Chapter 36

A field trip

AN: Thank you for the last review. I gave that travelling a thought – and mixed a bit :), thanks for the idea!

At least in terms of falling asleep, the reading seemed to help. It wasn't twenty minutes later when Giles noticed Helen's chest raising and falling slower than before. He read a few more pages aloud, more to himself, then laid the book aside and turned off the light.

However the sleep she had fallen into was anything but calm. Soon she found herself again in one of her previous nightmares.

The scenery slightly changed, but again there was a dark room with the same peculiar painting on a wall, a chair, Giles tied on it, and Bellatrix with a distorted vampire face. They were fighting, very much in the manner of their last fight during the Battle of Hogwarts, but there was one major difference: no spell that Helen would cast worked. Bellatrix was laughing like a maniac when Helen whispered "Avada Kedavra" and her wand gave off a string of the familiar blue sparkles. Bellatrix then turned at Giles and yelled "Crucio!" Helen's heart sank as she saw him wince in pain. "Protego!" She said in a small whimper, but nothing happened except that Bellatrix was laughing even louder now. "Averto!" Nothing. "Defringo!... Defendo!" She sank on her knees in desperation, tears were filling her eyes, she couldn't bear to look at him being tortured like this, and her not being able to do anything about it.

Then Bellatrix finally broke the spell and turned back to face her again. Helen looked at her, with all the hatred and defiance mirrored in her eyes – she barely ever regarded someone this clearly, with absolutely no benefit of doubts – Bellatrix was pure evil. "Sectumsempra!" She said through pressed teeth. But of course – it didn't work.

The dark haired witch smirked smugly, her pointy oversized teeth appeared in one corner of her mouth, and raised her wand. "Now it is your turn... Crucio!"

Even though Helen was expecting this, she still gasped as the sharp pain hit her in the chest. She fell on her back, thick needles penetrating her skin on several spots...

Someone was touching her shoulder, trying to shake her gently, and a voice reached her that she was only too happy to hear sounding calm and sound.

"Helen, wake up," Giles repeated a little louder than before and suddenly her eyes shot open. Her breath was still agitated and she looked alarmed, but when their eyes met, she seemed to ease a little.

"What happened?" He asked. At first she shook her head like she didn't want to tell and ran her hands through her hair exhaustedly. It was wet and sweaty.

She sighed and sat up. "I think I need something to drink," she said and climbed out of bed. Giles did the same. "Are you sure you won't rather go back to sleep?" She turned at him.

"No, I was dreaming nonsense too," he murmured as they were descending the stairs, "Snyder had reduced my salary to one pound a year, then forced me to appear on the school talent show – which he was running – in a sketch called The Tweedy Librarian... so I could use a drink too."

She laughed. "Well, now that puts my nightmares quite into a perspective," she said with a lightness that could have convinced or deceive someone else, but not Giles anymore. "By the way, I was thinking more of a glass of milk for myself," she added amused, as Giles came to a halt at the small bar-table and took a bottle of whiskey in his hand along with two glasses.

"Oh," he said, turning red and feeling embarrassed.

"But then again my dream didn't star Snyder, so...," she hurried to say so that he wouldn't feel awkward, or like an alcoholic. "I think a Snyder-dream definitely falls into the can-be-washed-away-by-a-glass-of-whiskey category."

"Right," he said and filled his glass and they moved to the kitchen.

Helen gave him a short version of what happened in her dream. Once again Giles was musing whether it could be in any way a presage.

"I killed Bellatrix in the Battle, she died in front of me, she wasn't a vampire, she was just... dead," Helen said.

"Then maybe that's not the message," he said thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure there is any message in those dreams," she replied. Then the image of him, tied and tortured by Bellatrix made her shiver. I do hope so.

"The thing with the magic is... too confusing though... You couldn't harm her, even though she was a wi-" Suddenly he stopped and laid his glass on the counter rather loudly.

Helen looked at him curiously. "Rupert?"

He appeared to be thinking fast and hard.

"Look, it's too late, let's face it – we have no idea why it works – or doesn't – the way it does, let's get back to sleep," she said tired, laying a hand on his back.

He straightened up. "We don't know why it works that way, but... if she was a vampire and remained a witch – for all we know for now, she'd be very much invincible, unfightable – here on the Hellmouth," he said slowly.

"Yes, but she isn't here, and neither is she a vampire," Helen objected, still not understanding where he was going.

"That's not the point," came the reply and he gave her a meaningful look.

On the following Monday after her classes Helen walked to the library. When she entered she found Buffy, Xander and Willow arguing with Giles.

"A field trip?! Now?!" Buffy said in disbelief. "Giles?!" She gave him that look as if she was expecting him to get it any second now how impossible their plan was.

He raised his hands in front of him defensively. "Buffy, I told you, it's only for a day, two at the most, and it is important."

Xander snorted. "Yeah. I bet. You two just want to get away from here and be alone to-"

"Xander, you better not finish that sentence," Helen said as she walked towards them. She saw Giles blush a little, he glared at Xander and took off his glasses to clean them.

He turned back at Buffy. "Look, it is essential that we find out as much as possible about Angel's curse," he tried again in a patient voice.

"Yeah? And when did it become essential to go watching other people's dragons?" Xander threw in.

Giles looked shortly at Helen, murmuring: "I knew I shouldn't have mentioned that part."

"This is so unfair," Willow exclaimed, sounding devastated. She was sitting at the table, playing absentmindedly with a pencil, and appeared to be sulking. Then suddenly she turned at Helen, her hopes raised up once more. "Helen, could you take us with you? Giles said we can't come... tell him – we'd be good. A-and it's during the weekend, so we wouldn't be missing any classes," she spoke all excitement.

Helen frowned a little confused and looked at Giles, who shook his head imperceptibly and raised his eyebrows in a desperate, resigned gesture. Clearly he already had been through several exhausting yet futile efforts of explaining to them why that wasn't possible.

"Ehm...," she wasn't sure what to say, she hadn't really thought about it until now – about taking the three of them along, it seemed clear that it was a trip Giles and her were going to undertake, she sort of expected the others to simply accept it, but now when she came to think of it – that had been rather naïve, especially when a Dragon-sighting was involved.

"When will I ever get the chance to go to Romania again? And see Dragons?" Willow begged. "Please?"

And the look of Willow's large brown sad, yet hopeful eyes reminded Helen why she was glad that she didn't have any children of her own. She had to look away, for she was sure she would probably give in if she stared in them for a second longer. "I-ah... I'm afraid we can't take you with us," she said in a soothing voice and when Willow exhaled disappointedly and leant back at her chair, Helen hurried to say: "You see it's not that we don't want you there, or that we'd want to be alone-"

"Phh," Xander smirked.

She decided she'd go with a white lie. "And besides the portkeys that we will be using, are not very safe, a-and they can only transport the two of us," she blushed a little and from the glare Willow gave her, she knew that the cleverest student of Sunnydale High, who had managed to read the History of Magic in two days, didn't buy it for a moment.

Giles later pointed out to them, that they would probably have a lot of troubles alone with explaining to their parents, where they were going for the whole weekend, and so willy-nilly the Scoobies accepted they had to stay behind, though not without a proper portion of further nagging and sulking.

On Friday morning Charlie appeared at Giles' flat, delivering the first of the portkeys they were to use on the way to their final destination. It was an old and rusted pot. "Where do you want me to put it? Remember you're not to touch it until you're leaving, that is tomorrow."

Giles shot the old thing a mistrustful glance, doubts were rising in him again whether this trip was safe enough, or whether he would return from it as a whole. Then he pointed at the free space underneath the staircase, where Charlie placed the pot and cast some incantations upon it.

"Good. Now," he turned at Helen, "shall we go over the whole route once more?"

Helen rolled her eyes. They'd been through it three times already.

"Just... do me the favor," Charlie said cheerfully, "I'd hate to go looking for you if you get lost."

"And how would we do that? It would take a complete idiot to not find the way from one portkey to the next one, unless you installed them miles away from each other," Helen said, again she was a little crabby that morning.

Charlie sighed and turned to Giles. "Mr. Giles, please, will you?"

"Uh-uh," Giles cleared his throat, "yes, we-uh... we take this thing in the early morning a-and it will... bring us to-uh... Anticosti," he said and Charlie nodded satisfied so far, "where we will find another... what... pot?"

"No, I said it was an old bald tyre you have to look for," Charlie jumped in.

"Right. An old tyre then, which-uh... again will transport us to your house-"

"No, it'll throw you at the Burrow, my parents' house," Charlie said patiently and gave Helen the look that was saying – see, it's good we're repeating this once more.

"Yes, well that's what I meant," Giles said, now slightly irritated. "There we'll-uh... jump into your fireplace- the fireplace of your parents I mean, using the floo-network, and land in your place in Romania, from where the last portkey should take us straight to the village where the Calderash woman lives."

"You forgot one thing," Charlie said solemnly.

Giles frowned. He was pretty sure there was nothing else.

"You're getting stuffed at the Burrow by mum, so you should plan an hour stop there at least, she'll want you to have lunch with them... Anyway it's probably a good advice for you not to eat much before the journey. Travelling by a portkey can be... well, you'll see," and he slapped Giles on the shoulder encouragingly as he walked towards the door. "So, it seems like you're well prepared, I'll leave you then and I'll see you tomorrow, all cheery and happy and rejoicing," he glared at Helen, "bye for now and have a safe trip." He smiled at them one last time, then disapparated.

It was short after three o'clock in the morning as Giles and Helen, holding hands and giving each other a short nod, touched together the rusty large pot.

At first Giles thought, that it wasn't so bad, wondering what Charlie was talking about. A few seconds later he was beginning to be really glad he had resisted the urge to have some breakfast before because he was sure he wouldn't have kept it, and by the time they landed – well, Giles fell hard on his face, while Helen managed to lay her feet on the ground a little more gracefully with just a slight totter – he was having serious doubts whether he really wanted to do this ever again, or better – he wasn't sure he could. It had been like a drive on a huge rollercoaster, only much faster and with a whole lot more twists. He was amazed that he still had all his innards in, though it felt like they were all in the wrong places now.

"Are you ok?" Helen bent down to him, then shortly looked around them. They had landed on a clearing in the middle of a forest, the sun had already risen here, and it was much colder than down in Sunnydale.

"Ouch," Giles' quiet squeal made her turn back. He sat up and took off his glasses. They had been broken, probably when he had hit the ground. His left hand was hurt, a scratch wound.

She took his hand and before he could speak, she pointed her wand at it, and muttered "Episkey." There remained two thin scars on his palm. Then she tipped her wand on his glasses, saying "Reparo," and they were intact again. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you to keep them in your pockets, you best put them away for the next bit." And she helped him to get up. "But otherwise you're not hurt?" She asked again, watching him take a few steps.

"No, I'm fine...," he said in an unusually curbed voice, "not-uh... fine as fine goes, but-uh... do we have to do this again?"

She smiled a little, remembering her first time with a portkey. She had forgotten how disgusting it could be. She took his hand. "Yes, once more, well actually twice, but the last one from Charlie's will be no trouble, it's only a short distance..."

Giles looked at her miserably.

"This time it might not be as bad, at least now you know what to expect," she said.

"And yet I felt better not knowing," he murmured.

"Let's see who's the first to find the tyre, shall we?" She said overly enthusiastically, in an attempt to distract him and cheer him up a bit.

"I'm fairly certain I don't want to find it," he answered gloomily, but moved along.

It didn't take them long, after a minute Helen spotted the greyed old punctured tyre. They placed the pot right next to it, they would need it on their way back.

"So, are you ready?" She asked, taking again his hand first before touching the portkey, to make sure they wouldn't lose each other.

"Hardly, but-uh...," he said, quickly took off his glasses and put them away into his bag.

There was one difference this time, as they arrived at a large hayfield. Arrived in Giles' case was quite a euphemism, he had been smashed again hard on the ground, but this time on his back and – however he had managed that – unfortunately on top of his bag. The crack he heard inside was unmistakably his glasses. Lovely.

Then he saw a blurry hand in his focus, offered to help him stand up. Only when he took it, he realized it wasn't Helen. He turned his face bewildered to his right and saw George Weasley smiling widely down at him.

"Welcome to the Burrow, Mr. Giles."

"We didn't know you'd be here," Helen said after she had repaired Giles' glasses once more and they headed down the lane to the house that reminded Giles of a drawing from an old fairy-tale book. At the first sight one would recognize that there had to magic behind its walls – or inside it, because the mere shape of the house wouldn't allow it to stand according to the natural and physical laws.

"Yeah, I took a day off, and Angelina too. When Charlie said you'd be coming, I didn't want to miss the-eh... entrance," he grinned and avoided Giles' glare. "Ron took over for me, and – I hate to show off, but the business has been going rather well in the past months, so that we were able to hire a new shop assistant, and might get another one soon. Angelina will be the size of a hippo in no time, and there'd be no space for customers left in the store with her around, so..."

"How is she?"

George shrugged. "Still pregnant," he said matter-of-factly, "quite moody, and-eh... developing rather weird and perverted taste for all sorts of horrible food," he added shaking his head in disgust, "... but otherwise she's fine, she's here."

"Are you-uh...?" Giles began, as he wasn't quite sure what and who they were talking about.

"Yes, I'll be a dad in a few months," George said proudly.

Giles and Helen exchanged looks behind George's back, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. He – is going to be a father? Oh. Dear. Lord.

"On the plus side, it might keep him busy, we might be rid of his surprise visits for quite some time," she said quietly. Giles raised his brows wondering, considering this new, favourable angle.

"What?" George asked distractedly. He had spotted Angelina in the doorway and waved at her.

They sped up a little to meet her. Her pregnancy was already showing, and Helen thought that she looked simply radiant, glowing.

"Hi! How are you?" She asked after they had hugged.

"Uhm... what's that saying? Alive and kickin'," Angelina replied laughing, laying her hands on her belly.

"Is it really?" Helen asked surprised.

"Yeah, I'm telling you, it's gonna be a boy," George exclaimed.

"Like girls can't kick that hard or what?" Angelina smirked. "She might be the future Gryffindor chaser, you know."

Soon they were joined by Arthur and Molly and short introductions were in order.

"Rupert," Molly immediately took him in, skipping the Mr. Giles, "welcome, and please, do come in," she motioned him to follow her inside, "I'm sorry, we didn't have much time to clean up, Charlie only told us yesterday, so you must excuse if it looks a bit messy, but I've cooked a nice lunch for you two..."

But Giles stopped listening as he was making his way through the hallway into the kitchen, and amazed he stared at all the queer, peculiar magical objects everywhere around him. He had already seen moving photographs of wizards, so that did not astound him anymore, but there was much more in here. In the kitchen, in the pot a large scoop was stirring the sauce – on its own. Dishes were being washed in the large sink – again entirely on their own. Something invisible was placing blueberries on top of a large cake, and a cloth was cleaning a window with a squeaking noise.

When Molly saw Giles' wide eyes, she turned pink and quickly said: "Finite," the cloth flew away and disappeared around the corner where Giles heard a soft splash. "I'm sorry, like I said, we didn't have time to duff the house-"

"Oh, please," Giles shook his head vehemently, making clear that the apologies weren't necessary. In fact he was so much taken with the place, it wouldn't even occur to him to find it messed or in need of any cleaning.

His eyes then caught the large wooden clock on the wall, above the fireplace. Only on the second sight he realized that it wasn't an ordinary clock. It had eleven hands instead of just two, and at the end of each was a round picture with a face. Giles recognized Ron, Ginny, Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Angelina and George. At first he thought that George was there twice. One hand was pointing towards large capitals saying "Home", the other hand with a face exactly like George's however pointed towards a small black cross. It wasn't hard to guess what it meant. And then he read the name beneath the picture – Fred – and there was a thin, hardly visible black frame around it.

He didn't see Helen coming to stand right next to him. "It's Fred," she said with a sad smile on her lips. "They were twins... untamable... insufferable...," she laughed shortly and shook her head, remembering her first class at Hogwarts, barely six years ago, "... inseparable...," the last word was more like a sigh.

Giles looked at her, question in his eyes.

"He died in the Battle," she said quietly, then turned away as she heard fast footsteps approaching and soon Arthur, Angelina and George entered the dining room.

Despite Helen's initial worries as to how they would all behave around each other, having a muggle in their midst wasn't an everyday event in the Burrow, especially for Molly and Arthur, but the lunch was all in all quite enjoyable. Molly was pleased that Giles seemed to appreciate her cooking, he even asked her about the making of the sauce she had served with the turkey, and Arthur was beyond happy, finally having a real muggle at his table, whom he could ask out about all these strange things the muggles did.

"Oh, would you have a look at something for me? You see I came across some rather startling objects the other day and I wonder whether you can tell me what they are," he asked when they had finished the second course.

Molly gave her husband a disapproving glare, but Giles said kindly: "Of course," and avoided Helen's look, fearing they would both start laughing at Arthur's endearing, almost comical enthusiasm.

"Great," Arthur said joyfully, and hurried away.

He returned a minute later holding two things in his hands and placed them on the table in front of Giles, then looked at him with expectant eyes, clearly over-excited. Giles looked down at an old open Walkman and a tape – Queen: Greatest Hits II. Someone drew the wires of the earphones through the holes of the tape and slipped – clearly with force - the earphones onto the two tape-plugs inside the walkman.

Giles stared at it for a moment, memories from his Oxford days slipped into his mind "Mhm," he cleared his throat.

"I can't seem to figure out how this works... I don't even now what it is supposed to be doing. It says play here, but... I don't know what I'm supposed to be playing with, I tried everything... Is it merely a decoration item perhaps? Something muggles use to hang on their walls? No? Then pray what is it?" Arthur asked in a secretive voice.

Giles raised his head at Helen, and regretted it in the instance. She was beaming, holding one hand in front of her mouth, trying hard to keep a straight face.

Arthur noticed their exchange, but misinterpreted her amusement. "You know what it is?" He asked her.

Helen bit her lip. "Yes, I've seen it before," she said.

"What is it?" Arthur asked eagerly.

Helen shook her head, unable to speak. Giles recognized the signs – she was biting the inner side of her cheeks in order not to burst into laughter. She just nodded towards him – he was the one to explain.

"Well?" George got impatient.

Giles looked back at the thing in front of him and took the earphones out of the Walkman. He wondered for a moment how or why anyone would have tried something like that – to him it seemed too obvious that the tape – alone given its shape – belonged inside the black case, surely anyone could get that. But then he told himself to be more forbearing, who knows, maybe they'll laugh at me when I leave because I didn't know what Quidditch was...

He put the tape into the Walkman, connected the earphones, then offered one end to Arthur, who took it, eyeing at it confused, the other end he gave to George. He remembered that album, he had it at home somewhere, it took him a few seconds to recall what the first title on it was, then an amused smile appeared on his face before he finally pressed the play button. He watched them both wince a little as the song had started, and tried to imagine how the words "It's a Kind of Magic...", coming from a muggle-device, must have sounded in the ears of the two wizards.

An hour later, when they were literally stuffed as Charlie had foreseen, with cake and Molly's very own scones, they managed to make Molly let them go at last. They thanked for the lunch and promised to visit again some other time. Then Helen took a rich portion of the floo-powder and together with Giles they stepped inside the fireplace. She murmured Charlie's place and strewed the powder around them. The last thing they saw was Arthur's face, with closed eyes, earbuds in his ears, nodding rhythmically and humming "It's a kind of maagiic...", completely absorbed by the music, then the picture dissolved and they were swirling through the space – or so it appeared to Giles – and about a minute later they both skidded out of Charlie's fireplace.

"About time," Charlie's voice sounded somewhere close, but Giles couldn't see anything. His glasses were – though apparently unbroken – completely blind and covered with ashes. "Tergeo," Giles heard Charlie say right before his vision got clear again.

"Sorry," Helen said, dusting off her clothes. "Molly's scones..." She added meaningfully.

"What?" Charlie's eyes widened. "She made the scones for you?" He asked incredulously.

"God, they were soo delicious," Helen said dreamily, throwing herself on the next chair, Giles right next to her, their stomachs were still full.

"And you didn't think of bringing me some?" He asked reproachfully, but then his expression changed and hardened. "Oh, right, I see what she's doing," he said nodding to himself.

Helen and Giles exchanged mazed looks.

"Well, I won't fall for it," he murmured stubbornly.

"Fall for what?" Giles asked.

"It's one of her little ploys to trick me into returning home for good. She's been doing this for quite some time now, like always cooking and baking my favourite dishes when I'm not there, then saying – Oh, you should have been here last Saturday, I was making the pork...," he said, imitating the voice of his mother only too well.

He looked absentmindedly out of the window for a while, still a little huffy. "Anyway, you have no time for lying around here, come on, hop-hop," he urged them to get up, "the lady is expecting you at five, you have twenty minutes. The portkey will bring you within a mile of her house, you should be able to see it from where you land," he was talking fast as he led them out of the house into a small garden. There, right next to a teeny pond stood the ugliest garden-gnome Giles had ever seen.

"Here, meet Chinosh," Charlie grinned, patting on the gnome's taperedted red cap, "he kindly agreed to fly you to Măgura. It's my private portkey, not registered, since I use it for all sorts of trips, so take good care of him."

"Csinos, 'ey?" Helen asked bemused.

"Isn't that Hungarian?" Giles wondered.

"Yes. It means fetching. Like in neat," Helen said with a trace of sarcasm.

"Seriously, don't lose him, we rather cling to each other," Charlie said earnestly.

"Clearly."

Although this last journey with Charlie's portkey was the shortest one as the distance they had to overcome was barely sixty miles, still when they landed – and this time Giles managed to land on his knees and with his glasses unscathed – he felt a strong urge to vomit, and only when Helen propped him up by reaching quickly under his arms it passed.

He collected his bag, while she took a look at their surroundings. They had landed on a hill, and down beneath them, in the distance and at the edge of a forest she could see a small cottage, smoke rising from the chimney.

When they were half way to the house, Helen slowed down. "I'm not sure how close I should come," she said nervously looking around them.

Giles stopped, watching her thoughtfully. "Well, I've been thinking," he started, "what if you just came along? We could take our chances... she doesn't know you, how would she know that you're a witch?"

"I don't know," she hesitated, "I have the feeling she will very well know. And I wouldn't want to blow our mission. What if she refuses to talk to us because of me?"

Giles knew he couldn't think entirely objectively when Helen was involved, but he just couldn't imagine such a case, couldn't believe that anyone would resent her. And if there was such a person, then he surely would not want to talk to them either, he thought defiantly.

"You're coming with me," he said firmly and in a terminal tone and turned his head towards to house, but waited for her to move again.

"Alright, but it'll be on your head," she said, and her hand touched her pocket to check that she had her wand with her, just in case.

The cottage looked quite new, it couldn't have been much older than a few years. They ascended the stairs of the veranda with heavy steps, not sure and perhaps a little anxious of what might expect them inside. They heard a quiet growling from behind the door and a short barking of two dogs.

Suddenly Giles turned at Helen horrified, something essential occurred to him: "I don't speak Romanian – how on earth are we going to talk to her?"

In that moment the door opened and a tiny old woman appeared in the doorframe. "I spent half a century living in Pittsburgh, so I don't think that should be a problem," she spoke with a surprising swift in her voice – for someone her age and stature – and a clear Western Pennsylvanian dialect. "And we didn't speak much Romanian before either, silly," she scolded Giles, "I'm a Calderash, we speak Romani!"

For the first time since their acquaintance Helen saw Giles being intimidated and... ashamed. He had closed his eyes for a second when he realized his stupid mistake, especially when he of all people should have known better.

The two dogs slipped past their owner and began to sniff at them, first at Giles, then at Helen, whom they seemed to find more interesting, and clearly confusing. One of them stood in front of her and was eyeing at her with his head tilted, then he barked shortly, but finally walked aside to let her in. The old woman gave Helen a piercing look, then too stepped away and let her guests enter.

Her living room was very cosy, a fire was lit in the fireplace, a pleasant smell of some sort of a tea was filling up the room.

"You're here to talk about that vampire," she said grumpily.

"Yes-uh, yes," Giles said, a little nervous, "oh, sorry, my name is Rupert Giles, this is my-uh... friend," he turned at Helen.

She offered the old woman her hand: "Helen Thornton." She said it without thinking, the old habit recurring, it hadn't happened to her in a long time.

But their host didn't seem to notice her stiffen a little right away, the short moment where she held her breath only didn't escape to Giles. The woman however took Helen's hand a little clumsily, as if she wasn't used to such introductions. She motioned for them to sit down on the sofa, then bent down over the table and poured some tea into their cups. Giles and Helen exchanged insecure looks, as the silence was a bit awkward and they didn't dare to speak. She put the teapot back on the table, then sat down in the large armchair opposite to them, peering at them for a while.

"Y-you are..." Giles started reluctantly, he was about to ask her whether she was a descendant of the very clan of Calderash who had cursed Angel.

"Romaine, but everyone calls me Romy," she said snappily.

Giles hadn't even realized that she hadn't told them their name. He forgot momentarily what he was actually going to ask.

Helen smiled tensely. "Oh, like the-eh... muggle actress, right," she said to break the silence.

Now both Giles and Romy gave her baffled looks and she turned red, instantly feeling like an idiot.

AN: I'm sorry, once again I didn't get as far as I wanted to, somehow I got stuck at the Burrow instead of proceeding briskly to Romania :) and then I didn't want it to be too long, so it was the choice between posting this and now, or waiting another week or two, until it's complete – I went for now :) (also because otherwise it takes ages to proofread), hence the dumb ending. Next chapter "The Calderash" already in work.