Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.The very beginning of this story is a brief summary of the first appearance of Spike in the Angel Series. It is there for simple introduction into the storyline and seemed a good place to start the chapter. This is a Crossover with Harry Potter but is non Hallows Compliant. Now offically Betaed!
Chapter 1 - The Heart of Darkness
Angel ripped opened the envelope and out poured an amulet onto the floor, an amulet that was strangely familiar. The grey gem sparkled moments before a whirlwind appeared, flashing with an ethereal fire and ash accompanied by a high keening of immense pain. The Fang Gang all stepped back from the swirling mass. In a sudden flash of bright light, William the Bloody materialized from where the amulet lay.
Spike gasped, craving that clean, albeit unnecessary air in his lungs. The cave, the white hot burning of death was gone and he was looking at a mass of confused faces, and a green skinned demon, all of whom he didn't recognize. He felt better knowing they shared his confusion, but doubted they also shared his dizziness.
"What-w-what?"
"What the hell are you doing here, Spike?" Harmony said, stepping fully into the room with her hand on her hips.
"Harmony, Please," said a man Spike thought he recognized but the memories were coming back confused. As he looked closer, words came to mind. Watcher, Wesley something, Buffy didn't like him; Spike didn't remember he seeming so… well, sure of himself the last time he'd been in Sunnydale. But that was years ago, before the chip, before his and Buffy's… whatever they'd had; time changes everything.
Even a spineless, stuttering Watcher it would seem.
"This is Spike? The Spike?" A young black man in a suit asked, the boy smelled of magic and lawyer. Spike didn't like either smell.
"Wait a minute, who's…" a little twittering bird of a girl tried to speak above the men. She was pretty but far too slim, even for Spike's liking.
"Easy there slim, easy, no one is going to hurt you," The green demon with the horribly bright clothing spoke, but at least his tone wasn't as aggressive as the others.
"Speak for yourself, Green Jeans," the boy again, definitely too much like the Whelp for Spike's taste.
"Okay, would somebody please tell me who," the little bird was tweeting again. Focusing was becoming easier, thankfully the room had stopped spinning.
"William the bloody, he's a vampire, one of the worst recorded; second only to…" stupid Watcher, he was starting to sound like self-righteous Rupert.
"Me," Spike recognized that voice, would never forget it and the feeling of hatred and annoyance it invoked. Full recognition hit him when he saw Angel. All pomp that one is, Spike thought.
"But you're dead," Angel said in shock and anger, he couldn't conceal the surprise and denial at what stood right in front of his eyes. Spike was rooted to the spot, staring at his grand sire until Harmony, the stupid ditz of a girl, spoke, not realizing the situation.
"Well, yeah who here isn't? Besides him, and him, and her," she paused now, but Spike kept his eyes on the vampire in front of him, "And, what are you again?"
Spike changed into his game face, the sound of bones crunching as he did. He bared his fangs with a growl and lunged. Angel didn't even have time to protect himself with the speed Spike came at him, and then suddenly through him. It had felt like wind going through his body, not cold or warm, simply movement. Angel turned to see Spike standing directly, well, in his desk. They all stood staring at the blonde vampire, until he looked up.
"Bugger?" he said, unsure that it was even a proper word for it.
The next few days were spent trading insults with Peaches, being scanned by the bird, Fred, and making an all out annoyance of himself until Wesley finally got on the phone to a man named Weasley some kind of Minister in England.
Maeve Flynn walked into Wolfram and Hart with her head high, but her fear stowed safely in her pocket. Her dark hair was pulled back, small curls fluttering out as her Victorian style boots clicked on the marble floor. The battles of the light side were not merely seated above the Hellmouth. The dark had its feet firmly planted in the old countries and she had fought too many battles there for it to have any comfort of home to her anymore. She had wished to leave England for a time and Albus Dumbledore had given her a job that sent her as far from her homeland as he could. Her people kept themselves separate from the world of the non-magical for a reason, to keep their battles small and to take care of their own.
A letter delivered by a snowy white owl and ending in a signature few could say no to had instructed her to come to the United States; Los Angles, California to be precise. So here she was, stepping into the heart of darkness as it was, intent on doing as she was instructed; no matter what her gut told her. Walking through the doors of the mystic law firm Maeve went straight to the front desk.
"Maeve Flynn to see Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," she said, her voice full of authority and strength that she barely felt in the pit of her stomach. The man, dressed in a red blazer, looked down at his clip board, perusing the names he found there. Checking one with a red pen he nodded to the diminutive woman, giving her wizarding robes a cursory glance.
"Ms. Flynn, welcome to the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart," he said coming around from his desk. "I'll have to ask you to check your wand, you may retain it, however we at Wolfram and Hart insist on being able to monitor you while you are in the building," he said his voice pleasant enough as he held his hand out. With years of experience garnered from visiting the Ministry of Magic, Maeve pulled her wand out of her sheath and placed it in the guard's hand. He nodded, placing the wand on a scale that appeared on top of the desk before them. The wand glowed faintly; the man wrote something next to her name before returning the wand to its owner.
"Thirteen inches, Rowan wood with a Dragon heartstring core. You'll take the elevators up to the top floor and Miss Harmony will see you to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Please have a good day, Miss Flynn," he said politely with a smile. She wondered when evil had become so friendly; it could be so easy to fall into their trap since they seemed so nice. Then she thought of her last year at Hogwarts, where evil had shown itself to be a sugar sweet, frog-faced woman dressed in pink and shook her head as she rode the elevator alone. The doors opened to reveal a very pretty, smiling blonde woman. She wore a brightly colored tank top and a very revealingly, very short skirt.
"Hi, I'm Harmony, it's so awesome that you're here. My Blondie Bear needs your help pronto like," she said, offering her hand to the overwhelmed witch. Something changed in the air when Maeve took the blonde bombshell's hand, the scent of her demon flooding the brunette's senses and she crushed the vampire's hand even tighter. Her smell crackled against the witch's skin, making it crawl. Harmony winced in pain as the woman that had been sent to help Spike crushed it with strength no ordinary woman should possess.
"Slayer," Harmony hissed, her face quickly morphing.
"Vampire," Maeve spat in the same instant, reaching into her robe for a stake and sprang at the snarling vampire, her training and instincts completely taking over. She had landed only one kick to the chest and single punch to the jaw when one of the red blazered security guards had her pinned to the ground with a taser millimeters from her throat.
"Please stay down, Miss Flynn, this is all a misunderstanding," a guard said, while three others tried to hold her down. But they were no match for her and she had them thrown off of her effortlessly, and in moments was on the escaping vampire.
"Boss!" She screeched as she made it to the heavy double doors across the room. Maeve followed the creature into the room, only to pause in shock when the blonde didn't burst into flames. The room was flooded in raw sunlight, the occupants of the room stared in wonder at the girl that had just chased one of their own.
"Boss, the guards let a vicious, crazy Slayer in here," she whimpered as she stood behind a broad, dark haired man. The closer Maeve got the stronger the stench of vampire became.
"Angelus," she crowed; her wand out and ready, since her stake was forgotten in the lobby, discarded in the initial attack. "Petrificus Totalus," she shouted, flicking her wand at the two vampires. They stiffened, falling to the floor with a thud. She began advancing on the demons when a man rushed into the room, blocking her access to the vampires.
"Move aside, Muggle," she commanded, her voice a rushed snarling sound and her wand pointed at the man's face.
"Muggle? Hardly!" the English man looked affronted, "I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly of the Watcher's Council and 1975 graduate of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Prefect and Head Boy. Stand down, there has been a misunderstanding and I cannot allow you to slay my boss," he stated, his bravado never faltering.
Maeve held her wand still outstretched, cursing Albus Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic, Harry fucking Potter and whatever deity that had deemed her to be a Witch and a Slayer at the same time. Searching the eyes of the man before her; she just wasn't sure. He could be telling the truth, someone had to have contacted Minister Weasley. Why had the Headmaster sent her so under-prepared?
This Wyndam-Pryce would have spent time at Hogwarts with Professor Snape and the self-proclaimed Marauders; it was inevitable they were the least and most popular people in school, respectively. Her time with the Order of the Phoenix had given her privileged knowledge that would sniff out if the scruffy man in front of her wash indeed telling the truth. With her wand still posed at his face she began an array of questions, about Hogwarts and about the Wizarding world in general. He answered each one correctly but she needed more specific information.
"Who are the Marauders?" she asked with a satisfied smirk. From his eyes, she saw only laughter.
"The Marauders were a bunch of Gryffindor pranksters by the names of James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black," he answered. Maeve let go of the breath she hadn't even been aware of holding and released the two vampires from their immobility. She was calm and about to re-sheath the wand when Spike came through the wall. She had been startled by the newest ghostly intruder, but the moment Maeve looked into his grey-blue eyes, his stock of white-blonde hair and his confident swagger, she felt a panic grip her that she hadn't known since the final battle against Voldemort. She scrambled away from him, pushing Wesley back in her attempt to escape.
"Flipendo," she shouted, flicking her wand at the new intruder. A gust of magical wind knocked everyone else in the room down with sheer power, but the blonde man remained unharmed. In fact it appeared to have no effect on him at all, not even a hair was out of place. She placed a large couch in between herself and the now slightly startled man, her wand still pointed at his chest. Though she appeared calm, her stance immobile, her eyes were wild and her nostrils were flaring for air that she couldn't seem to find.
Spike held out his hands to the woman, a Slayer if the whisperings around the Office were true. He was amazed to see she was a Witch as well, a proper one unlike Red, who was all elemental and goddess-like. This was his kind of magic, Wesley's too if he were to believe what he'd heard before materializing. He'd just gotten the knack of that, going in and out, and loved to scare the shit out of Peaches when he could. But this woman, her whole body snapping with power and energy, was not who he wanted to frighten, hell this was someone sent to help him and you never piss off someone whose meant to help you. He'd thought Wesley had everything under control.
"Put the wand down, luv, I'm a ghost… I think, you can't hurt me with it," he said, stepping through Wes to make his point, holding his hands out in a placating manner
"See, I can't hurt you either." Then she said the one word that made him pause, the one word that made sense out of all her actions.
"Malfoy," she spat, her breaths coming harsh and labored as she began to sob, though her wand hand never wavered and her eyes never left his own. Her body ached in remembered pain at the sight of his familiar features; it remembered the hours of white hot hexes thrown at her in a dungeon and in battle once she had been free of him. But most of all she remembered his violating touches on her raw flesh and his laughter at her tears. Maeve had felt this same panic, when she had seen Lucius Malfoy across the field during the final battle.
Mad-Eye had always said you needed to really mean it to cast a successful Unforgivable curse. When that jet of green light had blasted from her wand she had meant it with every fiber of her being. But when his body had fallen, his eyes still wide in shock, she hadn't felt much of anything. She still felt only the emptiness of the victory. Had he even known it was her at the end of the wand? The battle had raged through the night against Voldemort's followers; the Werewolves, Troll, Giants, Dementors and Vampires charging through the darkness. The tide of the battle had risen against the inhabitants and protectors of Hogwarts and the small group of Slayers that had found refuge at the school. One last onslaught was made; give everything or lose it all had been their motto as they rushed the demons that night.
But she remembered, in the moment she was down, her back on the wet ground next to Hagrid's hut with a vampire snapping at her throat and her wand a few feet off, the power had rushed through her body and she knew with all that she was, that she'd inherited a power that increased her strength tenfold. The war was won that night with the help of sixteen young women taking out a legion of demons with swords, wands and their bare hands.
Spike took a step back, lowering his hands as the girl's wand hand began to shake from fear. The old him, the one before Buffy, before his soul would have laughed aloud at such a reaction. The smell of her fear would have been nearly as delious as her blood and he'd have reviled in it. But that spark in him made him wonder at what one of his cousin's kin had done to the girl to cause such a pain filled look in her dark eyes. She was a pretty thing, strong but somehow a look of sorrow seemed to float out of her, a look that made this demon want to protect her, keep her safe even though she could take care of herself. He'd felt that way about Buffy once upon a time. Her hair and eyes were dark, her clothing a mix of Wizarding and Muggle that instead of making her look odd gave her a romantic quality that was timeless. Spike watched as Wesley started to talk her down but her large eyes never left his and he felt oddly responsible for the woman. And when the former Watcher had gotten her calmed again he slipped back into the shadows while they called for the rest of the team.
End Chapter 1
AN: An amazing thank you to my new Beta for this fic, MDDC26. Without her I never would have gotten this fic back on track. As always review feed the writer!