A/N: - Hurrah! so I kinda kept my promise and got this out fast... ish... I'm still not happy with it, but then I'm rarely completely happy with anything so... meh. Better to get this out there and get on with the next chapter... caus that one's fun! So, having said that I would really love your comments and criticism on this one guys, it's only through them that I can get better. And with that in mind, Big thanks to those who reviewed in the last week! You guys made me smile.
AllenPitt - I'm glad you liked the Voldemort bit... one of the many parts of that chapter I was concerned over as it was a harsh deviation from Buffy's POV. Now I just have to make sure he lives up to his hype with his (my) plan to take over the world! (though it will take slightly longer than one night). It will be revealed soon(ish) what was happening on the Hellmouth... or implied at least... And yes, fasten your seat belts for interaction with the trio lies ahead!
General Mac - Yes Sir! *stands to attention* (although... I am wondering if you're tired of that joke... ah well... I'm too old to be original)
SHuntress - *hop* *skip* *jump*
The Best Defence
Buffy awoke with a start, her pulse hammering with imagined exertion. She tugged at the curtain which surrounded her bed, freeing herself from the enclosed space, the sight of the room beyond easing the frantic beat of her heart.
Her eyes were drawn to the window, to the vast expanse of the night sky where stars still shone overhead, the dawn a distant thing. Buffy put aside the covers with a sigh, climbing out of bed onto weary limbs. There was no point attempting to get more sleep. She had learnt that the first time she woke so abruptly.
In that regard these dreams were worse than the ones she'd had after leaving Sunnydale; once they forced her out of slumber, any attempt to return to that state was short lived, her subconscious quickly returning to the same thoughts and waking her again.
Despite her intense reaction to them, she couldn't remember the dream that had been curbing her sleep for the past week. It seemed to vanish as soon as she woke, comprised of shadows and echoes that disappeared whenever she tried to catch hold of them; make sense of what was going on.
All she could remember were the feelings, the sense that something terrible had happened, was happening. The powerful need to escape which had, the first few nights, left her fighting to remove her covers; desperate to rid herself of anything that restricted her movement. But even the frantic feeling of being trapped, of claustrophobia, was dwarfed by an overwhelming sense of grief, of loss as strong as that she had felt after leaving Sunnydale.
She shook away the vestiges of sleep, trying blearily to remember if there was any homework she should attempt to do. It was getting harder each time to awaken; despite the unspent energy making her body thrum, her mind was lethargic from too many sleepless nights.
Buffy was used to sleep deprivation; she had lived on half what normal people got for most of her two years in Sunnydale. There her extra waking house had been spent active, body and mind working double time to save lives, save herself. Here the boredom of being awake while the rest of the castle slept took its toll, making the hours seem longer and the lack of sleep harder to bear.
Quietly donning her robes she edged down through the empty common room, descending the spiral stairs to stroke the eagle's head. Buffy glanced about, trying to judge the likelihood of discovery before slipping out. Even if no one else was up, Camilla would be awake and eager to help Buffy work off the adrenaline generated by the dream. Statues had no need to sleep, after all.
Breakfast had become a strange affair in the week since the mass break out. Students quietly ate their food, waiting for something to happen. The first morning Buffy hadn't known what it was that put such wary anticipation in the air, why they picked at their food. Then the owls descended.
There were more of them each morning now; fear drove people to keep a closer contact with those they loved, requiring constant reassurance that their families were okay. Then there were the vast numbers of owls carrying the tight rolls of Daily Prophet to almost every area of the hall.
Once the mail arrived each morning so far the school would, almost as a whole, breathe a sigh of relief. And the day would continue, slowly growing more uneasy as the length of time since hearing all was well grew longer, until the cycle could repeat.
That initial air of terror was impossible to maintain, and so instead it had slowly become routine. Her fellow students all too quickly adapting to the certainty that, with or without their leader, the Death eaters were rallying together once more.
Perhaps it was the lack of uncertainty that eased their worries, no longer torn between believing the wonderful lie that all was well and the terrifying rumours that nothing was. Perhaps it was merely this waiting game, the lack of immediate action by the criminals to justify the fears. Regardless, the shock over the escape passed and with a resolve that felt very British, keeping calm and carrying on, what had happened was accepted, absorbed into the collective psyche.
Even Umbridge's most recent decree, yet another way for the woman to control every aspect of school life, hadn't caused much of a stir. How could it when all that was important was the relief everyone felt at discovering that it had made the headlines. Because if that was on the front page then nothing else had happened.
The commotion of the holidays was forgotten. What were werewolves and sprites after all when there were wand wielding convicts on the loose? Depressingly quickly, it had been forgotten as Hogwarts returned to what passed as normality. Normal as long as you ignored the tension in the mornings, the lack of laughter, the flinches which resulted from unexpected noise.
As if to confirm her thoughts, Anthony jumped slightly in his seat beside her as a flutter began overhead, knocking the hand which had been buttering Buffy's toast, as the first flapping began overhead. The bright winter's day displayed on the ceiling above was quickly blackened by the density of birds overhead, some swooping down to place letters in front of their recipient while others circled above, waiting their turn.
There was a hunger to the students grabbing at their mail, ripping open rolls of parchment to scan their contents, family members in differing houses searching out eye contact with one another across the hall, silently checking that all was well. One morning earlier in the week a second year from Gryffindor had let out a choked sob on opening her mail. The commotion which resulted was finally calmed when Professor McGonagall announced to the school that the girl's pet cat had been of an advanced age and there was nothing nefarious about its death.
"And the flocks are gone for another day" Buffy watched with Anthony as the last owl left without anything being deposited for either of them.
"They're parliaments actually" the boy commented without taking his eyes away from the high windows, his attention finally drawn away from them by the derisive snort that came across the table. "What?"
"Oh, nothing." a girl Buffy recognised from her 4th year classes said to Anthony, muttering "Muggle-born" to the boy sitting beside her before haughtily returning to her dinner.
"What?" his question had more bite in it this time, having heard the remark.
The girl met his glare with a sneer "A group of owls, is a Council. Well unless you're a Muggle, that is." And with a final derisive look she was gone, dragging her friend with her out of the hall.
Anthony turned his head, following the pair as they left. "What does it matter if it's a council or a parliament of owls?"
Buffy smiled, "You cared that I called it a flock."
Anthony's scowl faltered before finally settling on a self deprecating smirk, "Yeah, I guess."
But despite his forcibly jovial tone, an awkward silence had returned to the table.
While the rest of the school merely resigned themselves to what was to come, it seemed Neville's new sense of purpose had only intensified. It was a solemn boy who met her in the library, leading her up through the school, getting quieter, even more resolute the higher they went. They eventually paused at a blank wall somewhere on the seventh floor.
"One sec." Neville said, wandering back and forward along the corridor until a door appeared, which he opened with a flourish. The room was empty, a large brightly lit classroom with a line of shelves along one wall.
"Huh, we must be the first one's here." He commented, beginning to pace up and down the space while Buffy took in the room, "You don't mind if I practice a bit, do you?" His hand had been twitching near the pocket where Buffy knew his wand was stored, eager to get to work now that he was here.
"Go ahead." She was happy to collapse onto the pile of cushions in the far corner, drowsily watching as Neville silently went through a series of wand movements.
He hadn't mentioned it again, in fact he had pointedly avoided any conversation that approached the subject of his parents, but Buffy knew why her doing this was important to him, why he had stopped spending his free time in the greenhouses. Instead she had met him on a number of evenings in the library, researching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and from the looks of it the rest of his time had been spent here, relentlessly practicing what he read.
It wasn't long before the door swung open, a voice preceding its owner into the room "I still don't know why you wouldn't tell me what I needed to add to make them…"
"I'm not going to help you do badly in potions just to get back at the Slytherins, and anyway Neville managed to do enough without…" She trailed off, turning away from her friend to see the boy in question standing before them. Any apology died on her tongue at Ron's enthusiastic reaction to the same discovery.
"Yeah, that was brilliant mate; don't know how you managed it."
"I didn't mean to…"
"Of course you didn't Neville. Although you really should be more careful about how you chop your lacewings. And your cauldron temperature needs to be monitored; it can be quite dangerous in…"
"Knock it off Hermione. He gave Crabbe boils. Purple boils!" Ron's enthusiastic praise was interrupted by the door slamming open.
"Neville!" The redheaded twins quickly moved from the doorway to flank the boy, gently manoeuvring him into a corner of the room. "We hear you're the man to talk to about…"
Ron watched his brothers interrogate his friend with a bemused expression "I never thought I'd see anyone taking potions advice from Neville… even if it is only on how to make it go wrong."
"Yes, well… at least eventually Snape found an antidote which didn't react." Hermione sighed, fidgeting slightly as she looked over at the trio, barely able to contain the urge to stop the twins.
The room was beginning to fill up at an alarming pace, primarily with students from Gryffindor but also a few from both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Unsurprisingly none of those who entered the room came from Slytherin. Buffy watched as they split up into groups, chatting about their day or practicing spells, unsure what to do. Besides one or two interested glances, she had for the most part been ignored, and Neville was unable to make introductions, still trapped by the Weasley twins while looking slowly more anxious for escape.
"Harry!"
The room quietened for a moment at the cheerful greeting, watching to see if they were about to begin, but the new arrival walked briskly over to his friends.
"It's bad form for the teacher to be late you know." Ron teased, his grin dropping when he saw his friend's worried expression. "What's up?"
"Nothing." Harry replied shortly, deliberately easing the tension in his body and glancing about the room for anything to distract his friends, "What are your brother's doing with Neville?"
Ron snorted "I think they want the recipe for his potion."
"I can't believe we're testing all the potions this term on those two." Harry grinned, "I wonder what they did to make Snape mad."
"Who cares? It's not like they don't deserve it. Now if I only knew how to…" Ron began, glancing sideways at Hermione before being cut off again.
"Ron, if you want to 'accidentally' mess up your potion you'll have to figure out how."
"Well." Harry said before Ron could say anything to annoy their friend, "We should probably get started." He glanced back over towards Neville, "Wasn't Neville going to bring a friend?"
"I think he has."
Buffy was far enough away that they shouldn't suspect her of overhearing their conversation, but there was a curiosity in Hermione's gaze when she allowed her eyes, which had been carefully roaming the room, to focus on the trio now looking at her intently.
There shouldn't have been sides, at least not any which extended beyond the bounds of her and them, Buffy alone before the group which had been meeting together in secret for months. If that had been the case she might have left. Even if that did make Neville's hurt expression that appeared when her realised that his friend wasn't immediately welcomed more forlorn, Buffy wouldn't have stayed if no one else had spoken up for her.
But they did.
Arguing her case were those few she might have hoped would stand by her; Anthony despite failing to tell her about the group at its outset, Padma who had never tried to get her to join but was a good friend none the less. Alongside those who could be expected to put themselves between her and that spark of hurt in Harry's eyes which quickly ignited into anger were others, an older Gryffindor girl Buffy vaguely recognised from her first interaction with Crabbe and Goyle, the pompous Hufflepuff prefect who somehow came across as self serving even as he defended her right to join them.
Harry couldn't come up with a concrete reason that she shouldn't be there, and that seemed to only add to his anger, his jealousy. That this girl who had gained the trust of his father's friend could do the same with his classmates, slipping into the good graces of the people around him without notice, without warning.
"She should sign the list." Hermione finally said, breaking into a gap in the arguments between those who thought they should be more careful now than ever, and the ones who agreed with Neville's impassioned declaration that with what had happened, they should try to help as many as possible.
That seemed to stump even Harry, a new wave of anger following the look of betrayal that appeared on his face at the implication that even his friend was against him. She marched across the room to a notice board by the door and pulled down a sheet. "When we wrote our names on this list we all agreed not to tell anybody what we planned. I think if Buffy would like to join, she should sign it too; show that she agrees to keep our secret." By the time she had completed her speech, Hermione was back beside Harry, calmly meeting the deadly glare focussed upon her.
"You told Neville that he could bring a friend along Harry. You can't change that now. It might be a risk, but all of this always was." The fight didn't quite leave the boy at those words, anger still lurking behind a resolute expression, but it was no longer directed at her. If it had ever really been. He had entered the room with a level of annoyance which had never really diminished.
In general the group seemed satisfied by Hermione's approach, content that by placing her name alongside theirs she was declaring herself to be one of them. One of Dumbledore's Army. They crowded about while Justin summoned a quill from his bag, presenting it to Buffy with a flourish.
Before the nib left the paper at the end of her signature, Buffy felt a slight tingle in her fingers, minute fragments of magic travelling up through her, only noticeable as they interacted with the slayer's power. After a moment the sensation stopped but she was sure that the magic itself remained, waiting dormant within her. Buffy searched those about her for any sign of undue interest but most had now turned away, the disruption caused by her presence over.
She resisted reaching out when Hermione returned the parchment to the board, not wanting to loose sight of the item which had bound some strange magic to her. What else had she agreed to by putting pen to paper? What retribution would this magic take on someone that broke that agreement?
Hermione's eyes met hers as the girl turned back to face the room and Buffy saw a flicker of something within them, a suspicion that grew as she realised where Buffy's concentration had been. The magic had been too little, too faint to be noticeable for a normal witch. By taking notice of it Buffy would be doing what she had wanted to avoid; drawing attention to herself, to her resistance to magic.
The lesson was oddly reminiscent of the first time she had visited Ravenclaw's Study, of those hours spent with Remus looking for the power hidden within. Harry bounced open questions back and forth through the group in a way that meant they did more than just learn; they understood. As he taught he too seemed to finally relax, in his element teaching something that came almost as easily to him as flying had.
For Buffy too, what they were learning was instinctive. This wasn't about correct pronunciations and emphasis, picturing spells or intent; it was all about the movements of the wand. They were practicing how to trick an opponent by redirecting your spells, adding flicks and twists onto the end of a cast to turn the magic that emerged, spin it so that it might evade a shield and strike. These moves felt like something ingrained into Buffy's soul, like the thrust and parry of a sword; like fighting.
After running through the techniques and correcting their wand work, Harry split the group into pairs trying to get around each other's shields with the relatively harmless expallarmus before finally turning to Buffy, his faded ire quickly returning. She waited as he inspected her, not wanting to reignite his anger, letting young eyes attempt to bore through her. To uncover her secrets.
Unable to read anything behind her expression, or without the experience to do so, the boy broke the connection with a scowl. "Well… I suppose we should go over what we learnt last term."
They started with the disarming charm being used by the others, a spell which was directed not at Buffy herself but the wand she carried. This left her free from worries about revealing her magic, allowed her to relax further into the friendly atmosphere, caused her to progressively let down her guard.
She was so immersed in the jovial banter around them that when Buffy finally sent Harry's wand flying out of his grasp, she didn't think twice about moving forward to get it for him. And with the thrill of triumph rushing through her, Buffy didn't notice the warmth of the connection where her fingers met wood, the answering call of the Slayer. She grinned up at the boy when he came to collect his wand, meeting his warm expression; both stupidly proud of her success despite the fact that he had been distracted by the mock duels which had broken out amongst a few members.
But then his fingers met hers over the wand and it was like a switch being flipped; a surge of power and the sudden disappearance of that spark of friendship that had been growing in Harry's eyes. She hadn't even noticed it until it was gone; his bright green eyes once again filled with the suspicion Buffy was so familiar with, all warmth extinguished. But this time that suspicion was laced with fear.
Fear of the magic which had arched between them, bridged by an object which after five years as his was suddenly betraying him; reacting to another. The surge left trails of awareness tingling through his entire body, these traces of magic that felt familiar, close to his own, but yet distinct from it. Magic laced with darkness, the sensation was sickeningly similar to the one that invaded his mind each night.
The class had already been disbanding, students milling about discussing what they had learnt while others practiced, so Harry's abrupt decision to end the evening's session wasn't met with surprise. Instead they formed a disorderly queue by the door, various groups continuing a barrage of conversation as they waited for word from their leader. He sent them out of the room in groups of two or three, alternating the houses and giving each group a route to avoid suspicious crowding in any of the corridors.
Slowly but surely the room emptied, and though she joined her friends when Anthony and Padma waved him over, Buffy's eyes remained trained on Harry. What had he felt when their magic leapt for one another, was it the taint of the slayer's power that he feared? Had she revealed herself, despite everything?
He flinched back, away from the doorway, when Buffy passed by, avoiding any proximity and quickly waving the group out and away despite their proximity to the pair of Hufflepuffs before them. She could feel those deceptively clear eyes attempting to bore through her as Harry watched them leave, and tried to smile through the worry, to join in with Anthony's excitement and forget what might have been revealed that night, how much more she risked by taking part in this.
At that moment, steadily walking back to her dorm, what she feared far more than discovery; than the chance that schoolchildren would discover a secret she couldn't uncover while knowing most of the answers, what she couldn't forget was what awaited her that night. What horrors she would be subjected to in her dreams. Because even when she could sleep it was nightmares that came, of creatures that could suck out your soul, of the Hellmouth spewing demons that couldn't be held back.
So this was an annoying chapter in many ways, not the least because once again the characters flat out refused to follow my plan (they decided it didn't make sense) and set off on a tangent of their own. I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with scenes like this. It's interesting to see where the characterisation takes me... but a pain in the ass to have to ignore my planned route. There were jokes in the bit I had to scrap! some of them might even have been funny.
Ironically enough one of the big times this happened early in the story was when she met Hermione in the library... this interaction was going to prompt the friendship which caused Buffy to be in DA but I just couldn't get any scene that did what I wanted in character... and so the whole story changed... and the route taken to get to here ended up a lot more winding (and interesting) than I had ever hoped.
Sorry this all makes things seem more poignant than they necessarily are, really I'm just a bit odd this evening and feeling like reflecting back. Which, after all is what so much of this story is about. The present is the key to the past, but it is the past that provides a clear view of the present. If you can get back far enough maybe, just maybe, we can see forever.
Please review... as the above proves, I really need to be distracted from the inner ramblings of my mind. I might fall into a plot hole and never get out!
