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Shocked silence reigned.

Buffy had spotted the odd stranger an instant before he spoke, and was already leaping from her chair, a stake appearing instantly in her hand, as if conjured by magic. She suppressed a sudden urge to growl as she leaped between the stranger and her friends, ready to defend them.

I'm growling now?!? Geez, I've been hanging out with the undead *waaay* too long… Then she grinned in malicious satisfaction at the way the stranger took several steps backwards in the face of her threatening stance. The scrape of a chair against the floor told her that Spike had also gotten to his feet, following her lead.

"Hey, hey—no need for such posturing," he said, sounding unconcerned. "Your reflexes are impressive, I admit—but you might try turning them against your enemies, instead of your friends."

Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously at his arrogant presumption. "And how exactly am I supposed to know which category you fall into?"

The man's ordinary features suddenly creased in honest glee. "I was just waiting for you to ask!" he bubbled excitedly.

Before their eyes, the stranger's mousy brown-blond hair, everyday brown eyes, and unassuming clothes—an untucked and threadbare white button-down shirt with scruffy jeans—were…transfigured. His every motion seemed tinged with golden light, and his clothing shimmered like silk under the brightest noonday sunlight. His fingertips left trails of glimmering silver stardust in the air as he raised his arms, as if in supplication. His eyes flamed every shade from a long-lost Spanish treasure hoard, from burnished gold to polished silver, to every hue of every precious gemstone the earth has ever offered up into the coffers of kings and sultans, down through the ages. Even his skin seemed to glow, shining so brilliantly that the group could no longer look him in the face. And then he spoke once more…and his voice had transformed, as well—into a trumpet, a clarion call of such power and terrible beauty that never again could mere music inspire them, never again could ordinary sound hold the same savor, when compared to the sheer, glorious majesty of that voice.

"Blessed are they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are spoken herein, for the Time is at hand! Thus say I to the servants of the Powers: I know thy works, and thy labor, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil. Henceforth, thou shalt hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the darkness shadow you, nor any cold defile you. For the Power which is in the midst of the throne shall feed you, and shall lead you unto living fountains of waters; and eternity shall wipe away all the tears from your eyes."

As the stranger's unearthly monologue continued, he blazed with a sudden surge of radiant energy, and seemed to look each member of his gaping audience in the eye all at once, calling out with such force that his voice seemed to take on a substance of its own, pulsing against their eardrums with the liquid throb of blood through veins. The air was thick and meaty with power as he blazed on: "For I have seen the hour—it approaches swiftly on velvet paws! I have seen a new heaven, and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth are passed away, and Hell's dominion is at an end! And there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain! For the former things shall be passed away…"

Then it was over. The magnificent voice dwindled down to a reverent whisper, and the man seemed to diminish. The fire went out of his eyes and manner, and a moment later he was just an ordinary man once again, plain-featured and easily forgettable, in worn jeans and a dingy white shirt, with his hands stuck casually in his pockets.

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Buffy blinked and raised an eyebrow. Giles looked rather taken aback. Anya looked like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind, and edged a little closed to Xander instead. Willow, her eyes wide, frightened marbles in her face, laid a comforting on Dawn's arm, which was trembling faintly. Spike simply took it all in, his eyes narrowing as the man's words planted a tiny seed of bright, terrible fear deep in the hollow place where his soul used to be.

The Scoobies watched the man in silence as he nonchalantly craned his neck to the side and stretched, tendons popping. That simple, very human motion broke the spell cast by his speech, and eight mouths opened simultaneously to speak…but Buffy was the first to find her voice.

"Well." How do you follow an act like that? "I gotta tell you, most demons are a lot less verbal and a lot more with the kicking and punching—but the variety is nice. Very…original," she said conversationally, her body tensing back into a defensive posture, but less confident than before. If that's how he *talks,* what the hell must he be like when he *fights*…!

Giles cut her off before she could launch into the second phase of her patented 'quip-and-pummel' attack—adapted, of course, from the more traditional 'scream-and-leap.' "No," he said in surprise, as if just realizing something. "Not original…" He eyed the stranger as if he were a particularly vexing translation, or a truly atrocious overdue-library-book fine. "You were quoting the…Book of Revelation, I believe?"

The stranger smiled broadly and cut a respectful half-bow in the Watcher's direction. He seemed pleased that someone had figured it out.

"I see," Giles went on. Then his face hardened into the look Willow had once dubbed 'Ripper-come-out-to-play.' "Who—what are you, and why are you here?" he ground out.

"Oh, yeah—now the official stuff's out of the way, we probably ought to sit down and hash out all the details, I guess…" the man responded, as if he'd just thought of it. He took several steps in the direction of an empty chair next to the table, but stopped abruptly when Buffy stepped threateningly into his path, her folded arms and tiny smirk screaming, 'just try it, buster.' With a shrug and a wary smile, he backed up and settled himself on the step between the entryway and the main room of the shop.

The group watched him with varying degrees of suspicion as he stretched out his legs—his leather sandals were just as scruffy as the rest of him, Buffy noted—and leaned back on his elbows. "Hi," he began, smiling disarmingly, "I'm the Herald. Feel free to call me Harry…everybody does."

Anya's cheerful enthusiasm for retail finally won out over her caution. "Nice to meet you! Can I help you find something? We have some really high-quality chicken's feet, and a wonderful selection of crystals! Oh, I'm the proprietor of the Magic Box, my name's—"

"Anya," the Herald supplied. "Ex-vengeance demon, engaged to Xander," he smiled indulgently. "And you would be Willow, and Dawn, and Rupert, and William," he continued, looking around the table at each surprised face in turn. "And this…this would be Miss Buffy Summers…the Vampire Slayer, the strong right arm of the Powers themselves!" he finished with mingled relish and awe.

Buffy rolled her eyes at such a melodramatic description of her 'sacred duty.' "D'you guys remember back when I used to have a secret 'secret identity'?" she commented with a sigh.

The stranger—'Harry'…how dumb is that?—grinned at her, a twinkle in his eye that told her he was enjoying their confusion, just a tiny bit. "Well, it's true that the Slayer's a bit more effective when nobody knows who to expect—but hey, you're the darling of the Powers!" he went on cheerfully. "You think they don't know who they've tapped to do their dirty work for 'em?"

The smile slowly faded from the Herald's narrow lips as Buffy, Spike, and Giles in full Ripper mode slowly advanced on him, identical pissed-off expressions on their faces. He could have sworn that he heard a growl emanating from their direction—although from whose throat, he couldn't be sure.

Scrambling to his feet, Harry began to back away, his hands held defensively before him. "Hey, okay—I get it! No more games—lemme just get right to the point, alright?" He eyed them warily, trying a faint grin. "No hard feelings? I mean, you've gotta cut me a little slack—it's not every day I get to come to the mortal realms and play the humanity game…especially not for something this big!"

Buffy scowled and crossed her arms again, every line of her body conveying her hostility as Watcher and vampire came up to flank her. "Fine. Talk. But make it quick and make it good, or I'll smear your sorry ass all over Main Street."

The man gulped, his chubby cheeks bobbing. "No problem, hon!" He took a deep breath. "Okay, so the Powers sent me to give the Slayer a bit of a heads-up that the Time of the Annealing is here. It's tomorrow, in fact."

The homicidal glint in Giles' eyes grew brighter as he opened his mouth to speak, but the Herald cut him off with a raised hand. "Yeah, I know—you don't know what that means. Uh, it's kinda like…hmm." He paused, obviously groping for words.

"Well, the Powers created all this—everything," he said cheerfully, waving offhandedly at their surroundings. "This whole dimension you call 'the universe,' and all the infinity of others like it. The Powers, they're Elemental…always been around, and prob'ly not going anywhere anytime soon. But you can imagine how boring eternity could get, right? With nobody but yourself to talk to? 'Cause they've got different powers, but they're all still sort of the same Power…"

He trailed off at their blank looks. "Okay, guess that's not important. The point is, they didn't create everything everywhere just to be nice. They needed some entertainment. And believe me, you mortals are better than HBO!" he bubbled enthusiastically. "I mean, it's like having an infinite number of channels, all completely different, and even though they could know what's gonna happen—'cause they're the ones running the show, after all—usually they sorta decide not to know, to keep things more interesting."

Harry paused in his monologue, taking a breath and savoring the eight captivated faces before him. "But every now and then, mortal stuff starts to get too predictable, and it isn't fun anymore. Y'know, like when you get to know somebody so well that you start to know what they're gonna say before they say it? That's what the Annealing's for—when the Powers get bored enough to just wipe the slate clean, and start everything over completely from scratch, only with a whole new set of rules, to give 'em some variety. Like canceling an old, tired sitcom, like…I dunno, Cheers or M*A*S*H or something, and putting something newer and trendier in its time-slot…like Seinfeld."

He nodded smartly to himself, pleased with his ability to explain the situation. "But they figure it's not…well, not real polite, I guess, to their mortal Hands to just snuff everything out without giving 'em a little warning, so…here I am!" He spread his arms wide and beamed at Buffy.

"Isn't it great!?"

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