A Year Abroad
Chapter 11 – Feral Felicis – Part One
A/N: Obligatory statement that I do not own Buffy or Harry Potter or their related works.
Also, I am well aware I am WAY late in my promise of end of July. Funny story: the pilot that I worked on so well received that they asked us to make two more episodes. If those are liked well enough, we get picked up for a whole season. Obviously this news, as well as moving at the beginning of August, has drawn my attention away from this story. I have no intentions of abandoning it, even if we do get picked up.
Thank you. And enjoy.
September 7, 1998 – Hogwarts – The Great Hall
Hermione worried her lip as she stared blankly into her bowl of oatmeal. The first week back at Hogwarts after the battle was never going to be easy, she knew; but she didn't realize it would be this…awkward. She had spent six years walking through the corridors of the school in Harry's presence. She had seen the glances and stares aimed at him from the other students. She had even flippantly told him to ignore all the attention. She now wondered if this was her karmic retribution for her 'advice.'
She'd had no doubt about being named Head Girl, and if that were the only accolade she had received, she wouldn't mind. But since the battle, and whispers of what the 'Golden Trio' had been up to spread among the students, she was now a living legend. Those who weren't amazed by her actions during the reign of terror last year were aghast that after all that, she returned to finish her schooling.
Her emotional headaches were exacerbated by the fact that instead of being a steadfast shoulder to lean on, Ginny was too focused on the news coming from Harry's letters. She pretended to ignore them, but she always made sure to be next to Hermione at mail times.
"Morning, Hermione." Ginny settled into the seat across from Hermione. A touch of lightheartedness in her tone that actually sounded genuine.
"Good morning, Ginny. You seem better today than you were yesterday." Hermione had learned over the years that Ginny could actually pick up on subtlety, and did not need questions spelled out for her.
"I thought about what you had said last night, and I've come to agree with your assessment." Ginny paused long enough to ladle some oatmeal into her own bowl. "After such a tumultuous last few years, we all need a chance to heal in our own ways. Harry's trip has nothing to do with any of my actions, and my behavior towards him recently will only serve to put more distance between us. I love Harry. And I trust him." Ginny took a deep breath after reciting Hermione's thesis from last night, and started in on her breakfast.
"I'm glad you're taking my advice to heart, Ginny." Hermione perked up, feeling that if Ginny could keep this attitude, then this year would not be as nerve-wracking as she feared.
This hope lasted approximately three minutes and twenty-seven seconds. When a large owl landed in front of Hermione with a letter tied to its leg, with familiar handwriting on the outside, Ginny's expression resembled a recovering smoker who just spotted a loose cigarette on the floor.
Hermione untied the letter, allowing the owl to take off. She kept one eye on Ginny as she opened the envelope. Ginny's oatmeal remained half-finished as she tried her best to seem aloof.
"Anything interesting?"
Hermione quickly read the letter, struggling not to let her eyes go wide. 'Harry, you're timing could not be more horrible!'
"Well, in order to save expenses, and provide extra protections against vampires, Harry has rented an apartment and moved out of the motel." In her head, Hermione begged Ginny not to ask any follow-up questions.
"'Save expenses?' How would that necessarily 'save expenses'?"
"Well," Hermione gulped. "He's taken a roommate." Hermione knew she had no real poker face; at least when it came to improvisation. The look on Ginny's face of smelling the proverbial 'blood in the water' confirmed that streak remained unbroken.
"Who's the roommate?" Ginny's tone reflected the warring urges in her mind to 'trust Harry', and 'kill Harry.'
Hermione slumped in her seat, resigned to be at the epicenter of another Ginny Weasley blow-out. "Her name is Faith. She's another Vampire Slayer."
Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom
Moaning Myrtle had never wanted to see any harm come to Hogwarts. She had the spent the last years of her life, as well as her entire afterlife in the school. In every meaningful way, it was her home. However, the reconstruction had brought about renovations all over the castle, and she was still enjoying the novelty of the new fixtures and toilets in her bathroom.
She was enjoying the new, and still spotlessly clean u-bend of the third stall on the left from the door, when she heard a scream echoing off the walls of the castle. The noise sounded like a banshee, a harpy, and an angry Armenian woman having a shouting match. Myrtle had only one thought about the source of this cacophony.
"Pfft. Drama Queen."
Sunnydale High – Library
Xander blearily stumbled into the library, hugging a thermos, and a brown bag of late-night/early-morning snacks. The sight of Willow reading a book aloud as Werewolf-Oz was causing a bit of ruckus greeted him.
"Private Harris, reporting for duty."
Willow gathered up her homework and notes, and stuffed them into her bookbag.
"Hey, Xander." She rose from her seat, double-checking she had gathered everything. "Standard procedure for your shift." The tone of disappointment in her voice was not hard to miss.
"Did the potion not work?" Xander had been hopeful for the Wolfsbane to help tonight. He liked Oz, and didn't like to think of him suffering through his transformations.
"Oh, it did work," Willow reassured Xander. "It just wore off sooner than expected." Xander followed her gaze as she turned her head towards the computer just outside of the cage. The tower and the monitor were still fine, but the keyboard would definitely never dance again. "We'll have to try administering the potion a little later next time, and I'll make more frequent verbal check-ins with him after the eight hour mark. But at least the transformation into the werewolf form was relatively painless."
Xander took the opportunity to check the tranquilizer gun as Willow went into 'Willow-speak.' "That's good to hear. Anything else I need to know?"
"I've been reading to him to try to soothe the savage beast." Willow leaned in closer to Xander, and whispered, "But he gets a bit worked up when you mention 'rabbits.'"
The noise of Werewolf-Oz slamming against the cage at the utterance of 'rabbits' was enough to make both the teens jump. Willow handed him the thick, hardcover book. He set down the gun so as to not fumble and tranq someone by accident.
"Have a good night, Will." Xander gave Willow a warm hug as he turned her toward the door. "I'll take extra care of him."
Before exiting, Willow called out once more. "Goodnight, Oz." Werewolf-Oz's only response was a rumbling growl.
After a moment's pause, Xander stretched across the central table's surface, bringing his head to rest on the thick book, utilizing it as an extra-firm pillow.
Sunnydale Cemetery
"You ever catch kids doing the dirty out here?"
"No." Buffy did her best to keep her tone of annoyance to a minimum. "There's a smooch spot up in the hills, that's usually where the kids go."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Faith teased.
"What is up with you, tonight? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a guy with the one-track mind you have." Buffy teased the brunette Slayer back.
"I'm just not shy about what I want." Faith shrugged her shoulders, as she stepped over a divot in the grass. "I figure, age of equality, right? If it's acceptable for guys to be nothing but animals enjoying the chase, why not me? I have fun, they have fun; and the only ones hurt, are the prudes."
Buffy found it very hard to accept that line of 'logic.' "Okay, I was hoping not to be that cynical until at least forty."
"Just being realistic, B. Every guy, from 'Manimal' to Mr. 'I-love-the-English-Patient' has a beast in them. I don't care how sensitive they act."
A smirk found its way onto Buffy's face. "Oh, so is that why you moved in with Harry? Find out what beast he's got in him?"
"We talking literal, here, B? Don't forget, he could be an ani-whatcha-callit."
In her head, Buffy felt she had to give Faith credit on that. "Good point."
Faith glanced around the area of the weird, pyramid-shaped mausoleum. "I'd have to say Harry is at least accepting of his beast. He's surprisingly not as repressed as I'd expect, for a Brit. When I asked, he said he wouldn't mind if I brought home a boy-toy."
Buffy stopped walking in shock at what Faith had just said. "You asked him what?"
Faith turned around, her usually cocky grin in place. "I asked what the rules were about bringing home some of my conquests. He just said not to expect him to cook breakfast."
Faith continued on without waiting for Buffy to catch back up. It was only a few paces later she heard the unmistakable sound of Buffy's stylish Doc Marten's coming up beside her.
"I still think you're over-simplifying guys, though. They're not all like that." In her head, she thought of all the sweet moments she was able to get while with Angel. Unfortunately, her memories countered her argument with memories of Angelus.
As though reading her mind, Faith vocalized her subconscious' point. "Some of them take more than others to bring out, but every guy, deep down enjoys the chase."
Woods on the edge of Sunnydale
The universe hated Jeff Walken.
This was the theory that had been going through Bob's head all night. His boss chewed him out at work for something that wasn't his fault, his car got towed, his date was a disaster, and he forgot his favorite jacket back at the club.
The universe fucking hated Jeff Walken.
But to put the cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his day, he was now being chased through the woods by some snarling, slavering thing. He hadn't gotten a good look at what was chasing him, but he had lived in Sunnydale long enough to know that waiting long enough to see what was chasing you, was often the last thing you did before shuffling off the mortal coil.
The universe really fucking hated Jeff Walken.
That was the thought that went through Jeff's head as he tripped over something in the underbrush. In the few remaining seconds of thought left to Jeff, he pondered what the papers would say about him in the morning. 'Gone missing while taking an evening stroll' sounded about right. He had read plenty of similar stories in the newspaper; often sandwiched between the stories of the latest victims of gangs on PCP, and backed up sewer lines. Internally, he cursed the heavens that the name of Jeff Walken would probably never be spoken aloud again. The fate of the average schmo in Sunnydale.
His thoughts ended any form of clarity when he heard the growling close the distance, and felt himself get flipped onto his back.
The universe took its time snuffing out Jeff Walken.
Harry and Faith's Apartment
Faith quietly entered the apartment in the very early hours of the morning. Never having to worry about noise before, her movements were her typical manner, broad sweeping, and indelicate. Not excessively loud, per say, but certainly pushing most forms of etiquette for three in the morning. It was spotting Harry's bedroom door partially open that got her to put effort in keeping her noise to a minimum.
The living room of the apartment was still tidied up from the clean-up after the party, and it was only Faith's desire not to annoy the aged, surly house elf that she removed her shoes before stepping on the carpet.
She eased her head in through the opening of Harry's door, wanting to apologize if she had woken the wizard by accident. When she looked in, she saw Harry sleeping deeply under the sheets of his bed. A glint on his bedside table caught Faith's eye. She cautiously crossed the room to see what it was that caught the moonlight. She saw an empty potion phial. The residue was a familiar purple color.
'He must have got a refill when he took Red and Oz,' thought Faith.
Faith lingered a moment, watching Harry sleep. Her thoughts drifted to her conversation with Buffy earlier. There had only been one or two vamps out and about tonight, so their girl-talk was pretty much the highlight of the evening. She was normally adamant in her opinions, including her thoughts on the male species; and as much as she respected Harry and his abilities, she also found herself worrying about him. That alone was enough to give Faith pause, her worrying about someone beside herself.
She felt like she knew, deep down, that Harry was still holding onto something, some great pain. Something he felt was worse than what he had already shared. And considering what he had shared was how he effectively led his school into battle, she figured it had to be a doozy. She wondered if she'd be able to help him though it. She hoped she could. Because if she could help him face his past, there was a chance she could make it through facing hers.
The famous 'Dreamless Sleep' potion is actually one of the biggest misnomers in magic. Yes, it does put the person who imbibes the potion to sleep for a few hours, and no matter what, the taker does not suffer from any trauma whilst under the potion's effects. However, if one could see a person's subconscious as they were under the effects of the potion, what they would see is a large, dark cocoon—about the size of a person—hovering amongst the imagery of the nightmare.
Inside this cocoon is the conscious mind of the dreamer. With any interaction between the conscious and subconscious minds cut off, the person who ingests the potion awakes with only the recall of nothingness. The 'Dreamless Sleep' potion would be more accurately named the 'Consciousness-Sensory-Deprivation and Sleep' potion.
Patients are instructed to only go a maximum of six days in a row with the potion because higher-brain functions begin to suffer when the two parts of the mind are kept apart from each other for longer than that.
Harry's conscious mind floated inside the protection of the potion, at peace in his own mind. However, in the morning, for the briefest of moments, he'll be certain, he saw a figure in his non-dream, stretching out from the nothingness towards him.
Auror Academy – Commissary
Ron Weasley eased himself into the seat closest to the door of the left-hand table in the Auror Academy Commissary. He sighed in relief as he managed to sit down without spilling his tray of food. The morning calisthenics, followed by the five-mile run, and then the obstacle course had rendered his body sore in more ways than he could imagine. He had figured that his past year on the run with Harry and Hermione would have prepared him more for the rigorous regimen, but his sore and aching muscles begged to differ.
In recent years, the Auror "Academy" had been an abandoned Muggle indoor football field about fifteen blocks from the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic. However, with the seizing of Death Eater assets to pay for the reconstruction of the Wizarding World, the Auror force now had a facility outside of London that was on par with most Muggle law enforcement facilities. The Commissary was not quite as large as the Great Hall of Hogwarts, as it only had to hold fifty first-year cadets, their instructors, and any support staff.
Auror training was a three-year process; the first year, you lived at the Academy, studying the law, basic procedures, and advanced defense techniques. If you made it to your second year, you were mad an 'Auror-in-training' and partnered with an Auror, and learned everything else in the field. Those that made the cut for the third and final year were 'Probationary Aurors,' and given a little more freedom to stand on their own.
There was a part of Ron that was monumentally proud of him self for surviving the first hellish week of 'basic training.' There was another part of him that felt Harry had the right idea of taking a year off. At least the food was good; what food he was able to get with the very brief meal times. The words of his Instructor that first day, just before assigning Ron fifty push-ups, rang in his head: 'You're here to be trained, Weasley, not fattened like a prize hog.'
Ron was quickly sandwiched between Augusta Pike and Simon Greenwood, two of his fellow cadets and bunkmates. Pike was a tall, dark-haired half-blood originally from Ireland. She reminded Ron a great deal of a female Seamus Finnegan, except her tastes in alcohol went far beyond rum. Greenwood was a burly fellow, not much taller than Harry. He was a muggleborn whose parents emigrated from Sweden back in the 50's. His long, blond hair gave him the appearance of a Viking, but was one of the nicest guys you could meet…outside of the dueling ring, anyway.
"Morning, Weasley," Augusta said in the tone of voice Ron had come to know as her 'Fred-and-George' tone. "Have a good run, this morning?"
"It was alright," Ron mumbled. "Until someone cast an engorgement charm on my boots." The glare Ron was giving her made perfectly clear that he knew precisely who had cast said charm.
"Lighten up, L.T., she only does it 'cause she cares." Greenwood quickly finished off the helping of beans he had taken a break from to comment.
The other cadets had taken to calling Ron 'L.T.' once they realized he was that Ron Weasley: Harry Potter's trusted Lieutenant. At first, he didn't mind the nickname, but the more and more people called him that, as opposed to his actual name, he gained a deeper understanding of why Harry chafed under the 'Boy-Who-Lived' moniker. He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least more effort went into his nickname than others.
"She did it on the fifty-degree downhill slope of the training course. If that's how Fish expresses how she cares for someone, Woodsman, I'm concerned for any perp she tries to nab."
"I challenge you to show me any part of Diagon Alley that matches the incline, or elevation of that hill," Pike said between mouthfuls of potatoes.
"Thinking that the worst terrain you'll ever have to deal with is Diagon Alley is going to leave you open to a huge letdown, Fish. Trust me," Ron paused, "I know."
Pike and Greenwood leaned a little closer as Ron stared at his cornbread, waiting expectantly for more. The pair had quickly learned that the best way to get details about Ron's adventures during the war was to simply be patient; don't pry, but let the man talk when he brought it up.
"I thought Harry, Hermione, and I would have our little quest over in a few weeks. At first, we hid out at Harry's Godfather's place, and it wasn't all that bad. Roof over our heads, house-elf able to go out and get supplies." Ron cleared his throat as he rushed to get back to his point. "Course, the whole thing changed when our position was compromised, and we spent the next few months on the run, in the wilderness."
Ron turned to look Pike directly in the eyes. "If being an Auror is half the trip fighting Voldemort was, the simple strolls down Diagon Alley are going to be few, and far between."
Pike was spared Ron's serious face when one of the Instructors called from the door. "Weasley! Commandant wants to see you in his office."
Ron sighed as he looked at what remained on his tray. 'One day, I'm going to actually finish my tray.'
Commandant's Office
Commandant Nathan Savage read over once more the communiqué he had received this morning from them. Savage was not as old as many of the past Commandants of the Academy, he was still in his forties, for Merlin's sake. He was still young enough to work in the field, and his limp was far less pronounced than what old Mad-Eye had. And like Mad-Eye, he bore his limp with pride; he had gotten it at the First Battle of Hogwarts, the night Dumbledore had died.
The curse he had taken from the Death Eater that sprung up behind him while he was trying to secure the front door had put him hospital past the takeover of the Ministry. He was certain if he had been on active duty, he'd have died that night. The takeover, and the fact that the bastards needed to maintain the bureaucracy, meant he rode a desk for the majority of that year. But he had managed to do what he could for that year. The fact the Death Eaters never saw him as much of a threat, allowed him to slip information to the Order. One feather in his cap was that he was the one who alerted the Order to the taboo on Voldemort's name. It felt good, in Savage's opinion, to think that bastard's name; it was like pissing on the tosser's grave.
After the war, the Ministry needed as many people as they could trust to do the right thing. He didn't like riding a desk, and he regretted not being able to fight at the final battle, but he swore he would do his best to keep this Academy running at peak efficiency. And now he was being given an order from that lot. It made him feel slightly dirty.
The knock at his door brought his focus to the here and now. He sat up a little straighter, to give the right impression as his office door opened, and let an honest-to-goodness hero in to his office.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Ronald Weasley stood at attention in front of the Commandant's desk.
"Weasley. Have a seat." Weasley quickly took the chance to get off his aching feet, giving the office a quick scan.
Savage did not keep his office as austere as the former Commandant had. He didn't know what fascination there was in dark, uninviting spaces for Death Eaters and their sympathizers, but the first thing he did when they moved the facility was replace the pieces of torture devices with memorabilia of past standout Aurors. He tried to give the room the warmth, and sense of history he felt was befitting the tradition of Aurors.
"This is quite an unusual situation for me Weasley. Normally, I wouldn't receive a letter like this," he tapped on the letter now resting on his desk, "until almost the end of a Cadet's first year."
Savage couldn't help but notice the heavy swallow Weasley took. He imagined the young man was quickly racking his memory, trying to think what infraction he had committed. Savage decided not to torment Weasley too long before grinning.
"Then again, we don't normally have cadets with the amount of experience as you have attained." He saw the tension leave Weasley's shoulders as he realized he was not in trouble. Savage plucked the letter off the desk, keeping the written side away from Weasley's eyes.
"I got a request from a team the ICW is planning to put together and send to the states in the next week or two. They would like you to accompany them."
Savage counted the seconds it took Weasley to ask a question. From the stories that quickly spread after the downfall of Voldemort, he knew that Weasley wasn't 'the brains' behind the Golden Trio, but he had seen the young man's aptitude tests: the boy could be a thinker when he had to.
"The ICW?" Weasley pondered aloud. "I didn't think we were in their chain of command, sir?"
'Well done, Weasley,' Savage thought to himself. 'Less than ten seconds.'
"Typically, we aren't, Cadet Weasley. However, from what they have deemed to tell me, I can only imagine that someone on the ICW would like to benefit from the image of a Hero of Hogwarts assisting in an ICW operation. And as you are the only Hero of Hogwarts that does fall in the Ministry's chain of command, you are the one who gets what is truly a walk-in-the-park assignment."
"Sir, what is the operation? If I may ask, sir?"
"It's hardly worth the attention; some retrieval job. I imagine some representative's kid has been enjoying his holiday a little too much, and they're hoping they'll be so star struck by you as to come quietly."
Savage watched Weasley nod his head slowly, thinking over everything. He got the distinct impression Weasley knew there was more to this than he was being told.
"You said it'll be in a few weeks, sir?"
"Yes. I told them it'd be a great disadvantage to your training to leave before you could join your class in the full gauntlet." Savage had to work to restrain his grin at the barely audible groan Weasley gave this news.
"Well then, sir, I better bet back to training," Weasley said as he pushed himself upright from the chair across the Commandant's desk. He delivered a quick salute to the Commandant, and waited to be dismissed.
"Off you go, Weasley." Savage's eyes did not follow Weasley out the door, instead drifting back to the letter in his hand. He didn't want to start his tenure as Commandant lying to his Cadets, but an order from them put him in a tough spot. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew they had a lot more clout than he did. He'd let this one pass. Looking at the letter, and the passage that gave him the most worry, he just hoped that he gave Weasley a solid enough hint in his words. Slipping information to the proper concerned parties about suspicious activities was something he had gotten quite good at during the war.
"…Presence of Ronald Weasley requested for mission to HM-Alpha for retrieval of BWL."
Out in the hallway, Ron Weasley resolved himself to alert Harry that he'd likely be making an all-expense paid stop in California soon.
Sunnydale High – Courtyard
The courtyard of Sunnydale High, with its white, Spanish Mission style fountain, and numerous staircases, was alive with the sounds of students moving to and fro. Whether on their way to gym or chemistry, or whether they acknowledged the existence of vampires, or believed in stories of gangs on PCP, none of the students were paying attention to the conversation between the blonde slayer, and her two companions.
"I can't believe she said that," Willow exclaimed. "Not every guy's in it just for the chase."
As they reached the top of the steps, a voice called out from down the hall. "Buffy!"
The trio halted as Scott Hope closed the distance between them. "Hey, Buffy." He came to rest less than an arm's distance from Buffy. His breath coming in noticeable gulps from his sprint down the hall.
"Hey, Scott. How are you?" Buffy asked out of a desire to be polite. Buffy knew that Scott had been working up the nerve to ask her out since she returned to the school. She acknowledged that he was cute, and definitely a big change from Angel. 'Then again, that's the problem. He's so unlike Angel, I find myself constantly being reminded of Angel.'
Oz and Willow decided to back off and give Scott window of opportunity he seemed so eager to have.
"I'm good." Scott took a moment to seemingly rally all of his courage and force himself not to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Anyway, Buffy… I was wondering if—" Scott's question was cut off from another voice closing in on the gathered cluster f students.
"Hey, Scott, there you are." Scott seemed to deflate as the girl with shoulder-length blonde hair approached with her boyfriend's arm across her shoulders, and a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Debbie and Pete were considered the 'Power Couple' of Sunnydale High. Cordelia and Xander might have had that title if Cordelia wasn't so caustic towards most of the students. Debbie and Pete were just the right mix of popular and nice that allowed everyone to like them.
"Hi, Oz," Debbie cheerfully acknowledged the stoic Scoobie. "I haven't seen you at Marching Jazz Band practice."
"Oh, yeah," Oz replied. "My schedule is a bit crazy this year, so I had to drop it."
"We have a Marching Jazz Band?" The surprise and confusion were plain to hear in Buffy's voice.
"Yeah, but since all the best Jazz is improvisational, everyone just kind of wanders off in their own directions, and make different floats. It's a bit scary."
Willow chuckled and playfully slapped her boyfriend on the shoulder. "He's just being Oz."
"Pretty much full time." Oz took the momentary break in the banter to gently kiss Willow's lips.
Buffy, seeking a distraction from the supremely sweet couple her two friends made brought attention to the first thing she saw. "Those are pretty flowers."
"Thanks," Debbie said with a coy smile as she sniffed the bouquet in her hands. "Pete brought them for me."
Pete gave a huge grin and a wink to his girlfriend. "Yeah. I'm sure Scott will do that kind of stuff for you too, Buffy."
Scott sputtered a bit as his intentions were aired in the bright light of day. "I, uh… haven't finished asking her out, yet." Scott's body language screamed 'I want to disappear, now, please.'
Buffy, knowing that Scott was decent enough to have gotten a 'yes,' and really wanting out of the awkwardness, decided to toss the guy a bone. "Oh, uh. I would like to go out sometime."
Scott's entire body language perked up, and a smile split his face. "Cool. Tomorrow night, at the Bronze?"
"Sounds fine." Buffy felt glad that she could make someone smile like that. It made her feel like a normal girl, to only have the concern of hurting a cute boy's feelings. Not the girl who had to guard against the night, or the girl who had to jump through hoops to get back into school.
A trace of panic entered Buffy's mind at that thought. She checked her watch, finding she needed to be somewhere sooner than she'd thought. "I better go," she said apologetically to Scott. "I have an appointment with Mr. Platt."
One of Debbie's eyebrows shot up at this statement. "Mr. Platt? The School Counselor?"
A swell of repressed sarcasm filled Buffy's voice. "I have to convince him I'm little miss stable, so I can stay in school."
To Buffy's surprise, Debbie nodded in agreement. "Platt creeps me out." Debbie turned her head to look Pete in the eyes. "I would quit, but I'm flunking Senior Bio, and my teacher says I have 'success issues.'"
"Senior Bio?" Oz shrugged his shoulders in thought. "You know; I kinda aced that final."
"And how'd you do that?" Willow teased Oz, gave one of her silly grins. "Oh, right, you showed up."
Oz smiled in appreciation of Willow's humor before continuing his thought. "If you want my notes, they're yours."
Pete gave Debbie an encouraging squeeze as she nodded her acceptance. "Thanks, that'd be great."
At that moment, the warning bell rang out. Giving everyone the two-minute warning to get to their respective classes.
"Gotta go." Buffy gave one last encouraging smile to the now less-nervous Scott. "I'll see you later, Scott." She turned and headed towards the offices of Mr. Platt.
Oz and Willow walked off in the opposite direction, with Debbie and Pete. Scott lingered an extra moment, just before Buffy was out of earshot. "See you later, Buffy."
Once she was around the corner, Scott looked to confirm that no one he knew could see him. He silently pumped his fist in victory, before heading off to class.
Sunnydale High – Library
Giles and Xander huddled around the morning paper in Giles' office inside of the library. The latest news story/obituary filled Giles with a sense of anxiety he had prayed not to manifest after yesterday. Feeling the need to do something, he charged out into the main portion of the library; A man on a mission.
"We'll have to recheck every possible exit avenue."
Xander followed close behind, his voice one of placation. "I'm telling you, it's a waste of time, I was right here, all night."
The creak of the library doors caused the two men to turn and see Oz and Willow as they entered. Giles attempted a look of nonchalance while he internally fought to batten down his panic.
"Right. It's good to see you." Giles held out for all of a second before he blurted out, "No need to panic."
Willow and Oz came to a dead stop. A shared glance seemed to be all that was needed to communicate their new worry.
"Just a thought," Oz offered to Giles. "Poker: not your game."
The doors swung open again. This time, allowing entrance to a dark-haired wizard, dressed in sweats and carrying a gym bag.
"You would not believe how little resistance I got waltzing into this school," Harry said, jokingly. "I swear, they all must think I'm Giles' nephew or something."
Harry set the bag on the library table, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. "Good morning, Oz. How are you feeling? Any side effects from the potion?"
"I feel fine, except Giles just told me there's no need to panic." Oz kept his gaze on the pair of Xander and Giles. Harry looked warily between the other four occupants of the room.
Willow joined Harry at the table, and pulled a notebook from her own bag. "It wore off a little after one, and I thought there were no ill effects." Willow handed the notebook over to Harry for him to look at. "But like Oz said, Giles just said 'There's no need to panic.' So we kind of are."
Harry wordlessly thanked Willow for her notes. "What's the deal, Giles?"
Giles continued to fight the urge to rush in a hundred different directions. To focus, he went to his usual routine of wiping his glasses. "Keep in mind, most likely, there is no deal. But if there was, it might possibly involve…murder."
"Murder?" Willow rushed back to Oz's side, subconsciously feeling the need to comfort him.
"Last night." Giles sighed. "A male student was found in the woods."
"Which student?"
Giles slowly returned his glasses to his face; fully aware he'd reached the point no one would believe they were still dirty. "Jeff Walken."
"Jeff?" Oz exclaimed. "It was Jeff? I… I knew him."
"I'm afraid he was terribly mauled." With a pause that could only be measured in fractions of a second, Giles continued. "Now, as much as I hate to think it, it could well be the handiwork of…"
Harry was surprised as Oz's voice broke from its usual stoicism, to cut Giles off in an almost growl, "Me?"
Willow quickly took Oz's hand in hers; moving to console him. "Wolf-you, not you-you."
Xander jumped in, wanting to quickly dispel this atmosphere of worry. "But it's not. It's not wolf-you! It's not you-you! The room was secured, the gate was locked, and the window unbreakable, and… " Xander stepped into the cage and spun to dramatically point at the only window Wolf-Oz had access to. The window that was just barely hanging open. "Open!"
"Oh, god." Willow moved closer to Oz, but did not initiate more contact other than to squeeze his hand tighter. Xander moved out of the cage, allowing Giles a chance to examine the window.
Harry looked up from the detailed notes Willow had handed off to him, that he had just finished reading. "Oz, do you recall anything with that window, while the potion was working."
Oz focused on his memories from the night before. "I didn't really pay much attention to it. I was just glad I could still understand Willow. Until I couldn't, anyway."
Xander had yet to give up his attempts to assure everyone there was no problem. "Don't worry, I only rested my eyes a couple times. That's all."
This did not have the encouraging effect he had hoped it would with Giles. The older man's shoulders slumped, his head fell in exasperation, and his fists clenched tightly. "How long, exactly, did you rest your eyes for?"
"A little nap. A little, then…" Xander realized at that moment, how counter-productive his words were at that point. Yet, he just couldn't stop. "I never heard Oz leave, and he was here in the morning when I… When I—"
"Woke up?!" Giles' patience had worn thin with Xander, and had a momentary flash of 'Ripper' in his eyes.
"You could put it that way, if you want to, Mr. Technical."
Harry moved between the librarian, and the boy he was mad at. "Giles, before you kill Xander—who is really not on ground solid enough to make jokes—" Harry said over his shoulder at Xander. "Let's think this through. Oz, you don't recall anything from after Willow left?"
"No. By that time, the wolf was in control again."
"And Xander, you said he was here in the morning?"
"Yeah. He was right there, Harry." Xander pointed at the cage, at the space just behind the door.
Harry entered the cage, and took a close look at the window that was high up from the floor of the cramped space. He thought for a few moments coming to a conclusion.
"I think it's unlikely it was Oz." Harry turned to face the subject of all their speculation. "The wolf could have leaped out the window without damaging it, but I doubt it has the fine motor control to get back in."
Willow brightened at this observation. Glad that the facts supported her hopes that Oz was not involved. "You see, Oz? It couldn't have been you.
Whether from the fear of losing control of himself forever, or just a tendency to think of the worst-case scenario, Oz thought aloud. "How do we know the potion didn't have an effect on the wolf? Make it smarter, some how?"
Harry looked down at the notes in his hand, 'This was why we were watching him as closely as we could. We have no idea what the potion does to a muggle-Werewolf. Could we have accidentally given the Wolf Oz's intelligence?'
The room was silent in their individual contemplations of this question.
A/N: I do so apologize for doing another partial episode, but you guys have been so patient, and the constant switching between working on this, and the scripts for the television show is really getting difficult. If you're wondering what it is like to switch back and forth between Novel-style and Script-style writing, imagine jumping from one treadmill onto another that is going the opposite direction, without losing pace, or changing which way you face.
Currently at 1,030 followers, 218 reviews, 745 favorites, and over 112,000 views. You guys are great. And I am loving all of the feedback. I'll try to answer a question at the start of the next chapter, and I am not making any promises on when it will be posted. I have learened my lesson.