"Do you... do you really have to go?"
"Aw, Dawnie, it won't be for long," Willow promised as she stroked the teenager's long, chestnut hair. "And, hey, maybe I'll get back some of my red and not look so much like an old lady anymore."
She hoped the joke didn't sound so forced, but it was hard to stay chipper when everyone at LAX stared at her as they walked by. She wondered what they thought of her, if they assumed she was an old lady with way too much plastic surgery, if they thought white hair was the weird new trend amongst the younger generation, if they pitied the albino girl. Or maybe some of them knew; the televisions at the terminal hadn't reported on it yet, but some of these people had to know that a once-vibrant town, a community that thrived despite the monsters that preyed on it, the only place Willow had ever called home, was gone.
At least five hours had passed, but the newscaster was talking about a far-off war. The people who walked by were undisturbed by anything except the color of Willow's hair.
"Well, how do you know that?" Dawn pouted. "And what if, like, we're attacked by a fear demon or the Gentlemen or Xander ends up on another demon date?"
"Who, the one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater? Fear demons are tiny and I don't think the Gentlemen are coming back any time soon. You've got a dozen slayers protecting you, Dawnie."
Including Kennedy, Willow thought sadly. They were still in that wonderful, fresh stage of exploration in their young relationship. She lamented leaving her behind, but she couldn't risk it; it must have been difficult enough for Oz to ask her help.
As though reading her mind, Dawn said, "Is this even safe? Didn't Oz go all wolfy last time he saw you? Maybe he's the one who needs a slayer."
The newscasters were discussing a hurricane deep in the warm waters of the equatorial Atlantic. Maybe Sunnydale wasn't gone, or maybe it had never been real to begin with. Maybe they'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe those asylum delusions that had once plagued Buffy were truth.
Nothing to be done about that, though, except to carry onward.
"That's why I gotta go, Oz would never ask me if it wasn't imperative that I be the one who goes. He says it's gotta be a witch, that only witches are allowed to enter the school."
"Well, but he's there, and he's a werewolf," Dawn pointed out, just to be argumentative.
Willow smiled and kissed her forehead. "You're my favorite ball of mystical energy, Dawnie. I couldn't possibly leave you for long. Send everyone my love, and give Xander a big, yellow crayon... just tell him not to poke out his other eye."
As Willow got in line to board the plane to Heathrow, silence descended across the terminal. She looked back and saw everyone's eyes turned to the television. Several people pulled out phones and dialed frantically. One woman suddenly fell to her knees and began to weep loudly, and then a soft chorus joined her. Willow focused on one of the screens and read the headline:
Sunnydale Sinkhole: Entire City Destroyed.
It was all real.
###
Hagrid's eyes locked onto the door of the Leaky Cauldron as he uncharacteristically nursed his mug of Beetle Berry Whiskey. It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week in the middle of May. The few other patrons loitering at the tables whispered about why a Hogwarts professor sat at a bar in London during term, but no one had the courage to ask him. The last five years had gone smoothly at the school, incredibly so despite the many new staff members, the irreparable damage to the castle, and the abundance of ghosts that had lingered there after the battle. If there was a problem at Hogwarts now, the Leaky Cauldron patrons didn't want to know.
When she walked in, they really wouldn't want to know.
"A bloody medastriga," Hagrid cursed into his whiskey. He loved his students equally, no matter how they came to be at Hogwart's. As a half-giant, it wouldn't have made any sense for him to have ill feelings toward the muggle-borns or the werewolves, and even the vampires and centaurs could be good people, just as humans could so often be bad people.
But a medastriga, a magic thief, that was every bit as unforgivable as the Cruciatus Curse! Hagrid shook his head at the thought that he was about to willingly bring one into Hogwarts. He couldn't understood how a muggle who had stolen a witch's magic—whether she knew she was doing it or not—could possibly help an already horrible situation.
The heavy wooden door squeaked open, and Hagrid looked back up to the entry. He tried to screw his face into a welcoming appearance, but failed miserably. The two wizards that walked through—definitely not the medastriga—stood in the doorway for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust to the dimly lit bar. As soon as they could see clearly enough to notice Hagrid's hulking, menacing presence, they gasped and hurried through to Diagon Alley.
"I'd be lying if I said you were good for business today."
"I'm sorry, Tom," Hagrid said to the barkeep. "I wouldna be here at all if—"
His sentence ended there as the door opened again, this time revealing a disheveled girl wearing dingy khaki pants and a ripped, flesh-toned shirt speckled with a muted paisley pattern. She didn't match the description the Professor of Muggle Studies had given him—"Can't miss her, red hair, green eyes, probably in, like, really loud clothes. Oh, and she's probably still a lesbian,"—but Hagrid had no doubts that this woman was the medastriga.
Nor did anyone else in the Leaky Cauldron. The din of chatting ceased, filled almost immediately by harsh, biting whispers. One wizard stood, but the witch who dined with him held him back with a firm hand before he could approach the newcomer. She strolled in on confident feet, belied by the nervous glances she shot across the room.
Hagrid stood to greet her. He had to give her credit for hesitating at his height for the briefest of time before continuing toward him.
"Bad for business, indeed," Tom hissed. "You bringing that kind of trouble into my pub?"
Hagrid apologized again. "Official Hogwarts business, we'll leave straightaway."
The girl stopped a couple feet away from him, and said nothing. She cocked her head to the side, her white hair pooling on her shoulder as her smoky eyes studied him intently.
Hagrid grunted. "You the one Professor Osbourne called in?"
"I was expecting Oz to meet me, not a…well, you're certainly a big one, aren't you? Are you a…?"
"Rubeus Hagrid," he said, dodging any questions she might have of his background. "Keeper of Keys and Grounds and Professor of Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts."
"Well, isn't that a mouthful? I'm Willow Rosenberg, ex-college student and co-destroyer of Sunnydale. Ooh, and unleasher of Slayers. That's a good one." She offered her hand, but Hagrid refused it.
"Beggin' your pardon, but I won't be shakin' hands with no medastriga."
She looked confused at the term, but she was a muggle, so of course she wouldn't know his words. If she had the audacity to steal magic, though, Hagrid wasn't going to make it easy for her.
"Well then, shall we get going?" she said after a pause. "I'd like to figure this out and return home as soon as possible."
"As would I," Hagrid grunted as he led her out of the pub, giving the patrons a chance to gossip openly about why he was meeting with the likes of her.
###
The stone stairs that spiraled up to the owlery were particularly slick, owing mostly to the rainy spring. The West Tower had no glass in the windows. As much as Oz told himself it was a blessing—even with the open air, the stench was almost unbearable to his sensitive nose—he cursed as his feet slid out from under him. He grabbed the bannister to keep from falling, but it didn't save him any embarrassment; a group of fifth year girls in Slytherin colors giggled as they passed him on their way out. He told himself to ignore the harsh words they spoke when they were outside of earshot for any witch or wizard, but not for his werewolf ears.
He wasn't sure if they said 'muggle' or 'mongrel', and he wasn't sure which was more offensive. On the surface, 'mongrel' seemed worse. He had no pride in being a werewolf, and he certainly didn't want to be compared to a dog. 'Muggle' shouldn't have been offensive at all; it just irritated him that his survival from the werewolf attack—or gentle bite from a sugared-up cousin, as it were—and his ability to see and enter Hogwarts at all proved that he wasn't muggle.
He just couldn't actually use magic. What magic inside him that kept him alive with the lycanthropic disease was so little that it hadn't ever been detected.
He thought of himself as a wizard Anakin Skywalker, stuffed with magic midichlorians but discovered too late to receive the proper magic jedi education.
He tried not to think of himself as a Darth Vadar, and that tale was cautionary enough that he was happy to be deemed too old to be taught magic safely. So when students called him a muggle behind his back, he told himself that they just didn't understand the situation. Besides, he was Oz, he was way too cool to be bothered by a couple of teenage girls.
He just didn't feel much like Oz anymore.
"I am Oz," he said out loud, his words echoing off the walls of the stone tower and coming back to him with an extra squeal.
He craned his neck back to look to the stairs above him, where a single student sat. Oz couldn't identify the student beyond the black robes, but as he walked up the steps, he heard a feminine voice say, "I apologize, professor. You startled me. And, erm, in case you needed reassurance, you are Professor Osbourne."
"Pretty much all the time," Oz murmured as he turned the bend and saw that the voice belonged to Daisy Cauldwell, one of his students from his fourth year Muggle Studies class. She was a small, fair haired girl, normally of a bright disposition. Now her cheeks were damp and flushed red, glowing against her muted yellow collar and tie.
Oz sat down next to her and pulled from his pocket a tissue. "It gets better."
"What does?" she asked as she took the tissue from him.
"Life."
"Oh." Daisy sniffled and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "It's nothing, those girls were just…you wouldn't understand. You went to a muggle school, right?"
Oz shrugged. "Muggle girls can be pretty mean, too."
"Did they tease you about…what you are?"
"A bassist?"
"A werewolf." When Oz didn't reply immediately, she apologized. "I don't mean—it's cool, you know? Some of the parents don't like having a werewolf here, but I don't mind." She cleared her throat. "They weren't even teasing me. I came up here to send an owl to my pa and they just…they made a comment about my brother."
Daisy's older brother, Owen, had been one of his first students. He was a quiet boy, not surprisingly. Those who had fought in the Battle at Hogwarts had all been touched by it. They'd all seen things no one their age should have, things to which Oz was uniquely sympathetic—he'd seen his fair share of horror in his years at Sunnydale High. Oz was impressed that so many students like Owen had returned and finished their education at Hogwarts after the war.
He'd been equally surprised when they'd returned earlier that month for the memorial on the fifth anniversary of the battle. The spectacle had been incredible, and it was true what they said: time did heal all wounds. The event was a joyous one, filled with happy stories of those who passed, harrowing tales of their bravery and silly anecdotes of their everyday lives. If only the memorial hadn't been ended by that terrible curse.
Owen was now in the dungeons, along with all the other bodies from that night.
Daisy nervously tore at the tissue, ripping little corners out of it and scattering them across the lap of her rumpled robe. Oz thought the robes must have been hot, now that June was approaching, but the students didn't seem to mind. Still, he was glad that the rest of the faculty had given up coercing him out of his Muggle attire.
"I overheard Professors Sinistra and Sprout today," Daisy said, her voice laced with guilt over eavesdropping. "They said you were bringing in a…a medastriga. Is that true?"
Oz sighed. The students were so scared of the bodies in the basement dungeons that Potions was now being taught in the Room of Requirement and a temporary entrance to the Slytherin quarters had to be conjured. The only place Headmaster McGonagall was able to position it was on an outer wall of the castle, and the Slytherin students were taking their anger out on students related to those cursed. Meanwhile, the most powerful wizards from all over the world had come to figure out what had happened the night of the memorial, but no one had a solution. Hogwarts now played host not only to them but also the witches who had accompanied their fathers, brothers, and husbands to the memorial and now refused to leave without their loved ones restored. Despite its size, Hogwarts Castle was feeling a bit cramped these days.
So when Oz suggested to Headmaster McGonagall and the rest of the faculty that he call Willow in, it hadn't crossed his mind that she might have come across her abilities differently than any other witch. The others were right, though; it was impossible that Willow could have been a natural born witch. It was only when they asked which wizarding school she'd attended that Oz realized that Willow was different from them, that even though she was unequivocally a witch, she'd somehow come across her powers an alternate way. If he'd thought about it before, and if he'd done a bit of research to figure out how exactly Willow could have become a witch, he never would have suggested her.
It was too late now. As annoyed as the rest of the faculty was about bringing a medastriga in, they admitted that her resume was quite impressive—a successful enjoining spell with two muggles and a common garden gourd! They'd been debating bringing her in since Oz's initial suggestion, but hadn't been able to come to consensus.
Then, just two nights ago, Hogwarts castle was awakened by disturbances in both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor dorms. A Ravenclaw prefect was attempting to break up a fight when she suddenly pushed a much larger boy through a window—he was fine, an awning caught him and the prefect pulled him back up with just one arm—and a first year Gryffindor girl who meant only to lean against the post of her bunk bed inadvertently knocked it and several other beds over. A couple of the beds had been occupied, but other than a couple scrapes and bruises, the only injury was to the first year girl's pride.
The prefect admitted that she had been approached by the Watcher's Council the same summer she received her acceptance to Hogwarts but had never noticed any unnatural strength until now. With a phone call to Los Angeles, Oz knew that Willow had performed her most powerful spell to date. McGonagall sent an owl immediately, and next thing Oz knew, Hagrid was heading to Diagon Alley to retrieve Willow.
"She…might be a medastriga," Oz told Daisy. "She's also saved the world a bunch."
"I don't want her to save the world. Just my brother."