Disclaimer: This story is not written for profit and in infringement of copyright is intended
Unbetaed so mistakes are mine. This is a re-posting due to technical difficulties.
THE 9.45 TO HOGWARTS
God Spike hated teenagers. Hated everything about them. Hated their loud bloody voices, hated the way they took up so much bloody room, hated the way they always thought they knew better than the bloke who's been around, oooh let me see, 150 years and had saved the world once to boot. He hated their clothes, he hated their music, he even hated their smell. And here he was, stuck in among them.
When Buffy had asked him to do her a favour it had seemed simple enough. Run down to King's Cross Station, wait for a contact to, well, make contact, and then put the little Macguffin into their hot, presumably sweaty hands. Piece of cake for a bloke who had once been part of The Whirlwind (and was it just having a soul or did that sound really like a be-mulleted German rock band now?) So of course he'd grinned and said he'd do it. Thinking with a part of his anatomy other than his noggin had always gotten him into trouble…
The only weird part of the set-up, he'd thought, was where in King's Cross Buffy had said he'd find his contact. He didn't think, even with new EU by-laws, that King's Cross could possibly have a platform Nine and Three-Quarters. What the hell was the point in that? But apparently, as Willow had explained with that worrying eagerness of hers, it did. She'd even looked slightly longingly at the package, as if she were the one who wanted to deliver it, an impression backed up by the commiserating smile and pat on the back which Buffy had given her. "You know the rules, Will," she'd whispered, "the Wiccy Gang aren't allowed. Powers that Be and all that jazz."
"Which sucks big time," the ginger witch had pouted.
Spike made sure to wave at Her Witchliness when he was leaving this morning.
He was brought back from his reverie by the feeling of burning in his fingers. His fag had run down, and instinctively he reached into his inside breast pocket to get another when someone smacked into him and went sprawling. Peering disinterestedly over his knees he saw-
Well, actually he saw a Mini-Spike. Same white blond hair, same pointed face, same scowling expression he wore whenever something annoying got in his way. In fact, it was just like looking into a tiny, wee, hobbit-sized mirror.
"Do you bloody mind?" the Peroxide Boy Wonder snapped, as if Spike had smacked into him. The vampire couldn't help but smile. Little Lord Fauntleroy wanted to play that game, did he? As if being in possession of an aversion to pronouncing your Rs and a Harrods gold-card set him up to take on Sarcasmo the Wonder Vamp (as The 'Bit now insisted on calling him). Spike smiled, seeing before him one little toff it would be very easy to wind up…
"Mind what? A close encounter of the munchkin kind? Don't worry ducks; I can see you're having a bad day. In your flowers, are we?" He grinned his most infuriating grin, the one that always got Buffy all hot and both-
Better not think about that at the mo.
"What's a great lump like you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be helping the students load their trunks? You know, doing your job? God this place has gone to the dogs!" The boy stood up, straightening to a quite impressive height, though Spike could tell that he hadn't yet become used to carrying it: the product of a growth spurt, he looked slightly gangly and unbalanced, like Bambi on the ice… Standing up, the resemblance became even more noticeable; they shared the same thin, compact build and strutting air, though the boy hadn't yet perfected his completely. Bless.
"What's the matter pookims, get separated from the pack, did we?" Spike dropped his finished cigarette butt n the ground right in front of the kid, a clear challenge to the Alpha Male when you were 16 (or 216, he thought, remembering his first encounter with Angelus).
"Pack?" the boy snapped scornfully. "That group of miscreants? Our blood's not even the same temperature!"
You got that right, Spike thought with a small grin.
"No, I was-" he was obviously casting about for an excuse. The gracious thing would have been to give him a way out. Spike wasn't feeling gracious. "I was looking for a place to have a cigarette, actually," the boy said in a rush, drawing himself up and looking at Spike's pack of Marlborough's with unconvincing archness. "Can't be seen in front of the teachers, you understand," he added confidentially, obviously under the impression that he could charm the vampire into handing over the cancer-sticks. Spike was resolutely Uncharmed.
"Mummy and Daddy wouldn't want their little Diddums to get into trouble, would they? Spike grinned, too unimpressed to be scornful. This kid was beneath the superpowers of one such as he.
"Well, actuall-" and the boys voice died unexpectedly, his gaze locked over Spike's shoulder towards the door of the waiting room. Grinning more widely, Spike followed his eyes, already guessing what the distraction was. She was all of 5 foot, with a mass of flaming red hair that hung around her face like a fiery halo. Tiny built, she reminded him slightly of Buffy the first time he'd met her, back when she'd still been in high school and he'd still had a spinal column. Ah, memories! And even an old man such as himself could see that this girl, like Buffy, was going to be both very beautiful and monumentally kick-ass when she grew up.
Perhaps it was the thought of Buffy, or the hormonally thunderstruck look on the boy's face, but Spike felt himself soften. He knew how the kid felt. He didn't know whether he wanted her to punch him or kiss him. And something told him that this girl, for whatever reason, probably actively loathed the young man before him.
"Pretty little thing," he said conversationally, sneaking a glance at the boy's face. He snapped to attention like a soldier.
"I suppose, for a troglodyte," the boy muttered scornfully, though he still couldn't tear his eyes away.
Spike grinned. "Once more with feeling, love," he said as patronisingly as he could. That got through.
"And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?"
The grin widened. "I know I'm older than you, man, but I'm not dead. Well, actually-" for a moment he considered explaining, but couldn't be bothered. "All I'm saying is, that's one good looking little ginger snap you're gawking at."
"I do not gawk!" The boy said sharply. "Malfoys are physically incapable of gawking. And they are physically incapable of thinking any member of the Weaseley clan pretty!"
"Then you must be talented for your family, ducks, cos you're doing both." He held out the cigarette coaxingly. "You might as well tell me about it, before your head explodes."
"Why are you interested?" the boy asked cautiously, now eyeing him with suspicion.
"Cos I've got a troglodyte of my own at home and I might be able to offer some advice. So you don't end up pinned to the wall of your own crypt with a piece of wood shoved against your particulars." He frowned, worried for a moment that he was warping the kid's mind with wording like that, but if Spike Lite was going to public school he'd probably seen, let alone heard, far worse.
The boy still seemed undecided. "Those her brothers?" Spike asked, nodding to the army of ginger boys now surrounding the girl. "Want them to catch you staring?"
The boy sat down.
"So, when did you realise?"
"Today," the boy said wearily as he sank into his seat. "Or at least, today I admitted it. She's changed so much over the summer holidays," he whispered wonderingly, more to himself than to Spike. "I mean, she's, she's luminous."
"That's a good place to start with her. Will she know what luminous means?"
"Oh yes, she's very bright, top of her class as far as I know. Specialises in Defence against the Dark Arts. She'd have to, wouldn't she, considering that group she hangs around with."
"What group?" Spike asked though a drag of his cigarette.
"Her brothers and Granger and Harry-I'm-So-Bloody-Holier-Than-Thou-and-should-Have-Something-Shoved-Up-My-Backside-Potter." The latter name seemed to elicit a particular bitterness. "Bloody goody two-shoes who always does the right thing and gets all the sympathy even though he got his own godfather killed and keeps breaking every rule in the book. He wouldn't last five minutes in my house-" the boy topped suddenly, looking unaccountably frightened. Home, Spike concluded, must be where the hurt was.
"Going around, expecting everyone to practically worship him because of that battle when he defeated The Dark Lord, even though it was his mother who did all the hard work, being all 'Oooh, look at me, I can catch a stupid little flying golden ball and my hair always sticks up and I'm so broody and so tragic and so manfully unreachable-'"
"Should I leave you alone with this, kid?"
"What?"
Spike was tempted to ask, after that outburst, whether it was actually the little gingersnap he was really taken with, or Mr. Windswept and Interesting, but he didn't have the heart. He remembered Dru and Darla's similar spiteful comments when he would rant about Angelus. And Buffy's when he even mentioned that Armani-clad action cut-out she'd dated. In fact, he knew how it was to be constantly passed over for a broody, repressed clotheshorse with a homoerotic quiff, and he wouldn't put Mini-Spike in that situation. It was one thing to be Love's Bitch; it was another to kick a comrade when he was down. To change the subject he answered, "Let me guess: hero complex, always gets away with everything, and the little girlies practically pee in their pants at the thought of him, that sound about right to you?"
"How did you know?"
"Don't make me tell you kid, you're too young to know. But don't worry."
""Don't worry"? That's the wisdom that comes with age? "Don't bloody worry." I'll just have to write that down so it'll be remembered for posterity." "Don't worry.""
"Yeah, don't." Spike grinned, stubbing his smoke. "You see, you think that she'll always be like this, that things'll never change, but they do."
"I'm listening."
"You and me, kid, we're rock and roll. We're bad boys. And eventually, no matter what they say, every girl gets curious about our bad little selves." He grinned smugly. "You just wait and see. She won't be following Saint Potter around forever. One fine day, like all truly kick-ass women, she'll get curious about the dark side. And then the fun begins."
"So you don't think I should pretend to take an interest in her hobbies and listen to her?"
"Hell no! Remember, rock and roll. If it gets serious, then you can listen to what she says and do all the boring stuff. In fact, if you're far enough gone, it won't even seem boring to you." (Last night, he and Buffy had actually cuddled. And he'd liked it. But he didn't want to scare the kid too much). "Just keep pissing her off. It's more fun that way, and you can practically guarantee that you'll always have her attention. She won't like it," he added gleefully, "but she won't be able to help it."
"I don't know, doesn't that seem a little childish?" The boy seemed torn.
"That's love. Enjoy it while you can cos once it gets serious, your rock and roll days are numbered." He leaned forward confidentially. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Troglodyte at home, remember?"
Slowly, the boy nodded. "You know, I think I'll do that. Yes, I'm rock and roll! And Potter won't know what's hit him!" He held out his hand. "Thanks. I really needed that."
"Think nothing of it: us bad boys gotta stick together. No go catch your train, I'm waiting for someone." Acting on instinct he reached up and ruffled the boy's hair. "See ya around."
For a second there was awkwardness, and then the boy seemed to shake it off and smiled. He all but bounced out of the waiting room, a big grin on his face.
"Is he gone?" The gingersnap poked her head around the door, looking cautiously around.
"Course he is. I've got something for you, I think." She seemed unconvinced, suspicious, and he realised that Mini-Spike probably had some less than savoury affiliations that were making her jumpy. "Courtesy of Rupert Giles. You're to give it to Professor Snape, " he said reciting the message from memory as he produced the item with a flourish. The package was small, but it seemed to hum between his fingers, and underneath the brown wrapping paper, he knew that it glowed. Glowy and hummy always equalled powerful in his experience. She snatched it from his fingers, as if afraid he'd bite. Well, a couple of years ago…
"Thank you. I- What are you grinning at?" she snapped.
He couldn't resist. "Nothing. You just seem like a rock and roll kinda chick, is all." She still seemed confused, and he began to laugh. "Don't worry pet: I'll get out of your hair. There's a troglodyte waiting for me at home." And with that, he walked out the way he'd come, fully aware he was leaving a soap opera in his wake.
God Spike loved teenagers.
A/N So what d'ya think? Should I play with Spike more often? Just push that little button and let me know...