the day he had left Hogwarts. Much, much worse.

"Ah," Dumbledore said softly, having found what had was looking for at last. "Charles Magnus Harold Potter. It has been too long."

Hagrid halted his weeping and studied the moving painting before him. He saw a wizard who looked very much like an older, wrinklier James, although his eyes were a soft gray rather than blue and his chin was harsher. Hagrid could not much recall the Potter patriarch, though he'd had a good reputation and had left a great legacy behind him. His curiosity was enough to dam up the emotions inside him.

The echo of Charles smiled and dipped his head. "Albus. It is good to see you. How can I be of service?"

"Dark tidings, old friend. I am currently attempting to determine what occurred here yesterday evening. Did you or Augusta see anything?" Dumbledore hoped this exchange would not leave the remainder of Charles Potter distraught. Though it was only a magical recreation of the wizard who had sadly passed many years ago, it was still an unwelcome experience to see him upset.

Augusta Potter, Charles beloved wife of more than 60 years, popped quickly in the frame and stood bravely at her husband's side. "We can't see anything from here, of course," she charged ahead, not allowing Charles much time to respond.

Charles shook his head sadly. "No, we can't. The angle is all wrong. I've told Jimmy a thousand times this isn't a good place for us, but he just won't listen."

"Oh, don't call him that. He's never liked that. He's always gone by James in his personal life. He's a grown man and we have to respect his wishes," the elderly Mrs. Potter scolded. It was a very familiar argument and there was no heat behind the rituatlistic words.

Dumbledore interrupted them with a polite cough. He would never abandon his manners, but he could not spare any extra time on ancient banter. There were lives at stake, he was sure of it, and more than they could fathom just yet. There was a magic lingering in this home. It was foreign and unfamiliar to the Headmaster, but he was beginning to guess just what it meant. There were many dark corners of magic that the greatest wizards had not had time to explore, and this was one of them. He just needed a few more pieces to start putting this puzzle together.

"Please, old friends. What were you able to gather with your limited view?"

Augusta and Charles shared a look before Mr. Potter spoke up. "Well, James and Lily had their young friends over. The Black heir, Sirius, Remus Lupin, and tiny Peter Pettigrew."

Augusta made a clicking noise with her tongue. "Poor Remus. He always looked so exhausted. Staying up far too late, I imagine. You know how the young are."

Dumbledore knew a fair sight more about it than the Potters, clearly, and that was for the best. "I see they had dinner. Were there any sounds of an argument? A heated exchange between friends, perhaps, or the arrival of another?"

Augusta responded first, as she had done for the majority of her marriage. "Oh no. Everything sounded quite lovely. I mean, there was a bit of excitement." The impish witch gazed over at her husband with tenderness and joy. "You see, we're going to be grandparents!"

Dumbledore heard Hagrid's gasp and mentally echoed one of his own, though his features remained stoic. This made the situation even more grave and urgent than before, if not much more tragic. "Congratulations," he said with a smile, though his blue eyes did not share it.

Charles puffed his chest out. "Thank you. It's about time, too. Augusta and I thought it was all over with us, what with our troubles having a child," he sighed as he patted his wife comfortingly on the shoulder. "Then we finally have our boy and what do you know! He takes his own sweet time ensuring there will be Potters around for many generations to come."

Dumbledore did not sigh with exasperation, but he desperately wished he could. "So naturally they announced this to their dear friends. I'm sure there was quite a commotion. Then what happened?"

Here Charles' shoulder sagged and Augusta's eyes filled with tears. "Well, Albus, that's the worst part. We just don't know. There was excitement after the announcement, and then Pettigrew presented our son and daughter-in-law with a present. I heard some small talk after that, Peter declared something rather harshly, and then... nothing. I heard the door close. I assume it was Pettigrew leaving. But there wasn't another peep from the kitchen. We haven't seen anyone since."

Dumbledore nodded his head as a few details clicked into place for him. He did not yet know why, might never know where, but he had begun to suspect just **what** it was that had happened. It was not entirely unknown magic, but it was not spoken of or well researched. He had meant to delve into it himself, so many years ago in his youth. But there had been obligations, then distractions, and then he had suddenly found himself in an aching and aging body before he had gotten to even half of what he had wanted. _Ah well_, he thought wistfully. _Such is time for us all._

The Headmaster gave a bow to the beings forever stuck on the wall. "Dear friends, I thank you for your time. I assure you, I am working most deligently to discover what has occurred. Until then, please keep each other's spirits up, just as you have done for many decades."

Charles kissed his wife's temple and did his best to smile. "We will, Albus. Thank you for helping us. When you find that boy of mine, you give him a good scolding."

"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled, this time sincerely. Though he had never been a father himself, he had felt the urge towards many of his young pupils over the years. They were all the closest thing he would ever have to children, and right now his family was threatened. It was time to find his wayward sheep and return them to the flock.

"Did you find what you need, Professor?" Hagrid rumbled as they passed into the living room and towards the door. The giant nearly collided with the back of his mentor as Dumbledore stopped abruptly. He appeared to be staring over in the corner of the room. Hagrid also looked over, but he could not quite figure out what he saw seeing. Or perhaps it was that he was **not** seeing. His eyes kept gliding over a section of a chair that was in the corner. His mind could not quite grasp what it was supposed to be seeing, but Hagrid got the vague impression of a cloak.

Dumbledore seemed to shake himself from a waking dream before moving to the door once more. "Yes, Hagrid. I think I have found what I was looking for. Far more than I was expecting." With that Dumbledore strode out the door without a second glance, making sure to ignore the imagined ghosts of three young wizards crawling towards the body of an innocent girl who had been murdered by those who loved her not so very far from the Potter's front door.

* * *

"You almost sold us out, you moron!" Warren growled at Andrew once they were safely out of the mall and back in the van, away from the prying, annoyingly perceptive ears of the Slayer.

Andrew held his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry! I was only trying to freak Willow out!" He loaded up into his usual place in the back seat of the van with the monitoring equipment, as Warren and Jonathon piled into the front seats.

Jonathon, sensing Warren's mood had shifted from his everyday, general irritability, to dangerous, tried to keep the peace. "Listen, Buffy didn't even notice. She was too distracted. Didn't you see her? Don't worry about it."

"The Slayer may not have noticed, but her neat little demon pal sure the hell did! If the witch spills the beans, the Slayer will put us out of commission. In a heartbeat." Warren was annoyed to see his idiot squad exchange a secretive, nervous glance with one another.

"Out of commission?" Andrew said, more to Jonathon than to Warren, but it was the former who answered.

"Yeah. As in no more Trio. More like Three Dead Nerds."

"Buffy wouldn't kill us. She doesn't kill humans, that's not how it works. She can't kill anything with a soul," Jonathon reasoned. He had, after all, known her since sophomore year of high school. He had watched her save countless lives. On occasion she had saved his life, and on a few other occasions had saved lives because of him. They had had 8 classes together, and she used to steal sneaking glances of his trig homework, which had annoyed him on her first day, until he had looked over to see Buffy The Vampire Slayer's alter ego: adorable, tiny, blonde Buffy Summers. The Slayer's mission statement was different than his own, or rather the Trio's as a whole, but she was a good person, fighting for a noble cause, and Jonathon had always sort of revered her, if he was honest with himself.

Warren was getting visibly annoyed now. He always became restless and shifty. His eyes flickered across the windshield and his left leg bounced up and down like a nervous tick as he presented his rebuttal. "That's sorta what we do, isn't it? Present every alternative until there isn't another? Or have both you wimps forgotten that we're *super villians?*" Jonathon noticed with worry that whenever Warren was on the warpath, his pattern of speech changed distinctly. He no longer stuttered, exasperated, trying to reason and manipulate his point to the forefront. When he got in moods like this, he spoke with purpose, and it was always his way or the highway. The highway, which was whizzing past the windows of the van at a speed that couldn't possibly be legal, though Jonathon didn't dare to lean over for a glance at the speedometer.

Andrew, looking pale and feeling dizzy, sat alone in the back seat of the van. He turned to peer out the back windows, half expecting to see the Slayer herself, perhaps dropping out of a tree, motioning to run after them before she'd even hit the ground, perhaps in spandex… He stored the thought away for later and then shakily said, "Well, then maybe we shouldn't."

"Shouldn't what, Virginia?" Warren mocked distractedly.

Andrew hesitated, steeled himself, then said in a voice that sounded far more assured than he felt, "maybe…we should just not present her with that alternative. Like back off for a while." He knew as soon as the words had left his suddenly dry mouth that it was a mistake. He met Jonathon's wide eyes again in the mirror off the passenger side of the van.

Warren drove for a moment longer, and then suddenly slammed the van to shrieking halt on Sunnydale's only, mercifully empty, two lane highway. He shifted to Park and turned his body to face his cohorts. He didn't look angry, as they had anticipated, but this was far from comforting.

Warren's eyes glinted rather maniacally as he addressed Andrew. "Having doubts, princess?" He grinned, and Andrew's stomach turned.

"I-I guess."

"That's brilliant. You're brilliant." Warren reached up and patted Andrew's cheek with too much vigor, not noticing him flinching as he raised his hand. Then Warren turned to Jonathon. "You got some mojo to work, Junior." He laughed to himself and shifted the van into Drive again.


End file.
