Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling & BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon.
Warnings/Spoilers: Somewhat graphic cannon character death.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

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prologue: not naive to what might be done

Hermione ran as fast as her legs could take her.

She barrelled around the corner of the hallway, her feet almost losing traction for a moment on the old stone of Hogworts before catching herself on the wall, knocking a painting partially askew and having the occupant yell at her. She ignored it's language that was perhaps a bit too off color for a school with young children and she was rather busy internally cursing herself anyway for not being fitter, for panting already. But even as her lungs began to burn, Hermione clutched her wand tight, and squinted her eyes in determination as she ran on.

She had to get to the classroom on the corner of the Fourth Floor. It was where the new Professor, who had become her favorite teacher (ever, really) - taught (and she was pretty sure lived as well) and with the chaos going on she would be in danger.

The thought had crossed her mind while keeping watch on Professor Snape's door with Luna. And when she had shared her concern with the other girl, the Ravenclaw had encouraged her to leave her alone to watch and go tell the woman what was going on. And with the potion in both of their veins, Hermione thought the idea and advice must be sound.

Must be lucky.

Finally, she reached the door in question – and not thinking about propriety at a time like this, she burst through.

And Ms. Burkle jumped, spinning around from where she had been writing on her special dry erase board walls, holding a marker tight and staring at her with wide startled eyes, her whole body tense – then again this was her response whenever someone opened the door at all, or made a noise unexpectedly. It was as if the sound itself was an attack to her (or the fated precursor to one, she thought not for the first time).

"Professor," Hermione panted, holding onto the door frame as she caught her breath, "we're under attack. Death Eaters," she clarified, knowing this woman wasn't totally used to the Wizarding World yet. That was what worried her - it was far too well known that Ms. Burkle wasn't Pure Blood, Half-Blood, or even Muggle-Born. For all of her vast knowledge and ability to break down spells into their component parts, she was completely Muggle. And Hermione was not naive to what might be done to the delicate woman simply to make a point. (Had not been so for many years now.)

But instead of panicking, her teacher's body seemed to relax at the threat. "Ah," she murmured, capping her marker slowly. "Thought it woulda happened earlier, really," her lips quirked a bit.

"Ms. Burkle," Hermione said, her voice rising now, feeling incredibly stressed, "I am not joking about this."

"I didn't think you were," her Professor looked back over at her, frowning. "Now give me a moment, please?" Then she walked towards her large desk, sat down, took off her glasses and put both them and her marker carefully in a drawer. Once that task was done, and the drawer was shut again, she closed her eyes and said quietly, almost as if to herself, "Illyria, I'm in danger. Do you want to handle this one or should I...?" then she snorted. "Thought so."

"Professor," Hermione repeated, worried for the woman's sanity. It was rather an open secret that it was never a truly stable thing even at the best of times.

But then - then she began to change. Blue. The color bleeding through her brown hair, thick lines of the bright shade across her forehead, and through her suddenly paler skin as well. And when her eyes snapped open they were no longer the warm brown Hermione knew, they were a cold, flat, electric blue that made the girl automatically take back a step and grip her wand tighter.

The young witch was barely given a glance though, before those eyes glided down Ms. Burkle's body, and then the plain skirt and floral shirt that she had been wearing shifted into a red leather armor – a dark shade that made her shiver, made her think of blood.

"Who...what are you?" Hermione managed to get out, wondering if a much larger threat than Voldemort was now before her. As uneasy in her lack of knowledge of this being than a direct attack.

It tilted it's head in a birdlike manner, regarding her before answering in a voice distinctly different from her teacher's, "I am the God-King Illyria."

"What have you done with Professor Burkle?" she asked uneasily.

"Winifred Burkle alerted me to danger imminent to her shell and I am agreeable to violence. As her soul is linked to my essence, it was simple for us to switch. Space and time are negligible to one such a I," the response was prompt, if bored as she glanced around the room.

"Where is she?" Hermione insisted, wanting to know this, have at least some assurance of Ms. Burkle's safety despite all of the confusing information she was being given.

"Cleveland. My pet, Spike was attempting to teach me the human game poker. I believe Winifred Burkle will be better suited to this." She seemed to consider something, "Perhaps she will conquer her opponents as well, this day, and win against the Slayer who brought the spear for betting. I wish to do much violence with that spear."

"Now, Witch," the blue eyes came back to rest upon Hermione as the God-King stood, and it was hard not to gasp at the weight of them. "Where are those who would attack my former shell's chosen dwelling place?"