Author's Note: Hello all and welcome!
First, a little explanation. This story is a crossover between Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Teen Wolf, Supernatural, and The Secret Circle. There might be a couple other shows and/or books that pop up in future chapters – I'll make sure to warn you about them in advance with the usual disclaimers – but for this first (rather large) chapter, you only have to worry about those knowing a thing or two about those properties.
Second, a little background. This story is in part a rewrite of one of my previous works, Slayers and Sixth Years. That story was only a crossover between Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel (since Teen Wolf, The Secret Circle and Supernatural hadn't happened yet). Since I'm throwing in stories from those three properties, this obviously isn't going to be a straight rewrite. It's going to rework the story and the characters a lot – and yes, all of these disparate storylines are eventually going to converge, so long as I do my job right.
Third, establishing timeline. I know that several of these properties – particularly Buffy and Harry Potter – have specific dates for everything that happens. Harry Potter takes place in the 1990s, whereas Buffy closes the Hellmouth in 2003; and of course Teen Wolf and The Secret Circle depict things like Facebook and smartphones, which didn't exist when the aforementioned two properties were taking place. I'm asking for a little more suspension of disbelief – let's pretend for a second that all of the things you're about to see are happening at the same time. In other words, here's where things pick up:
End of Buffy Season 7
End of Angel Season 4
End of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
End of Supernatural Season 2
End of Teen Wolf Season 1
End of The Secret Circle Season 1
Fourth, about the OC. Yes, there's an OC who narrates his own section. You don't have to freak and go searching for "American Wizarding Academy" or "Craig" all over the Internet – you won't find anything. Craig and the AWA were elements from the original Slayers and Sixth Years, where they were original elements, too. I usually wouldn't preface the introduction of an OC this much, but since this story is bringing together so many different properties I didn't want anyone to think they were missing source material.
Fifth, the disclaimer. I do not, in any way, own Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Teen Wolf, Supernatural, or The Secret Circle, or any of the characters, locations, objects or concepts associated with any of those properties or protected by their copyrights. I do not, and will not, seek any form of financial gain from the writing of this story. It is for fun and fun alone.
Sixth – oh, screw it, enjoy the story.
PART ONE – THE SECRET WAR
CHAPTER ONE
"What now?"
I think I could just about murder those words, Buffy thought.
Sprawling before Buffy and her friends was the smoking crater that had once been their home, Sunnydale. "It looks like someone attacked it with a giant ice cream scoop," Buffy said, in lieu of answering the question.
"Mmm," Willow said. The witch's natural red hair had reasserted itself, but she was still wobbly on her feet, being supported by newly-risen Slayer Kennedy. "Giant ice cream. That sounds fitting."
"But here we are without spoons," Xander cut in. A fleck of blood had attached itself to his eye patch, but Buffy didn't feel like bringing it up just then. Taking stock of her own torn clothes there was not a little blood there, too, so it wasn't like she was qualified to play fashion police.
"Are we seriously having this conversation?" Giles asked, taking of his glasses to wipe them on his shirt
"Come on, you like a little ice cream now and then," Dawn threw in.
"You guys are such freaks," Faith said. Buffy turned to regard the other veteran Slayer. Faith was smiling, a bit of the post-fight rush Buffy recognized from years past shining on her face. God I hate her, Buffy thought. She smiled at Faith, totally sincere, and Faith's own smile widened. God it's good to be alive.
Buffy turned on her heel and walked back to the bus. The trance of looking at the crater broken, the rest of the group hobbled back over to the bus, too. Buffy swung the back door open and hopped up onto the edge of the bus.
"Right," she said. "Planning. Obviously we need a new base of operations."
"I don't know," Faith said, leaning with one hand against the side of the bus next to Buffy. "Crater's got pretty good sun exposure. I could work on my tan."
Buffy ignored this. "Giles?" she asked.
"Well, yes, you're correct," he said. "But I'm afraid I'm at a bit of a loss. The Council is gone, except for the few Watchers who survived the purge. There are a few places in England and Italy that might be safe, but the key word is 'might'. Nothing is certain now."
"That sounds kind of foreboding," Xander said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"We've just untipped the scales," Giles said. "In a very, very big way. Closing the Hellmouth and activating every potential Slayer in the world are major changes. There's no way to tell what kind of repercussions we're looking at."
"Way to sour the victory speech," Buffy muttered. Then she breathed out heavily again. "All right, Europe's uncertain. We've been over it with the girls to see if any of them had a fallback spot we could use and that was no-go. Any one have any other ideas? Family hunting lodges you'd forgotten to mention up until this point? I don't relish the idea of finding hotel rooms for everyone."
"What about Angel?" Dawn asked.
Everyone looked at her.
"Well, when he showed with the medallion, didn't he mention that he's running that law firm in LA now?"
"Angel as a lawyer," Xander said. "Can everyone just picture that for a second?"
"I don't see that we have many other options," Giles said. "And Wolfram and Hart's resources are said to be rather vast."
"Hold on a second," Willow said. She pushed off from Kennedy so that she could stand by herself. "Isn't Wolfram and Hart evil? I know I didn't spend a ton of time in LA but from everything Faith said..."
Everyone turned to Faith. "They're evil," she confirmed. "Angel's not. He's playing them. It's that simple. And right now we can use his play to our advantage. But," she said, practically grinding her teeth. "It's got to be B's call."
Might as well throw the olive branch. "If you think it's okay, Faith, then we'll go."
Faith nodded instantly. "Let's get to it. Drive's not so bad if you know the way."
As the others started filing back around the bus to get in, Buffy grabbed Faith by the arm. She could feel the other Slayer's muscles tense at being grabbed. The sense memory for both of them was instant and vicious – the feeling of Buffy's hand on Faith's arm had triggered several fights and a few thousand dollars in property damage over the years. Even with their recent alliance, Buffy mused, every time she touched Faith it'd probably be like this. I'm almost sad about that, she thought. Almost.
"Faith, wait a second," she said. "I want to talk to you."
Faith stopped moving and relaxed by about a millimeter. "Sure thing, B," she said. As soon as the others were out of earshot she spoke again. "What's up?"
"Prison," Buffy said, simply.
A range of emotions filtered over Faith's face. "Whoa," she said. "Yeah, I almost forgot about all that." She laughed, a momentarily defenseless sound. "Can you believe that? Six life sentences and I just forgot. A little action will do that to you I guess."
Buffy smiled, the second genuine smile she'd cast at her old rival. "Are you talking about the demons or Robin?"
Faith smiled too. "Both, I guess. Gotta give it to him, the boy's got some talent. Really made me think about taking a second dip, and I don't even want to talk about the last time I did that." The smile fell. "But I guess there won't be time, huh? The world's saved. Angel's back in charge of his own body. No real need for me to be running around anymore, right? Time to go back?"
"Faith..." Buffy started, but Faith waved her off.
"No, it's okay," Faith said, choking down the emotion that had been on her face a moment before. "I made the decision to, you know, atone. The last couple of months have been a – a detour, let's say. No need to waste talent when the going gets really tough. But, see, you've got an entire world full of Slayers now. One more isn't going to make a difference, not in this world. So I can get back to the atoning. Where I belong."
"Faith, would you shut up for a second?" Buffy said. "God, of all the personality problems you've managed to get by, hearing yourself speak isn't one of them."
"I could always atone and kick your ass," Faith muttered.
"Here's the deal," Buffy said. "Like you said, we've got a whole world full of new Slayers out there. Girls like us who woke up today in a whole new world. It didn't exactly go smoothly for either of us. After all, I died twice and you turned into a psycho."
"Thanks," Faith said.
"Point is, it doesn't have to be like that for all the girls out there who weren't part of the Sunnydale squad," Buffy said. She put her hand back on Faith's shoulder and this time there was no tensing of muscles from either woman. Small miracles, Buffy thought. "There's probably still a few hundred girls out there, Potentials we didn't manage to round up here and that the First hadn't gotten to yet. Girls we didn't even know were Potentials. They're scared and changing and don't know what to make of what's happening. We can find them and help them through it. Both of us."
"You really want me helping with a bunch of newbie Slayers?" Faith asked. "The last couple of months there really wasn't a choice, I know. But now I could just disappear."
"You're valuable to us still, Faith," Buffy said, wondering just how far the other woman was going to have to drag this out. "Not every girl out there who inherited the power today is going to be all sunshine and biscuits about it. If there's anyone who knows what being on the edge – or over it – is like, it's you. There are girls out there who are going to need to learn from people who've made the kinds of mistakes only Slayers can make – the kind of mistakes you've made and grown from. You want to go back to prison to atone? Sure, that's an option. I won't try and stop you if that's what you decide. But you can atone a lot better in my book by helping us to find these girls and give them hope. And I can guarantee that helping us will be a lot harder than sitting in a cell day in and day out."
Buffy looked at Faith and found a storm of indecision on her face. "I just...I don't know," she said. "I hadn't really thought this all through, you know?"
"There's a surprise," Buffy muttered. She straightened. "Think it through, though. At least come with us to LA to see Angel. You can make your decision after that."
Faith nodded. Buffy's hand was still on Faith's shoulder. Faith reached up and gave Buffy's hand a squeeze. "Buffy?" she asked, that vulnerable, defenseless note back. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Buffy said. The two Slayers turned and headed back towards the front of the bus. "And I could totally still kick your ass, by the way."
Sam Winchester pulled the metal welding mask he'd been wearing away from his face. "Try it now!" he shouted.
A moment of cursing later Sam heard a switch thrown and a low hum. Slowly, the lights inside the newly-rebuilt Roadhouse flickered on.
"Yeah, I'd say we have power!" As she was saying this, Ellen Harvelle, the middle-aged proprietor of the last Roadhouse, poked her head around the corner of the new building. "Finally get to stop using those ceremonial candles all the time. One accidental muttering in Latin and we'd have been swimming in angry fish spirits."
"I'm pretty sure you just mixed metaphors," Sam pointed out.
Dean Winchester, his brother and fellow demon hunter, jumped down from the roof. "There you go, talking fancy and making us normal, blue collar folk look uneducated," he said. He smiled a toothy, winning smile at Ellen. "Told you we'd have the place ready for opening tomorrow."
"I really do appreciate everything you boys have done here the past month," she said. "Come inside? Drinks and sandwiches are on the house. Jo should be about done with the sandwiches by now, I figure."
Dean grinned at his brother, a gesture which Sam didn't return. "Free food, Sammy! I knew we came here for a reason."
"We run credit card scams for money, Dean," Sam said. "Technically all of our food is 'free.'"
"Hey, how many times do I have to remind you how hard credit card fraud is these days?" Dean asked, flashing the same thousand-watt smile he'd used for Ellen a moment before. Sam's face remained mirthless. Dean faltered but the smile stayed plastered to his face. "Come on, Sam, let's at least eat."
Sam walked by him without a word. Dean shook his head and followed.
The inside of the rebuilt Roadhouse was pretty similar to the inside of the old bar and hunter-hangout. It already looks dingy and it's not even open yet, Sam thought, looking around at the furniture, walls, bar, and pool table. Standing behind the bar was a short, skinny blonde, her hair tyed back in a ponytail. "Sandwiches?" Jo Harvelle asked, holding up a platter.
"I am famished. What's it tonight?" Dean asked as he sat down at a stool on the bar.
"Ham and salami, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and mayonnaise," Jo said, setting the platter down again.
Dean grabbed one of the sandwiches like they were made from gold and took a giant bite. "My favorite," he said, his mouth full, distorting the words. Jo smiled as Dean grinned through the sandwich at her. Ellen and Sam exchanged an exasperated look over their heads, although Ellen did have a slight smile on her face as she reached to pick her own sandwich up off the platter.
Sam sat down next to his brother and grabbed a sandwich, too. "Still planning the grand reopening tomorrow?" he asked, before taking a bite. He had to admit that the sandwich was pretty good; fresh ingredients, not to mention that they made the mayonnaise on site.
"Sure thing," Ellen said, swinging around behind the bar to stand next to Jo.
"Got fliers or something printed?" Dean asked.'
"Nah, no need," Ellen said. "Word travels slow in our circles sometimes. We still have a couple of old hunters drop by every couple of days; just hadn't heard we were out of business, and I've been telling all of them that we'll be back up and running again shortly, so the word that's spreading isn't that we're closed, just that we're reopening soon. We'll be as busy as ever in under a month, just you watch."
"Ah, the sound of an honest living," Dean said.
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "You know, if you're interested, I could always take you on as waiters. Tend bar a little, keep the place fixed up. Low wages but you'd get room and board. What do you say?"
Dean laughed, then saw that neither Ellen nor Jo was laughing along. They've been planning this, Sam realized. Probably since we started putting up the new Roadhouse. "We appreciate the offer, really," Sam said. "But we have to get moving, start tracking down some of the demons that escaped from the Devil's Gate."
And figure out a way to get my brother out of his bone-headed deal.
Ellen nodded first. "Figured as much," she said. "But I thought I'd try. Lord know no one could have convinced your daddy to settle down after what happened to Mary. But that's in the past now, right?"
"Old Yellow Eyes is dust," Dean confirmed.
"Still, plenty else to do," Ellen said. "Okay, fine, I've got something for you. A couple of those hunters who've come around that I mentioned earlier? They mentioned a job up in Beacon Hills, New York. Werewolves, small pack of them from the sounds of things. Already killed one hunter. These guys who swung by are part of an organization of hunters. Well, they're loosely affiliated with it – some council thing that started in Britain, I don't really know all the details. Point is, they're heading up to New York to figure out what's happening."
"Werewolves are bad news," Dean said.
"They could use a hand," Sam continued.
"My thoughts," Ellen said, laying her hands out. "I do have to warn you, these council boys can be a little brutal. Kind of single minded, like your friend Gordon Walker. They're good at what they do, but still – watch your backs."
"Always, ma'am," Dean said. "When'd they leave?"
"Yesterday," Ellen said. She glanced at the clock. Seven thirty in the evening, just starting to get dark. "You should probably leave now if you want to catch up to them."
"Sure," Dean said. He eyed Jo, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole exchange. "Uh, Sam, didn't you have some things to load into the truck? You know, equipment and all that?"
Dean and Jo were both looking pointedly at Sam.
"Right," Sam said. "Equipment. Stuff. In the car."
Ellen rolled her eyes. "Come on, boy, I'll help you get everything gathered while these two say goodbye." She got up and followed Sam to the front door, but stopped as Sam was halfway through it. "And you can use your tongues to say good-bye, but only so long's there's at least five feet between you when you do."
With that, Sam and Ellen both pushed through the front door and let it close gently behind them, cutting off Dean's bemused-but-frightened and Jo's mortified expressions. As soon as the door was shut Ellen laughed. "I never get tired of making her give me that face," she said.
Sam bent down and started collecting the tools he'd used to get the wiring on the new Roadhouse complete. "I can never track how you really feel about the two of them," he said.
"Ah, it's biology," Ellen said. "I know Dean's got some issues, but he's got a good heart, and that look on his face tells me that he knows I'll shoot him in ways that'll make him useless to a woman if he breaks my baby's heart. If it's just a fling she might as well get it out of her system with someone trustworthy, and if it's more than that – well, who am I to get in their way? This is a short, shitty life we've got for ourselves, might as well make the most of it."
"Yeah, amen," Sam muttered, knowing that Ellen probably thought he was agreeing with the second half of her last sentence, when it fact it was the first.
A moment later, the tools mostly gathered up, Dean came walking through the front door to the Roadhouse. Sam shut the trunk of the Impala with its trademark squeak. "That was fast," he said.
"No fast jokes, not in front of her mom," Dean said. Ellen frowned but Dean wrapped her in a hug before she could chastise him. "Thanks for everything, Ellen. We'll stay in touch."
Sam waived, pulling open the passenger door of the Impala. "You boys be careful," Ellen said.
Dean sat down in the driver's seat and flashed one last thousand-watt smile at Ellen. "Nothing else but," he said, and put the car into gear, peeling away from the Roadhouse.
The Interstate was less than a mile from the Roadhouse, so they were moving at an excellent pace in no time. Sam, looking out the window, shook his head at his brother. "You really shouldn't have lead her on like that," he said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Jo," Sam said. "I thought she was above your use 'em and lose 'em streak, but I guess that's out the window now."
"I didn't touch her," Dean said. Sam instantly recognized his brother's defensive voice.
"Really?" Sam asked, turning to look at Dean as he drove.
"Yeah, really," Dean replied. "Like you said, she's above all that."
"I suppose you didn't tell her, either, did you?" Sam asked.
"Tell her what, Sam?" Dean asked, turning to stare daggers at his brother.
"You know," Sam said.
Dean focused back on the road, but he punched the steering wheel in frustration. "Damn it, no," he said. "No point in getting her all worried. Besides, she'd have just told Ellen, and then we'd have been in a bigger mess with her. Either I'm dead in a year and we can't stop it, or I'm not dead in a year because we did stop it. Either way there's no need to involve them right now. Let it be a surprise if it does happen. I don't want Jo looking at me with pity."
"They could help," Sam pointed out.
"Sam!" Dean shouted. "Enough, okay? Let's work this werewolf job and see if we can track down a few demons. Maybe once we've gotten warmed up again we can talk about getting me out of this deal."
Sam shook his head again and returned his gaze to the street passing by outside his window. Dean reached over and turned up the music.
Scott McHall could feel several things of note. Gravity was the first; sitting on a roof about three stories up, gravity is one of those things you worry about. Asphalt shingles were another – scratchy, stiff things, not the most comfortable thing to lie on. A slight breeze, which, aside from tickling his face, also brought him a myriad of smells, many of which he still couldn't make out. And, of course, the most important, the small, narrow frame of Allison Argent, around whom he was coiled and holding close to his chest.
All of his cuts had healed from the fight earlier with Peter Hale, the now-deceased werewolf alpha, but he'd still gotten plenty of blood – Peter's, his own, even some of Allison's aunt Kate's which had still been on Peter's claws when they'd fought – on himself. Allison had insisted that it didn't matter and had practically leaped out of the window when he'd arrived to hug him. There'd been tears in her eyes. She'll spend less time crying once she doesn't have to deal with you anymore, a voice in the back Scott's head sounded. He pushed it aside. He wanted to enjoy what was left.
Then she'd started looking at the moon and that's when he'd realized it was time. "I should get going," he said, gently pushing Allison off of himself so he could stand. He brushed his clothes smooth, wishing simultaneously that he could brush the scent of her off of himself and also that it would never fade.
"I wish you could stay," Allison said. "God, I wish you could stay forever."
"Well, I can't stay," Scott said. "And I think we both know that."
He started to get ready to leap down off of Allison's roof, but Allison pressed a hand to chest to stop him. "Wait a minute," she said. "What did that mean?"
Scott rolled his eyes, but studiously avoided meeting hers. "We both know what it meant," he said. "This was good-bye, wasn't it?"
Allison laughed, a sound that came out more like a sob than anything else. "Good-bye?" she said. "What part of me telling you I love you sounded like 'good-bye?'"
"The part where it came right after you told me you didn't believe me about everything that's been happening," Scott said. "The part where it came right after you shot Derek – twice! - and then shot at me."
"I still thought he was a killer!" Allison said. "Well, okay, I'd had my doubts after the thing in the school, but once Kate showed me what he was, down in that cellar thing, I'd started to think maybe he really was a killer."
"Wait, you saw what your aunt was doing to him down there?" Scott asked. He finally met Allison's eyes, to find them wide and full of tears, and his indignation faltered. Only for a second. "She was torturing him! For fun! What justifies that?"
"I don't know!" Allison said. The tears were beginning to flow freely. "I just – I didn't know what to think! She was my aunt, Scott. I'd know her my whole life. She helped teach me to ride a bicycle. She gave me tips the first time I had a crush on a boy and wanted to kiss him. I didn't know she was like that!"
Scott nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Point taken. But you're still the one who shot Derek. I heard her giving you instructions, you know. Werewolf ears. She told you to shoot him in the leg and you did, you shot him in the leg. He's a person! Maybe not genetically the same as you but he still thinks and feels, and you were so methodical about hurting him. Would you have been that methodical about hurting me?"
It was finally overwhelming her. Allison turned away. "Scott, I -"
"Just don't, Allison," Scott said. "I know that you said you loved me, but that's not enough. You don't trust me. I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of my life about the look on your face when you saw that I was a werewolf. And those nightmares are always, always going to include hearing you tell me that you didn't believe me. Because it meant that you believed I was just an animal."
Scott readied himself to jump down again, but was surprised when Allison grabbed his arm and held him fast. He tried to break her grip but she held on and he didn't move. "Listen to me," she said, her voice low, her face covered in tears. "If you want to leave after this, leave, but listen to me first. I do love you. Tonight, I was confused, angry, and being told what to do by someone I loved, someone I thought I could trust. Yeah, I did things that weren't okay. I regret shooting Derek. I regret shooting at you. And yes, I didn't believe you that everything you'd done was to protect me. But not because I thought you were an animal. Because you were lying to me, constantly, and I don't want or need lies. I need the truth. I need the people I love to be telling me the truth. Kate lied to me too, you know – she said we were just going to catch you and Derek, not kill you. I wanted to catch you because I wasn't sure if you were an animal or not, but mostly because I didn't believe that you were doing everything to protect me and I wanted you to make me believe. We didn't get a chance to go into all that."
By the end of her speech Scott was shaking violently in Allison's grip. "You could have just asked," he said, the last of his resolve ready to crumble.
"I had just watched you grow fangs," Allison said. "The only person willing to talk to me was my aunt, and she was telling me you were dangerous. Of course I came prepared, but I wasn't going to kill you. I love you."
Scott faltered and collapsed backward, sitting down forcefully on the roof, burying his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, through tears of his own, as Allison bent quickly and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you from the start. I was so scared, and I thought I was a freak and there was no way you'd feel the same way about me that I did about you, and then everything was going out of control and I'm just sorry, you know, I'm so sorry..."
Allison shushed him gently and laid her own head down on top of neck, above his forward bent head, and held him as the sobs silently wracked his body. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry, too."
After a moment, Scott's sobs subsided, and he shifted to look at Allison. There were still tears in her eyes, but she was smiling, and so beautiful. She withdrew enough to let his head come up, keeping one arm draped around his shoulders. He found the hand of her other arm and squeezed. "No more secrets," she said.
"No more secrets," he agreed. "God, I love you so much. I could never do this without you."
"You're never going to have to," Allison said, as she inclined her face toward his for a kiss. "I promise. I love you, too."
Last day of school, Cassie Blake thought to herself, as she hitched her bag up on her shoulder and made her way towards Chance Harbor High. She couldn't help it; as much as she thought she'd never be a normal girl again, certain things seemed inescapable, and counting down to the end of school was one of them.
She stopped by the front door to regard the young man standing next to it, gazing off into space. "Hey, Adam," she said. He didn't respond, still staring at the sky, a glazed look in his eye. "Hey. Adam," she said, more slowly.
He shook off the glazed look and smiled. "Hey, Cassie," he said. Then he grinned, sheepish. "Uh, been there long?"
"No," she said. She laughed. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," Adam said. "Just introspective. Thinking about stuff. Want to go in?"
"Might as well. Last day!" Cassie made a show of doing a little dance and Adam smiled again. She pushed the door open and he followed her through into the school's halls. She set her bag down next to her locker and turned to face Adam again. Was he just checking out my ass? "Want to tell me what you were thinking about?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," he said. "We have new kids."
"On the last day?" Cassie asked. "Isn't that a little weird?"
"Yeah," Adam said. "Really weird. Faye and her mom were at the Boathouse last night and she mentioned that we've got four new kids enrolling today. Wanted to meet a few people before the summer break starts. You know, get acclimated."
"Yeah, I suppose I do know," Cassie said. Adam kept looking at her, waiting for it to click. "Wait – you said four?"
"Yup," he said. "Four. Different families, too. Four kids from different families show up, just now, all at once."
"Oh, man," Cassie said, turning back to her locker, trying to look inconspicuous, suddenly unsure of who could be watching. "You don't think - "
"Not sure," Adam said. "But it'd make sense for them to be the other Balcoin witches. Your brothers and sisters."
"And Diana's," Cassie said, under her breath, almost without realizing she'd said it.
"Yeah, well, they won't be Diana's problem, at least," Adam said, and Cassie could detect the faint note of bitterness. "Any word from her, by the way?"
"No," Cassie said, taking books out of her bag and placing them in her locker. "I've tried calling a few times, but she's not returning my messages. I thought about casting a spell to locate her, just to keep track and make sure things are okay, but it felt like it'd be an invasion of her privacy. She made it pretty clear that she needs to have nothing to do with this place for a while, and I guess that also means having nothing to do with us for a little while, too."
Adam shook his head, but refrained from saying anything more. Always trying to keep his own negativity in check, Cassie mused. She had to fight down the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek to make him feel better. Maybe now that we're not a circle anymore, we could do something to counteract the spell that made him forget how he felt about me, Cassie thought. I'm sure he was checking me out earlier. Maybe we won't need to do anything to counteract it.
"So, any idea where to find the Balcoin kids?" she asked, trying to sound positive.
"Remember, we don't know for sure that's who they are," Adam said. "The last thing we need is to make a scene."
Cassie turned her right hand over so it was facing palm-up. "At least we have a pretty sure-fire way to tell if that's who they are," she said. Adam reached out and traced the lines on her hand, the same lines her now-dead father, John Blackwell, had possessed. Cassie shivered and retraced her hand.
"Sorry," Adam said.
"No, it's okay," Cassie replied. "It's just weird having you – having someone touch it."
The two stood for a moment as Cassie's slip hung in the air. The moment was interrupted by the ring of the school bell.
"You have first period with one of the new kids," Adam said, pointing to the room down the hall for which Cassie was bound. "Faye stole their schedules from her mom last night and we looked them over. I have third period with one of them, too. You'll be meeting," he stopped, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded square of notebook paper, opening it and smoothing it against the row of lockers, "Michael Fillion. I'll be meeting someone named Mariah Madison. Faye said she and Melissa would try to set it up to run into the other two during the day. Jake's hanging around on backup if anything goes down, so just text him and he'll be here."
"You trust Jake?" Cassie asked, looking over the names and class schedules on the piece of paper Adam was holding.
"I wouldn't go that far," Adam said, looking away. "I guess the guy grows on you eventually. Whatever, he knows its his neck on the line too if these Balcoin witches wind up being hostile."
"So you do think it's them?"
"I think I'm sick of coincidences," Adam said. "Four of them, plus you and Diana, would make a Balcoin circle. John Blackwell mentions he's trying to make a Balcoin circle shortly before they show up, with different names and different families and from different places, but all mysteriously at the same time. Too much coincidence. That said, like I said earlier, we can't afford to make a scene out of this if it turns out they're not Balcoin."
"Valid points all," Cassie said. She forced a smile. "Still, at least they're not as bad as my father was, right?"
Adam did not return the smile. "Cassie," he started, trying to be gentle. "We don't know that."
Cassie's face fell. "Yeah," she said. "I guess not."
"First thing's first, we have to figure out if they are or aren't Balcoin," Adam said. "Go meet Michael Fillion. Faye said she'd get Melissa and Jake to meet us after school at the Boathouse so we can figure out what to do next. I told her I'd tell you."
"Right after school?" Cassie asked.
"Right after," Adam confirmed. "My dad always does thing – half-price milkshakes for Chance Harbor High students after the last day of school – so it'll be packed, won't look weird for us all to sit together for a while."
"Good," Cassie said. "See you then?"
"Yeah," Adam said, turning to go. Again, Cassie had to suppress the desire to reach out and kiss him good-bye. Nothing terribly passionate or dramatic, just a quick, cute acknowledgment of how she felt – stymied by the magic which prevented him from feeling the same way, of course.
Burying that, Cassie turned and headed down the hall to class.
Cassie's first period class was Chemistry. The class' final had been almost a week ago and they'd been playing hangman every day since to pass the time to the end of the year. Perfect for seeking out new kid and finding out if he had inherited a legacy of evil magic. Cassie shook her head and wondered, just for a moment, when everything would slow down.
The new kid wasn't hard to spot. Chance Harbor was a relatively small town where most everyone knew most everyone else; a fresh face would cause a splash every time. Except this time – while Michael Fillion was easy enough to spot, no one was paying much attention. Perfect, Cassie thought. The one day they could show up as new students at the school and be left completely alone. No cheesy introductions at the beginning of class, office-assigned tour guides. Not even attention from the student body – everyone's too excited to be getting out for the summer to care about a pack of new kids. They can scope the place out incognito.
Upon approaching him, Cassie was hit by three thoughts – first, that there was no doubt in her mind that he was the son of John Blackwell, because he looked like a leaner, thirty years younger version of her dead father; second, that he was gorgeous, a thought that caused bile to swirl in the back of her throat when she remembered that this boy was most likely her brother; and three, that Michael Fillion must have been color blind, because every piece of clothing she could see – and, she suspected, any she couldn't see – was black.
She sat down next to him. "Hey," she said.
He looked over at her. His head lolled more than it moved, a supremely casual motion. "Hey," he imitated.
She cleared her throat. "You're new, right?" she said, trying to sound positive and upbeat. "Must be tough being a new kid on the last day of school. I was new early in the year and that was hard enough."
"I guess," Michael responded. He was starting to smile, although the gesture only seemed to effect the lower half of his face. Cassie shivered, a reaction completely different from the one she'd had with Adam back in the hall. Every movement Michael Fillion made seemed to involve his body melting from one shape to another.
Cassie stuck out her right hand. "I'm Cassie Blake," she said. "It's nice to meet you."
Her hand hung in the air as Michael Fillion watched it. "You want to see if I've got the mark," he said. Even the voice had the quality of melting steel.
Cassie felt cold run down her back. "What?" she asked.
"Don't play coy," Michael said. "It's unattractive, and anyway, we all felt Dad's death. You killed him, didn't you?"
Unsure how to respond, Cassie lowered her hand and shrank back slightly in her chair. Michael, apparently, took this as confirmation. "Excellent! He didn't think you'd have that in you – not yet anyway – but I have to admit, a part of me was hoping. Makes things so much more interesting, don't you think? Besides," he said, casting a glance out the door. Melissa had just walked by. "If all the non-Balcoin witches in the world just suddenly up and died, it'd be terrible waste of talent, don't you think?"
"You knew about the whole thing," Cassie said, her voice choking.
"Knew what he was planning, didn't know where, not until the Skull was formed," Michael said. "After that we were all drawn here. Although it was a choice to come. We're all here for our own reasons, Cassie Blake. Me, I just want to see what happens next. Don't you?"
He got up, leaving Cassie sitting in her seat, staring after her brother. As he walked out, she looked over his right hand and saw the same mark that adorned her own etched into the skin.
They brought a freaking dragon.
Craig looked up at the scaly, winged beast that filled his field of vision. Wings sixty feet long, tail extending at least twice that behind it. Unlike the men on brooms with metal masks, who were held by the blue electricity of the American Wizard Academy's dark magic wards, the dragon – a creature and thus unaligned as far as the wards were concerned – was able to fly straight through.
The big guns, Craig thought to himself. He shed his jacket, which didn't contain anything he'd need for the fight anyway, leaving him in a loose but close fitting pair of black jeans, black boots, and a clinging red t-shirt. Fighting gear. The men on brooms were probing the wards, trying to break through the repulsive field of magic preventing them from attacking the school directly. They'd be through in short order, but then they'd meet the teachers, who were pretty formidable themselves. In the meantime, though, the dragon was beginning to descend on Caleghany Hall, one of the dormitories, and was clearly preparing to breathe fire.
Craig leaped up into a nearby tree and climbed quickly to the top, about thirty feet off the ground. Should have expected dragons, he reasoned. The AWA was built on a plateau sixty feet in the air. The walls were in-scalable, so attack from the air was the school's main threat. Have to remember to bring that up at some point once this is over.
The dragon was almost in line to bathe the dormitory with fire. Just before it began to pass the tree he waited in, Craig leaped out the of the tree, landing on the dragon's back. He withdrew his kris, a long, jagged knife, from the leather pouch at his hip and dug the blade into the dragon's back, right below the neck.
The dragon screamed in pain, rage, and surprise, turning its head enough to see Craig with one midnight-black eye. It flapped its gigantic wings twice and began picking up altitude again. It passed by the dorm, leaving it unscathed. It began to twist and writhe, trying to shake Craig free. Craig gripped his kris closer and waited for the dragon to change tactics; that's when he'd strike.
As the dragon tried unsuccessfully to buck him off, Craig studied it. The beast was mostly black, with streaks of dark green and red. It's whole body had a swept back look, probably to maintain aerodynamics. The wings, Craig noted, looked to be made of a thin membrane. He decided in a second that that would be his play.
Below him, the teachers were beginning to assemble. "Focus on the brooms!" Craig shouted. "I've got this thing!" There was no way for him to know definitely whether the teachers heard him, but since they didn't begin firing spells at the dragon he assumed they had.
After another moment of trying to shake the boy loose, the dragon gave up and began flapping its wings harder, gaining more altitude. Craig waited, and, when the dragon suddenly turned into a steep dive, he kicked off from the dragon's scaly back, yanking the kris free as he went. He tumbled along the dragon's enormous body, then dug the knife in again when he'd reached the base of the wings. The dragon screamed again, and Craig launched himself sideways onto the dragon's wing. When he dug the kris in for the third time, instead of sticking him rigidly in place it began to tear through the wing membrane. Craig rode down the entire side of the dragon like that, separating the wing. With a click, the knife cut through the small bone at the very edge of the wing, and Craig was left in freefall beside the tumbling beast.
Craig hit the ground hard in a crouch, bringing his free hand forward to steady himself. While sturdier than the average person, the impact still jarred him, shaking him from his toes to his back teeth. The dragon didn't fare better; the loss of one wing completely threw it off, and it hit the ground tumbling end over end, digging a furrow twenty feet long. When it came to rest, it was clear that its neck had snapped during the impact.
"One down," Craig muttered. Then he looked up. "Uh, lots to go."
At that moment, the electric blue field projected by the wards collapsed and receded down into the ground. The men on brooms descended towards the school in steep dives, and the teachers began shouting incantations, firing deadly streams of magic at them. The men on the brooms got the idea and started returning fire, so that the night was quickly lit up with flying spells.
Wand magic had never been Craig's strong suit; truth be told he didn't have one of his own. He dropped into a crouch, ready to dodge out of the way of incoming spells or deflect them with the kris, which was made of pure iron; but he didn't get a chance to do either. With a slight popping sound, eight groups of what looked like people popped into existence on the school grounds.
"Vampires!" one of the teachers yelled, but Craig hadn't needed to be told. He'd been raised to fight these creatures and could smell them from a mile away. He replaced the kris in its leather pouch and dug his favorite stake, a long, thin piece of sharpened white pine, from his back pocket. He smiled. They'd thought to bring vampires to fight him?
Twenty minutes later he wasn't smiling anymore. They'd brought a lot of vampires. Many of them – Craig had lost count – were dust at his feet, but more kept coming, popping into existence on the school grounds. Apparition isn't supposed to be possible here, he thought. What the hell is going on?
"They're in the dormitories!" one of the teachers yelled. "Fall back and regroup!"
"Craig! Craig, are you coming!" another teacher yelled to him.
"I'll cover your retreat!" he yelled back. He sent a roundhouse kick into the chin of a vampire that had just lunged for him, staggering the creature back a few steps.
"Craig, damn it, you're seventeen years old and still a student here!" the teacher yelled back. "Get back here with the rest of us!"
"I said I'd cover you!" Craig yelled. The vampire had tried to shake off the disorientation of Craig's boot in his face, but he didn't get his senses back fast enough; Craig plunged his stake into the vampire's chest and didn't stop to watch it turn to dust before he raised his arm to parry a punch from another undead. The teacher – Craig wasn't sure who was who in the fog created by all the dusted vampires and deflected spells – gave up and ran back towards the dormitory.
Which exploded the second he was inside.
Craig's last punch audibly snapped the neck of the vampire he was fighting, but he didn't care. He turned to look at the dorm. "No," he muttered. His hand tightened around the stake until he could smell his own blood dripping from it. "No!" he shouted, turned, and began swinging his fists and feet at anything that moved, feeling bones shattering, muscles tearing, dust scattering, it all didn't matter so long as he could keep on hurting the things that had hurt his friends. Finally, after a few minutes of plowing through the ranks of the undead, another explosion ripped at the ground around him and Craig saw black.
At the exact same instant, across the Atlantic, Harry Potter started awake, gasping for breath. He needed a moment to center himself, remember where he was – Four Privet Drive, with his horrible aunt, uncle, and cousin. It was summer break and, he had to remind himself twice, he was still in England.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to reconcile the myriad images he'd just seen. A young man riding a dragon – a witch with white hair and a red scythe – a middle-aged man with an odd tattoo on his hand dying – a crypt with a pentagram springing open and a torrent of black smoke writhing like a horrible, flying snake out of its depths – an entire town collapsing in on itself while a single school bus fled for the lives of its occupants. Harry shook his head and tried to get them all to resolve into something clear, something that would make sense, but it wasn't working.
Hastily, he grabbed at the quill and parchment he kept by bedside. He'd taken to writing down his strange dreams so that he and Dumbledore would be able to compare notes once he was back at Hogwarts. He began scribbling, only to stop mid-sentence when he he realized his quill wasn't the only thing making a scratching sound.
An owl was perched on his windowsill, one he recognized – Ron's Pigwidgeon, a tiny, brown, hyper owl. Harry hastily drew up the pane to his window to let Pig in. "Have a letter for me, Pig?" he asked. "I could use some good news. Bad dreams. Have something to eat?"
He began to carry the owl over to Hedwig's cage, but Pig nipped quickly at his fingers. Having Harry's attention, Pig stuck out his leg, and Harry retrieved the note attached there, more than a little unnerved by the usual playful owl's solemnity. As soon as the letter was detached, Pig made for the window and started flying quickly through the night. Even more unnerved, Harry unwound the letter and read:
Harry,
Major events today worldwide. Magic destabilized to its very core. YOUR PROTECTION AT THE DURSLEYS MIGHT NOT BE IN FORCE RIGHT NOW. Don't panic, Arthur is coming to get you. Have your things ready but DON'T TRY TO LEAVE BEFORE HE GETS THERE.
Mrs Weasley
Harry's heart was practically beating out of his chest by the time he finished the letter. He whirled, grabbed Hedwig's cage, through the door open and coaxed the owl quickly out. "The Burrow," he muttered, which was all Hedwig needed. She took off into the night, following the same path Pigwideon had just taken.
A scarce two minutes later, Harry had his trunk, broom, and invisibility cloak gathered at the foot of the stairs. The commotion, naturally, drew the attention of his aunt and uncle.
"What are you doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked, marching from the kitchen into the hall, where Harry was busy piling his things.
"Leaving," Harry said, shortly, making sure his trunk was secure.
"You can't," Aunt Petunia said, following in behind her husband. "You're not allowed."
Harry sighed, handed the letter from Mrs. Weasley to his aunt. She read quickly and her eyes bulged out of her head. "We have to go right now!" she screeched, grabbing at her husband.
"Right now! Where's Dudley?"
"At a sleepover, why's all the racket?"
"Just go!"
They pushed through the door. Harry heard the engine of their automobile start, heard it pull down the driveway, peel out and the speed away. "Thanks for making sure I'm okay," he muttered, but he couldn't really blame them. There was nothing at all they could do to protect him now, and staying was only going to put them in further danger.
A knock on the front door jarred Harry from his thoughts. He unhinged it and swung it open slightly to see Arthur Weasley, a harried look on his face, holding a broom in one hand and his wand in the other. "All right, Harry?" he asked. "Your things are here? Good, leave them to me, you just get in the air right now. Go!"
Harry got onto his broom and kicked off, picking up speed to get altitude. Below him, he saw Mr. Weasley cast an enchantment that would lighten his trunk, and tethered it to his own broom. He had just enough time to mount the broom just outside the door before Four Privet Drive exploded in a giant fireball.
Harry stopped his ascent immediately, turning back towards the fiery, smoky ruins of his former home. The heat from the blast seared his face, but he still dove back towards the ruins. "I'm fine, Harry!" came Mr. Weasley's voice, choked and coughing and not convincing in the slightest. "Just go!"
When Harry was still about thirty feet off the ground, the smoke obscuring his vision suddenly imploded in on itself, being summoned into the tip of wand – a wand held by Lord Voldemort himself. "Yes, Harry, go," he taunted.
"You!" Harry yelled, drawing his own wand.
"Yes, me," Voldemort said. "One would think you'd be less surprised seeing me around when bad things happen to you, but then, it's that sense of wonder and discovery that really makes waking up worthwhile, wouldn't you agree, Harry? If there wasn't any surprise left in our lives we'd all just die of boredom."
Mr. Weasley, along with his broom and Harry's trunk, lay smoking at Voldemort's feet. He was no longer moving.
"Very profound," Harry shouted back.
"Oh, not so much," Voldemort said. His eyes were locked on Harry and no part of his body was moving. Harry wasn't even sure the evil wizard was breathing. "You don't usually find much that's profound in words, Harry. You find things that are profound in choices. Very few people I've known have managed to grasp that, and I'm mostly certain you won't, either, but that's of little consequence to me. Here's how this will work. I'll let you leave, if you'd like – this one time only. Or, you can try to save your friend here, and then you'll both die. Like I said – profundity is in your choices."
And the evil wizard stood.
Harry thought furiously. He knew that Voldemort wouldn't let his offer stand for very long – if he really intended to honor the agreement at all, something which Harry doubted – and he was going to need to make every second count. His fingers went to his pocket, where he'd concealed his Invisibility Cloak – he always kept it on his person these days. But how could he use it? Voldemort didn't need to know where Harry was, only where Mr. Weasley was, and that would be enough to kill them both in any rescue attempt.
Unless...
Harry unfurled the cloak and threw it over himself. To Voldemort, he knew that he just appeared to vanish. "A bit of stealth, Harry?" Voldemort called out. "I'll take that to mean you've left, and the old man can die." Slowly, teasingly, the evil wizard dipped his wand towards the unconscious Mr. Weasley. Harry pointed the broom in a straight line over Voldemort's head and took off quickly. At the precise moment necessary, Harry let go of the broom, keeping the invisibility cloak bundled around himself as he hurtled down towards the ground. Predictably, at the sudden re-appearance of Harry's Firebolt, Voldemort had snapped his wand upward and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" sending a stream of green light into the night sky, which connected with the empty broom – jarring it with the impact but otherwise not harming it. Still on his way toward the ground Harry muttered a summoning charm just as Voldemort squinted at the empty broom and muttered, "Huh?"
The broom changed course, zooming downward, and just as Harry got a hand on Mr. Weasley and his trunk the broom caught him. The force of suddenly changing direction and hauling Mr. Weasley's dead weight up off the ground caused a sickening jolt in Harry's shoulder, and a second later, as the Firebolt carried Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Harry's trunk briskly away from the ruins of Four Privet Drive, another bolt of green light went streaking past Harry. The bolt had missed by less than a foot. Behind him, he heard Voldemort cursing, calling for Death Eaters to pursue him. Harry put on speed, but wasn't particularly worried – the Invisibility Cloak was draped over both him and Mr. Weasley and the trunk, and it'd never failed him before. Turning in midair, Harry smiled an insane, happy to be alive smile, and shot off, invisible, toward the Burrow.
And...there's chapter one. I'll be completely frank about this – I have no idea how much time I'm going to be able to devote to this project. I have a wife, a full-time job, and several creative projects that I actually own the rights to going right now, all of which take up a lot of time. Still, I like where this is going and want to see it through. Please review – the more people that express interest, the more likely I am to keep writing. Thanks for reading.
PS: Curious about the title? It comes from rather infamous line of poetry from Horace, which also gave us the line "dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," or, "how sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country." The problem with titling this work is that, if it goes all the places I'd like it to go, it's going to be so freaking huge that tying it all together under one title would be really hard. Well, the title could always change.