Somehow, Spike had expected death to be different – with some justification, it has to be said, since this was the second time he had experienced it. He certainly had not expected it to have cobbles, but that was undeniably what he now found himself lying upon. He hadn't expected it to be quite so orange either, but the double vision could probably be put down to the after–effect of his recent disintegration. Then one of the identical red–heads looking down at him poked him none too gently in the ribs with his toe.
"Oy, mate! You OK?" it said.
"Do I bloody well look OK?" replied Spike, dragging himself to his feet.
"No, not really," replied the other red-head, leading Spike to conclude that he couldn't after all blame everything on his dodgy eyesight, "you look like last month's thestral droppings."
"The what now?" said Spike, in what was a scarily Xanderesque moment, had he but noticed it.
"Nah, with that skin and hair he looks like a poor-man's Malfoy."
"Malfoy?" said Spike.
"Nasty buggers," said red-head MkII. "Better get him inside," he continued. "After the last time, we don't want the public thinking he's suffering the after-effects of a visit to Wizard Wheezes." And with that the two of them each took an arm, manoeuvred Spike into the shop in front of which he appeared to have been lying and settled him down in a chair that farted as soon as it took his weight. Spike was disconcerted to find that the joke was not merely of the aural variety.
"New line," said one of the red-heads, their relative numbering having got confused during the short journey. "By the way, I'm George and this is Fred."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm Spike."
"Welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Spike," chorused the pair.
"So, what's all this then," said Spike, gesturing at the bizarre products lining the shelves, "this some sort of boogedy-boogedy shop?"
"Boogedy-boogedy?"
"You know," said Spike, "Magic."
"Well, of course it's magic," came the response, "what else would it be?"
"Any number of things," said Spike. "It's not like magic shops are two a penny even in dear old Sunnydale."
"Well, blow me up and cover me with boils – it's a Muggle," said George.
"Is that like a Malfoy?" asked Spike.
"Uh, not quite," said Fred, "it's a non-magical person."
"Most don't even believe magic exists," added George.
"Not me, mate," said Spike, "I've seen things that would turn your hair white."
"That what happened to you?"
"Nah, that's L'Oreal," said Spike. "Because I'm worth it," he added after a pause.
"What are you doing here, then?" asked George. "Muggles aren't supposed to be able to get into Knockturn Alley."
"I don't know," said Spike, "I just died for the second time and when I woke up I was here."
"Second time?" queried Fred. "Make a habit of it, do you?"
"Not like some people I know," replied Spike.
"So, what happened?"
"First time was the standard fangs in the neck, claw your way out of your grave job. Second time it was all saving the world, magic amulet, burnt up from the inside. Thought that might be a bit more permanent-like."
"Ah," said Fred, "Vampire."
"That explains it," said George.
"You don't seem very shocked," said Spike.
"Well," said Fred, "vampires aren't, what was it you said, 'two a penny' around here but we get a fair few. Do a nice trade in blood lollypops."
"Blood lollypops?" said Spike.
"Here, try one," said George, holding out what did indeed look like a lollypop made of blood and, when Spike tasted it, turned out to be one in truth – O negative if his taste buds didn't deceive him. Maybe this version of the afterlife wasn't so bad after all.
"Any thoughts about what you'd like to do while you're here?" asked Fred.
"Well," said Spike, "I've given up on the murder and mayhem since I've had the old soul back, give or take a few unfortunate folk-song related incidents, so I guess a quick drink is the best I could hope for."
"We've got some blood-replenishing potion. It's not as good as the real stuff, but it'll keep you going and we can offer you a Firewhiskey chaser if you're up for something with a bit more of a kick."
"That'll do nicely. Then maybe we can go out and hit the nightlife."
"Hit the nightlife?" asked George. "Aren't you nightlife?"
"Maybe he means, hit on the nightlife," suggested Fred. He gave Spike a considering look and then turned to his brother. "You know, we haven't had a vampire yet," he said.
"Had?" said Spike.
"We're trying to work our way through the full range of magical creatures," explained George.
"Needed a bit of a challenge," said Fred.
"'Specially after Bill pulled a part-Veela," said George.
"Couldn't have him getting one up on us," said Fred.
"Thought we might write a handbook afterwards," said George.
"So, you up for it?" asked Fred.
Spike had always thought that when he had sex with twins they would be blonde, Swedish and undeniably female. Mind you, this would do at a pinch. "What the hell," he said.
Fred turned the sign to 'Closed' while George rummaged around on one of the shelves until he found a package emblazoned with the message: 'All undressed and nowhere to go? Try Make-Your-Bed, for when you've found the right one to lie on it with you!'
"Very handy," said Spike as the contents transformed themselves into a rather comfy looking king-size, complete with faux leopard-skin cover.
"Actually," said Fred, "we're working on a product that really will give you extra hands. It's not ready yet, but fortunately for you we have four hands between us already!" And with that, the pair proceeded to tumble Spike to the mattress and put them to good use.
"Damn, but he's cold," said Fred, pausing in his ministrations.
"Try a warming charm," suggested his brother.
"Nah," said Fred, "might mess up his system."
"How about thermal gloves?"
Fred pondered this for a moment before frowning. "What about the problems of loss of sensation?"
"It'd only be a problem for us for us, not for him - 'specially if they're ribbed. There's probably a market there for folks who want to pleasure the undead."
"We could get mum to knit them," added Fred.
"Ahem," said Spike, who was feeling a trifle neglected. "With a little less talk and a little more action, you might not notice the chill." The twins bent to their task with renewed vigour, divesting Spike and themselves of their remaining clothes. "So," said Spike, "how do you want it - both together or sequentially?"
"Couldn't we try it both ways?"
"How much energy do you think I have?" asked Spike.
"That's what pepper–up potion is for," came the happy reply.
Finally, after a protracted argument as to which of the twins should go first, which hardly mattered to Spike since he had lost track as to who was who again, they managed to work out how everything fitted together regardless of who it belonged to and in due course a thoroughly exhausted Spike lay tangled-up with a pile of sated and happy redheads. "You know," murmured Fred in Spike's ear, "we have brothers."
"How many of them?" asked Spike.
"Four," said George, nibbling gently on Spike's left nipple.
"Oh my God."
Suddenly, the now familiar feeling of discorporation reached out and embraced Spike. "Well," he said, "this has been great, but it looks like I'm on my way again."
"So, how were we?" called the twins as he faded away.
"Magic," said Spike.